Brian McGilloway - Gallows Lane

‘We ought to charge you rent,’ I said to him when I came in.

He smiled without sincerity.

‘Ben,’ Hannon said, half standing. ‘What the fuck’s going on here? These yahoos from Dublin are asking all sorts of ridiculous things.’

‘Routine procedure, Paddy,’ I said.

‘Well, I’ve already told them, I’ve nothing to say.’

‘So I’ve heard. Maybe you could tell me again.’

He lifted a cigarette and placed it in his mouth, opening his lighter before starting to speak, though he did not actually light the cigarette.

‘The phone went in the middle of the night. I thought maybe it was another attack or something on the site, you know. I checked the number, didn’t recognize it, phoned it back, and got no answer.’

‘You have no idea why Daniel McLaughlin would phone you, of all people, at two a.m.?’

He paused to light his cigarette before responding. ‘None,’ he said, snapping his lighter shut.

‘Did you know the man?’

‘Not really. He worked for Declan O’Kane, I think.’

‘How did you know that?’

‘I buy my cars from Decko. You get to know the staff too, you know.’

He blew out a stream of smoke hurriedly, tapping the cigarette against the edge of the ashtray. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I don’t really see what else I can do here.’

‘Did you know Peter Webb?’ I asked.

‘By reputation,’ he said. ‘We might have met once or twice, nothing else.’

‘What about Jamie Kerr?’

‘That’s the guy they found on the tree, isn’t that right? Terrible business,’ Hannon said, stubbing out his cigarette, half smoked.

‘So, you knew none of these people, or what happened to them?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Wish I could help you, Ben, but. .’ He shrugged in a way which I found strikingly disingenuous.

‘I don’t believe you, Paddy; I’m sorry,’ I said, taking out my own cigarettes. ‘I find it hard to believe that, in the final moments before his death, possibly fearing for his life, Danny McLaughlin phoned a wrong number which just happened to be yours. I find it even more unbelievable that you would phone it back in the middle of the night.’

‘That’s as may be, Inspector,’ Brown said, ‘but in the absence of anything other than supposition and coincidence, you have no reason to hold my client. Either charge him with something, or let him go.’

‘I’ll speak to my Super and see what he says,’ I said, standing up.

‘While you’re at it, Ben,’ Hannon added, ‘see if we ever got to the bottom of those drugs and guns. You know, the ones that were found twice.’

Paddy Hannon was released without charge twenty minutes later. He shook my hand and told me he understood I was just doing my job. Dempsey seemed even more disgusted than I was with the result; he was to return to Dublin on Monday without a single arrest or prosecution, despite the number of crimes that had been committed over the past weeks.

We went for a drink after Hannon had gone. Then, I headed home. I sat with Debs, Penny and Shane, and attempted to forget all that had happened. But the film we watched could not engage me. And I spent more time wandering in and out of the kitchen for a smoke at the back door than I did sitting with my family.

Finally, fed up with my moping, Debbie came out.

‘What’s up?’ she asked, not even tutting at me for smoking inside the doorway.

‘Nothing,’ I said. Then I added, before she turned to go, ‘I’m really pissed off with this whole bloody case.’

‘I’d noticed,’ she said.

‘Nothing’s been resolved. I know Paddy Hannon is behind these killings and I can’t prove a thing.’

‘That’s how it goes sometimes, Ben,’ Debbie said, coming over and rubbing the back of my neck with her hand. ‘Sometimes things don’t end out the way you’d like.’

‘You didn’t see him, Debs. He was so fucking smarmy about the whole thing.’

She nodded and did not speak. We stood like that, her hand gently massaging my neck, until Shane shouted, ‘Mama.’

‘Things work themselves out, Ben,’ Debbie said. ‘You’ll see.’

Chapter Twenty-six

Sunday, 20 June

The accuracy of Debbie’s words was proven rather quicker than either of us expected. The following morning, after Mass, Costello called to our house. I was sitting on the back step, reading the paper. He attempted to lower his bulk on to the step beside me, but, failing, leant against the door frame and pretended to survey the garden.

‘Beautiful spot you have,’ he said. ‘The garden looks well.’

‘That’s Debbie’s doing,’ I said.

He nodded in understanding. ‘Emily was the same. Green fingers.’

He allowed the silence to settle between us.

‘Harry Patterson came to see me this morning.’

‘Aye?’

He nodded. ‘Seems Hugh Colhoun confessed to him.’

‘What?’ I exclaimed, knocking over my coffee cup.

‘Everything,’ he repeated. ‘Planting the guns, the sympathy card, the attack on the house.’ He paused, then added solemnly, ‘And the car thing. The rag.’

‘Hugh Colhoun,’ I repeated, incredulously. ‘Are you sure?’

He nodded gravely. ‘Apparently he felt bad about what happened to Caroline. Hadn’t meant it to go so far. I think he thought Harry would understand.’

‘Why did Patterson tell you?’

‘To save his own bacon, of course. Harry still thinks he’s got a chance for promotion. And he’s not going to take the fall for someone else.’

‘A real team player,’ I said.

‘There may not be an “I” in team,’ Costello said. ‘But there is “a me”.’ He laughed curtly. ‘I thought I’d let you know.’

‘So what happens now?’ I asked.

‘Harry’s back on the beat. Hugh was lifted this morning. He’ll face charges, if you or Caroline want to press them. Either way he’s in a shit load of trouble.’

‘Have you spoken to Caroline? What did she say?’ I asked.

Another pause. ‘She’s weighing up her options.’

I spent the day with my family. Several times, I tried phoning Caroline, to see how she was feeling about Hugh Colhoun’s confession, but either she wasn’t home, or she wasn’t answering her phone.

That evening, I had agreed to go out for a farewell drink with the NBCI team. Dempsey bought dinner for us all, then we headed into Strabane for a few drinks at a local club. Deegan and Meaney spent the night eyeing up the local talent, while Dempsey and myself sat in a cubicle, considering the cases and their outcome. Dempsey seemed even more dejected than I did about the whole affair.

‘So, we’ll never know who killed Webb, or Kerr, or Decko,’ he said. ‘Apart from McLaughlin.’

‘It was Paddy Hannon behind it,’ I said. ‘I’ll bet money on it’

‘You just can’t prove it.’ He sipped his drink and looked at me slyly. ‘Unless a piece of evidence should happen to appear in his car or something,’ he added, conspiratorially, then laughed.

My head spun as he spoke, and I felt an old, familiar fluttering in my stomach. I actually gripped the edge of the table for support.

‘Between us — it was you, wasn’t it? Playing the NBCI boys, just in town.’ He laughed, shaking his head in mock disbelief.

My thoughts struggled to come into focus. I imagined myself again at Decko’s house, approaching his car, placing Kerr’s leaflet, watching it later on the videotape. .

‘Jesus, the tape!’ I exclaimed.

Dempsey actually started in his seat, spluttering in his beer.

‘What?’

‘The videotape. Decko had a hidden security camera at the front of his house. We watched the bloody video ourselves when we lifted him.’

Dempsey’s expression froze. ‘Shit. How fucking stupid are we? Is it still in the station?’