A reason to kill, p.24
A Reason To Kill, page 24
Just then Officer Reilly, asked, “Is that allowed?”
The Captain shrugged. “What the hell, let them have some fun.”
~~~
Deirdre O’Neill, even at a tender sixteen, decked out in a skintight white body suite, trimmed in orange and green, helped the cause as she leaped on the stage. She drew the officers’ attention while others hurried the props into place. Against the back window of the truck a fair facsimile of a gallows soon rested. A thick roll of hemp lay curled on a box beside it. The bed of the truck was filled with what appeared to be gray rocks but a kick would have given away their paper construction.
Posters, depicting stonewalls and nearly naked bodies of brutalized young men—their lost eyes starting out from behind prison bars—were pasted on the stage vehicle and accompany van, which sported the signs IGA. Two actors left the van and climbed onto the stage dragging ‘George Washington’ behind them at the end of a rope. No doubt it was the good old boy though some changes had been made to his normally well-groomed attire.
Deirdre had done a marvelous job with grease paint. A blanket man ‘George’ alas Jason Connors, son of Senator John Connors, resembled a horribly brutalized victim of a sadist convention. His cousin Brian Fitzgerald and another young friend were dressed as the Redcoats dragging ‘George’ along.
Tiny blonde Amy O’Neill, decked out to portray the ‘Statue of Liberty’, then crawled into a cardboard boat wailing loudly, “I have no home.”
Deirdre O’Neill quickly recaptured the crowd’s interest as she spun to the center of the stage. Her copper hair blazed in the morning sunlight and her eyes flashed their strange deep purple.
“Who is she?” A reporter questioned Megan O’Donnell who only grinned and shrugged.
“Come on girl, give? What are they up to? You came on the bus with those kids.”
“Yep,” Megan admitted. “But I wasn’t prepared for this. I doubt any of the adults knew about this. The IGA must be getting a face lift.” Since she, herself, belonged to the ‘politically correct’ International Gaelic Association, which tended towards no more violence than the Friendly Sons of Saint Patrick, the actions taking place surprised her. A few years back, she’d become concerned about what some of the members were spouting, but that seemed to have tapered off. Or maybe she was just missing too many meetings. “I’m going to have to pay closer attention.”
“Hush!” Growled several people behind the small group of reporters. When so many years of similar protests resulted in nothing more than a bit of noise, the interest of the news media had dwindled.
~~~
Deirdre started with a low soft voice to draw the interest of the crowd. Her fingers snapped out a silent rhythm in tune with the movement of her body.
Dragged down the muddy lanes of London Town,
Aye, hear tell, in seventeen, seventy eight.
Her tone began to rise.
Blood dripped from countless vicious wounds
Whip, chain, and rope was the rebel’s fate.
Each step he took brought agonizing pain,
Yet, not yet, they would not let him die.
Each breath he drew, he prayed would be the last.
Her voice rose to a near scream as her eyes and arms lifted towards the sky.
Vengeance! He must upon the gallows hang so high!
On cue, ‘George’ alas the sixteen years old Jason Connors, slumped to his knees between his guards so they could yank him back up. He bit a blood capsule and the color ran from the side of his mouth causing a number of gasps from the audience that turned quickly to chuckles.
Deirdre swept her spread arms over the crowd.
Cast eyes ye worthless peasant! How slaves of law abound.
Reaching to the floor of the truck, she picked up a papier-mâché rock. Throwing it at the hapless ‘George’ she screamed,
BE QUICK! Toss sure your stones! Help bring the rebel down.
A group of other youngsters milling around the truck now played their roles as they began to throw the paper rocks they carried at poor ‘George’.
Deirdre allowed them just time to finish before she began again.
Rebels are not new; they took birth like any seed of man.
Since the first command ‘I am master!’
A few refused to bow before the tyrant’s hand.
She paused to pretend to wipe a shiny brow. Then perfect crystal tears, without crying, slid slowly down her cheeks.
The winners? Sure in all history have claimed the hero’s due—the honored name.
All the world rejoices with those who won the Patriot Game.
The losers? Aye the losers? Thrust in man-made cells.
Living death, unending death, Grant me death! The rebel yells.
Again Jason dropped to his knees biting several capsules so the blood poured from his mouth. And Deirdre turned to face him. Her voice a hoarse moaning as she continued:
Aye Washington, if these slave had seen how in the early morn,
They dragged you from a rebel cell to hang from a scaffold all beaten and torn.
If history then recalled your name, what different things it would chance to say.
‘No battles, no glory.’
She stooped to lift the curl of hemp from the box.
‘No American Independence Day!’
She started to drop her noose over poor ‘George’s’ head. Terry Sullivan, first officer on the stage, caught her wrists before she could complete the sacrilege.
“Fun is over girl,” Sullivan ordered. The rest of the police, who had moved quietly through the crowd, now swarmed on the truck as Sullivan lowered the star to waiting arms and jumped down to reclaim her.
The other officers were not nearly as gentle in ushering the boys. Jason tripped. His fake blood marked several unhappy bystanders whose yells started the protest. The audience quickly became loud and restless, drawing in other people from the streets.
“Laws in.” Megan O’Donnell grinned at the veteran news reporters, thrilled that because of her association with Thomas Devlin she was allowed to stand with them. “That’s it. Too bad it was fun and free.”
“Crowd’s not too happy,” a male reporter said. Another agreed. “Police busting in seemed uncalled for. I don’t think the mayor’s going to like what I write.”
~~~
Amy O’Neill, told by her cousin to stay put no matter what, was shaking and crying honestly now as Officer Reilly attempted to pull her from the boat. In a panic she began bawling and slapping at his hands. Complaints rippled through the crowd that was growing tense. When he was forced to haul up the tiny ‘Statue of Liberty’ kicking and squealing in the air, the crowd surged forward.
“Bastard!” The reaction of a tall ash-blond teenager and his companions was swift. They leapt onto the truck shoving Reilly aside in an attempt to rescue the girl. The tall youth’s knuckles split Reilly’s lip. The teenage jock, already a good ten pounds heavier than the skinny officer shoved him from the truck and the crowd surged over him…
Caged in, Deirdre huddled in the rear seat of a police car. She assured herself she was not afraid. Amy’s dead. I’ll bet she is…she chewed on her lip and squeezed her hands until the nails cut into her palms. Beaten to death by the police. What will Uncle Gordon do? He’d blame her. It was always her fault. She watched as Jason and Brian were pulled along and shoved into another police car. Although she missed the official sigh of relief when Jason lost his blanket and showed he had white swim trunks beneath, she stifled a laugh for the grease-paint wounds had become smeared and she thought he resembled a hot dog with all the fixings.
Brian’s carefully constructed uniform was in tatters; blood dripped from his nose unchecked for his wrists were locked in cuffs behind his back. Like Amy, the other ‘Redcoat’ was missing. Dale must be dead too, Deirdre decided as she watched the car pull away with her trapped comrades.
~~~
Forced to wait alone, she was sure to view her cousin’s body, she promised herself she’d not get sick. Still, she trembled as she wondered what it would be like to see that mutilated flesh. Viewed from the safety of the patrol car the riot was fascinating. As many innocents tried to get clear the panic engulfed them. She watched a policeman brought down and felt a touch of pity for him that was short lived. For soon she witnessed more uniforms merging on the crowd apparently unmindful of whose flesh their batons connected with. She heard the report of guns and screams that were louder than the general howl of the mob. She saw another officer stumble and she cheered.
By the time they reached their destination the boys’ group had grown. Some of their handcuffed friends along with older strangers were being unloaded at central booking and Jason Connors and Brian Fitzgerald were shoved in with the rest.
~~~
Brian wanted to sit down. His legs felt weak and his stomach ached and he wanted desperately to sit. He wanted to cover his head to hide his face and wipe his dripping nose. With his hands pinioned behind his back he couldn’t do either. All the years of TV and movies hadn’t prepared the youth for an actual arrest. The handcuffs hurt and he’d been smacked several times by who he wasn’t sure. Deirdre had warned them there was a chance they would be detained, but she doubted it would happen. And after all they were just kids.
Brian’s head was throbbing more from the incessant chatter of his friends than the blows he’d received. So he was almost grateful when the pompous black man, in wrinkled khaki, effectively shut them up. He did so with an expression that enforced his intention that, “You keep this shit up; you’re in for a rap in the nuts! Now one at a time, your full name and address. You first garbage mouth.” He pointed at Jason Connors.
Brian’s stare followed the booking sergeant’s glare to see blond and blue eyed Jason standing there shivering in nothing but the white swim trunks. His mouth, with all the phony blood staining his teeth and lips, made him look like he was bleeding internally or was a vampire. His cousin had been indulging in a bit of swearing, but Jason had been no more offensive than anyone else. It seemed rather mean spirited that Jason was being made to stand on display and no one offered him so much as a shirt. Brian remembered now how pissed off he’d been when Deirdre said Jason made a better ‘George Washington’ than he did, and a slight grin curved his mouth.
An officer pushed through the crowd. Brian recognized him as the sergeant who’d grabbed Deirdre. The officer draped a trench coat around Jason and stepped up to whisper something to the booking sergeant. Brian could see by the man’s expression whatever was said peeved him. But he only indicated with his pen pointing towards Brian and asked, “Your name Fitzgerald?” Brian nodded. “Go with this officer. The bathing beauty too.” He snickered as he indicated Jason.
Others aired a few loud complaints and the booking officer said, “We are weeding out the juveniles.”
~~~
While the boys were being forced to comply with police rituals, the girls were taken to another area. Deirdre O’Neill reacted to authority in her usual manner. The woman doing the talking wasn’t prepared for the girl. Screaming, crying, cursing, was what she expected as she said, “Okay honey, let’s see what kind of goodies you’re hiding? Strip down.”
No tears dimmed the purple eyes; nor did a whimper fill Deirdre’s throat. An evil grin creased her lips; and while the woman watched the face, Deirdre’s leg shot out implanting her booted foot in the guard’s shin. She grabbed the woman’s hair on both sides of her head and with the advantage of long legs was about to bring her knee up to meet the guard’s face. Another officer moved in and captured the violent youngster in a bear hug.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” Deirdre’s victim said and grabbed the front of the white jumpsuit and tore it open.
“Hey,” the other female guard yelped, “don’t tear everything. She’s only a kid—”
~~~
Andrea Nelson shoved past a group of male officers drawn to the commotion and entered the examination room. “Get your jollies some other way boys,” she said. “This one’s mine.” Her face showed apparent disgust as she informed them. “You fellows shock me—a little girl.”
There was a joint declaration. “They were having trouble with the prisoner.”
Andrea stepped inside the room in time to witness a half-naked young girl take an unnecessary blow. She could have made an issue of it; she should have made an issue of it… Michael O’Neill’s brat!
“Deirdre, now what kind of trouble have you managed to get yourself into?”
Chapter 44
New York, 1983
By 10:00am, Thomas Devlin had the coffee on for Ann Ryan, still asleep in his guest room. Ann had been camping out at his place for the past three days. Another childish argument with Michael O’Neill had decided her again that it was time to permanently end their relationship. Or so she informed Devlin.
Aware she most likely didn’t mean it, and while it ticked him off at times that Ann thought nothing of invading his privacy without warning, he never told her so. He was finishing his second cup of tea when his phone started ringing.
Devlin lifted the receiver. “Yes!”
“Tom?”
Recognizing the alarm in the man’s voice, Devlin’s tone became that of a big brother, always available and ready to assist. “Easy, John, what’s the problem?”
“Damn kids!” John Connors hissed. “Got into trouble with the police.”
“RJ?” John’s oldest son was Devlin’s first guess.
“Hell! No! Jason! And my cousin Bradley’s boy. The two O’Neill brats. A riot at the UN.”
“What in hell were they doing at the UN?”
“You think I know? Some damn protest. That Irish nonsense again. They claim Jason was running around bare-assed. Jesus, Tom, a cop was killed.”
“John, listen up,” Devlin ordered. “Don’t leave Washington. Don’t talk to anyone. Especially reporters until I sort this out. I’ll be in the city within the hour. Has O’Neill got wind of this?”
The clink of ice cubes accompanied the groan. “He had to be informed, after all they’re juveniles.”
“Don’t sweat it John. You stay under wraps in the Capital. I’ll get back to you. Where are they holding them?”
“Now what?” Ann resembled a child playing eavesdropper as she stood at the door catching his end of the conversation. Tom’s robe hung blanket-like on her five foot one, hundred pound body. Her short hair tousled from sleeping enhanced the impression that she was a little girl. The sight of her allowed him a small chuckle as he hung up.
“Coffee’s made but you are on your own luv. I’ve got a busy day.”
“John Connors, I can imagine.” Told him she overheard enough to guess who was on the other end of his phone line. “What could he possibly need this early?”
“Hey, Annie, hot things are happening. John’s kid got in a scrap with the police. You might want to get over to Mike’s. Seems Dede is involved in the same mess. Be a good time for you to give her daddy moral support.”
Ann was at the counter pouring coffee, she nearly dropped the pot as she spun back on Thomas. “What kind of trouble? My God, Dede’s not hurt?”
“I know only a little more than you.” Devlin considered a minute. “Better yet, get dressed and meet me at Central booking. O’Neill’s probably there already. Your playing the concerned ‘mommy role’ should score big time with Mike.”
~~~
The men taking up room in the chief of police’s office not only dealt with each other on a professional level, but often on a personal one too. Thomas Devlin attempted to keep the conversation informal. The chief and the DA, content to follow Devlin’s lead, kept to the first name only formula he had initiated.
“Phil,” Devlin addressed the chief. “These arrests aren’t up to par. The IGA had permits. And you can’t interfere with a non-violent group of youngsters putting on a stage show.”
“Tom, we have a dead policeman,” the DA said.
“And my sympathy, Mark. But according to excellent news footage, nothing illegal took place while the kids put on their performance. The crowd watched calmly, some bystanders were even seen laughing. No violence took place until Sergeant Sullivan’s squad was ordered by their captain to remove the actors. Even then the police removed Deirdre and the boys without incident. No problem arose until this officer…Reilly…proceeded to bodily drag Amy out of her paper boat, causing the little girl to panic.”
~~~
Andrea Nelson, the sole woman present, decided to upset the casual style. The ‘Good Old Boy’ and ‘Business as Usual’ attitudes she’d been subjected to since the incident had her level of irritation ready to flame. Incident! They didn’t even award Reilly’s death a proper term like murder.
Her fingers traced the edge of the folder she held. “Mr. Devlin, we are discussing a few unmanageable leaders. They maybe underage but these leaders present a danger to themselves and others.”
“You are insinuating, Miss Nelson, these dangerous criminals are my teenage clients? Children taken into custody without being informed of the reason for the arrest, without instant notification of their parents, subjected to some heavy-handed police treatment. Some interrogations without their guardians or legal representation—”
“Tom,” the DA cut in. “You know all procedures normally followed with juveniles were eventual adhered to.”
“Eventually, is the key word, Mark.”
“My department took charge of them Mr. Devlin,” Andrea Nelson said. “That’s what we are paid to do. I questioned them simply to gain information that would aid in helping them. They are facing some serious charges.”
“Miss Nelson,” Devlin answered. “Sergeant Sullivan has made it clear that none of the kids, taking part in the performance, were involved in the riot except perhaps Amy as a victim. The others were securely in police custody by the time things got out of hand. The kids were simply putting on show—you can’t arrest the actors just because you don’t like the play.”
The Captain shrugged. “What the hell, let them have some fun.”
~~~
Deirdre O’Neill, even at a tender sixteen, decked out in a skintight white body suite, trimmed in orange and green, helped the cause as she leaped on the stage. She drew the officers’ attention while others hurried the props into place. Against the back window of the truck a fair facsimile of a gallows soon rested. A thick roll of hemp lay curled on a box beside it. The bed of the truck was filled with what appeared to be gray rocks but a kick would have given away their paper construction.
Posters, depicting stonewalls and nearly naked bodies of brutalized young men—their lost eyes starting out from behind prison bars—were pasted on the stage vehicle and accompany van, which sported the signs IGA. Two actors left the van and climbed onto the stage dragging ‘George Washington’ behind them at the end of a rope. No doubt it was the good old boy though some changes had been made to his normally well-groomed attire.
Deirdre had done a marvelous job with grease paint. A blanket man ‘George’ alas Jason Connors, son of Senator John Connors, resembled a horribly brutalized victim of a sadist convention. His cousin Brian Fitzgerald and another young friend were dressed as the Redcoats dragging ‘George’ along.
Tiny blonde Amy O’Neill, decked out to portray the ‘Statue of Liberty’, then crawled into a cardboard boat wailing loudly, “I have no home.”
Deirdre O’Neill quickly recaptured the crowd’s interest as she spun to the center of the stage. Her copper hair blazed in the morning sunlight and her eyes flashed their strange deep purple.
“Who is she?” A reporter questioned Megan O’Donnell who only grinned and shrugged.
“Come on girl, give? What are they up to? You came on the bus with those kids.”
“Yep,” Megan admitted. “But I wasn’t prepared for this. I doubt any of the adults knew about this. The IGA must be getting a face lift.” Since she, herself, belonged to the ‘politically correct’ International Gaelic Association, which tended towards no more violence than the Friendly Sons of Saint Patrick, the actions taking place surprised her. A few years back, she’d become concerned about what some of the members were spouting, but that seemed to have tapered off. Or maybe she was just missing too many meetings. “I’m going to have to pay closer attention.”
“Hush!” Growled several people behind the small group of reporters. When so many years of similar protests resulted in nothing more than a bit of noise, the interest of the news media had dwindled.
~~~
Deirdre started with a low soft voice to draw the interest of the crowd. Her fingers snapped out a silent rhythm in tune with the movement of her body.
Dragged down the muddy lanes of London Town,
Aye, hear tell, in seventeen, seventy eight.
Her tone began to rise.
Blood dripped from countless vicious wounds
Whip, chain, and rope was the rebel’s fate.
Each step he took brought agonizing pain,
Yet, not yet, they would not let him die.
Each breath he drew, he prayed would be the last.
Her voice rose to a near scream as her eyes and arms lifted towards the sky.
Vengeance! He must upon the gallows hang so high!
On cue, ‘George’ alas the sixteen years old Jason Connors, slumped to his knees between his guards so they could yank him back up. He bit a blood capsule and the color ran from the side of his mouth causing a number of gasps from the audience that turned quickly to chuckles.
Deirdre swept her spread arms over the crowd.
Cast eyes ye worthless peasant! How slaves of law abound.
Reaching to the floor of the truck, she picked up a papier-mâché rock. Throwing it at the hapless ‘George’ she screamed,
BE QUICK! Toss sure your stones! Help bring the rebel down.
A group of other youngsters milling around the truck now played their roles as they began to throw the paper rocks they carried at poor ‘George’.
Deirdre allowed them just time to finish before she began again.
Rebels are not new; they took birth like any seed of man.
Since the first command ‘I am master!’
A few refused to bow before the tyrant’s hand.
She paused to pretend to wipe a shiny brow. Then perfect crystal tears, without crying, slid slowly down her cheeks.
The winners? Sure in all history have claimed the hero’s due—the honored name.
All the world rejoices with those who won the Patriot Game.
The losers? Aye the losers? Thrust in man-made cells.
Living death, unending death, Grant me death! The rebel yells.
Again Jason dropped to his knees biting several capsules so the blood poured from his mouth. And Deirdre turned to face him. Her voice a hoarse moaning as she continued:
Aye Washington, if these slave had seen how in the early morn,
They dragged you from a rebel cell to hang from a scaffold all beaten and torn.
If history then recalled your name, what different things it would chance to say.
‘No battles, no glory.’
She stooped to lift the curl of hemp from the box.
‘No American Independence Day!’
She started to drop her noose over poor ‘George’s’ head. Terry Sullivan, first officer on the stage, caught her wrists before she could complete the sacrilege.
“Fun is over girl,” Sullivan ordered. The rest of the police, who had moved quietly through the crowd, now swarmed on the truck as Sullivan lowered the star to waiting arms and jumped down to reclaim her.
The other officers were not nearly as gentle in ushering the boys. Jason tripped. His fake blood marked several unhappy bystanders whose yells started the protest. The audience quickly became loud and restless, drawing in other people from the streets.
“Laws in.” Megan O’Donnell grinned at the veteran news reporters, thrilled that because of her association with Thomas Devlin she was allowed to stand with them. “That’s it. Too bad it was fun and free.”
“Crowd’s not too happy,” a male reporter said. Another agreed. “Police busting in seemed uncalled for. I don’t think the mayor’s going to like what I write.”
~~~
Amy O’Neill, told by her cousin to stay put no matter what, was shaking and crying honestly now as Officer Reilly attempted to pull her from the boat. In a panic she began bawling and slapping at his hands. Complaints rippled through the crowd that was growing tense. When he was forced to haul up the tiny ‘Statue of Liberty’ kicking and squealing in the air, the crowd surged forward.
“Bastard!” The reaction of a tall ash-blond teenager and his companions was swift. They leapt onto the truck shoving Reilly aside in an attempt to rescue the girl. The tall youth’s knuckles split Reilly’s lip. The teenage jock, already a good ten pounds heavier than the skinny officer shoved him from the truck and the crowd surged over him…
Caged in, Deirdre huddled in the rear seat of a police car. She assured herself she was not afraid. Amy’s dead. I’ll bet she is…she chewed on her lip and squeezed her hands until the nails cut into her palms. Beaten to death by the police. What will Uncle Gordon do? He’d blame her. It was always her fault. She watched as Jason and Brian were pulled along and shoved into another police car. Although she missed the official sigh of relief when Jason lost his blanket and showed he had white swim trunks beneath, she stifled a laugh for the grease-paint wounds had become smeared and she thought he resembled a hot dog with all the fixings.
Brian’s carefully constructed uniform was in tatters; blood dripped from his nose unchecked for his wrists were locked in cuffs behind his back. Like Amy, the other ‘Redcoat’ was missing. Dale must be dead too, Deirdre decided as she watched the car pull away with her trapped comrades.
~~~
Forced to wait alone, she was sure to view her cousin’s body, she promised herself she’d not get sick. Still, she trembled as she wondered what it would be like to see that mutilated flesh. Viewed from the safety of the patrol car the riot was fascinating. As many innocents tried to get clear the panic engulfed them. She watched a policeman brought down and felt a touch of pity for him that was short lived. For soon she witnessed more uniforms merging on the crowd apparently unmindful of whose flesh their batons connected with. She heard the report of guns and screams that were louder than the general howl of the mob. She saw another officer stumble and she cheered.
By the time they reached their destination the boys’ group had grown. Some of their handcuffed friends along with older strangers were being unloaded at central booking and Jason Connors and Brian Fitzgerald were shoved in with the rest.
~~~
Brian wanted to sit down. His legs felt weak and his stomach ached and he wanted desperately to sit. He wanted to cover his head to hide his face and wipe his dripping nose. With his hands pinioned behind his back he couldn’t do either. All the years of TV and movies hadn’t prepared the youth for an actual arrest. The handcuffs hurt and he’d been smacked several times by who he wasn’t sure. Deirdre had warned them there was a chance they would be detained, but she doubted it would happen. And after all they were just kids.
Brian’s head was throbbing more from the incessant chatter of his friends than the blows he’d received. So he was almost grateful when the pompous black man, in wrinkled khaki, effectively shut them up. He did so with an expression that enforced his intention that, “You keep this shit up; you’re in for a rap in the nuts! Now one at a time, your full name and address. You first garbage mouth.” He pointed at Jason Connors.
Brian’s stare followed the booking sergeant’s glare to see blond and blue eyed Jason standing there shivering in nothing but the white swim trunks. His mouth, with all the phony blood staining his teeth and lips, made him look like he was bleeding internally or was a vampire. His cousin had been indulging in a bit of swearing, but Jason had been no more offensive than anyone else. It seemed rather mean spirited that Jason was being made to stand on display and no one offered him so much as a shirt. Brian remembered now how pissed off he’d been when Deirdre said Jason made a better ‘George Washington’ than he did, and a slight grin curved his mouth.
An officer pushed through the crowd. Brian recognized him as the sergeant who’d grabbed Deirdre. The officer draped a trench coat around Jason and stepped up to whisper something to the booking sergeant. Brian could see by the man’s expression whatever was said peeved him. But he only indicated with his pen pointing towards Brian and asked, “Your name Fitzgerald?” Brian nodded. “Go with this officer. The bathing beauty too.” He snickered as he indicated Jason.
Others aired a few loud complaints and the booking officer said, “We are weeding out the juveniles.”
~~~
While the boys were being forced to comply with police rituals, the girls were taken to another area. Deirdre O’Neill reacted to authority in her usual manner. The woman doing the talking wasn’t prepared for the girl. Screaming, crying, cursing, was what she expected as she said, “Okay honey, let’s see what kind of goodies you’re hiding? Strip down.”
No tears dimmed the purple eyes; nor did a whimper fill Deirdre’s throat. An evil grin creased her lips; and while the woman watched the face, Deirdre’s leg shot out implanting her booted foot in the guard’s shin. She grabbed the woman’s hair on both sides of her head and with the advantage of long legs was about to bring her knee up to meet the guard’s face. Another officer moved in and captured the violent youngster in a bear hug.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” Deirdre’s victim said and grabbed the front of the white jumpsuit and tore it open.
“Hey,” the other female guard yelped, “don’t tear everything. She’s only a kid—”
~~~
Andrea Nelson shoved past a group of male officers drawn to the commotion and entered the examination room. “Get your jollies some other way boys,” she said. “This one’s mine.” Her face showed apparent disgust as she informed them. “You fellows shock me—a little girl.”
There was a joint declaration. “They were having trouble with the prisoner.”
Andrea stepped inside the room in time to witness a half-naked young girl take an unnecessary blow. She could have made an issue of it; she should have made an issue of it… Michael O’Neill’s brat!
“Deirdre, now what kind of trouble have you managed to get yourself into?”
Chapter 44
New York, 1983
By 10:00am, Thomas Devlin had the coffee on for Ann Ryan, still asleep in his guest room. Ann had been camping out at his place for the past three days. Another childish argument with Michael O’Neill had decided her again that it was time to permanently end their relationship. Or so she informed Devlin.
Aware she most likely didn’t mean it, and while it ticked him off at times that Ann thought nothing of invading his privacy without warning, he never told her so. He was finishing his second cup of tea when his phone started ringing.
Devlin lifted the receiver. “Yes!”
“Tom?”
Recognizing the alarm in the man’s voice, Devlin’s tone became that of a big brother, always available and ready to assist. “Easy, John, what’s the problem?”
“Damn kids!” John Connors hissed. “Got into trouble with the police.”
“RJ?” John’s oldest son was Devlin’s first guess.
“Hell! No! Jason! And my cousin Bradley’s boy. The two O’Neill brats. A riot at the UN.”
“What in hell were they doing at the UN?”
“You think I know? Some damn protest. That Irish nonsense again. They claim Jason was running around bare-assed. Jesus, Tom, a cop was killed.”
“John, listen up,” Devlin ordered. “Don’t leave Washington. Don’t talk to anyone. Especially reporters until I sort this out. I’ll be in the city within the hour. Has O’Neill got wind of this?”
The clink of ice cubes accompanied the groan. “He had to be informed, after all they’re juveniles.”
“Don’t sweat it John. You stay under wraps in the Capital. I’ll get back to you. Where are they holding them?”
“Now what?” Ann resembled a child playing eavesdropper as she stood at the door catching his end of the conversation. Tom’s robe hung blanket-like on her five foot one, hundred pound body. Her short hair tousled from sleeping enhanced the impression that she was a little girl. The sight of her allowed him a small chuckle as he hung up.
“Coffee’s made but you are on your own luv. I’ve got a busy day.”
“John Connors, I can imagine.” Told him she overheard enough to guess who was on the other end of his phone line. “What could he possibly need this early?”
“Hey, Annie, hot things are happening. John’s kid got in a scrap with the police. You might want to get over to Mike’s. Seems Dede is involved in the same mess. Be a good time for you to give her daddy moral support.”
Ann was at the counter pouring coffee, she nearly dropped the pot as she spun back on Thomas. “What kind of trouble? My God, Dede’s not hurt?”
“I know only a little more than you.” Devlin considered a minute. “Better yet, get dressed and meet me at Central booking. O’Neill’s probably there already. Your playing the concerned ‘mommy role’ should score big time with Mike.”
~~~
The men taking up room in the chief of police’s office not only dealt with each other on a professional level, but often on a personal one too. Thomas Devlin attempted to keep the conversation informal. The chief and the DA, content to follow Devlin’s lead, kept to the first name only formula he had initiated.
“Phil,” Devlin addressed the chief. “These arrests aren’t up to par. The IGA had permits. And you can’t interfere with a non-violent group of youngsters putting on a stage show.”
“Tom, we have a dead policeman,” the DA said.
“And my sympathy, Mark. But according to excellent news footage, nothing illegal took place while the kids put on their performance. The crowd watched calmly, some bystanders were even seen laughing. No violence took place until Sergeant Sullivan’s squad was ordered by their captain to remove the actors. Even then the police removed Deirdre and the boys without incident. No problem arose until this officer…Reilly…proceeded to bodily drag Amy out of her paper boat, causing the little girl to panic.”
~~~
Andrea Nelson, the sole woman present, decided to upset the casual style. The ‘Good Old Boy’ and ‘Business as Usual’ attitudes she’d been subjected to since the incident had her level of irritation ready to flame. Incident! They didn’t even award Reilly’s death a proper term like murder.
Her fingers traced the edge of the folder she held. “Mr. Devlin, we are discussing a few unmanageable leaders. They maybe underage but these leaders present a danger to themselves and others.”
“You are insinuating, Miss Nelson, these dangerous criminals are my teenage clients? Children taken into custody without being informed of the reason for the arrest, without instant notification of their parents, subjected to some heavy-handed police treatment. Some interrogations without their guardians or legal representation—”
“Tom,” the DA cut in. “You know all procedures normally followed with juveniles were eventual adhered to.”
“Eventually, is the key word, Mark.”
“My department took charge of them Mr. Devlin,” Andrea Nelson said. “That’s what we are paid to do. I questioned them simply to gain information that would aid in helping them. They are facing some serious charges.”
“Miss Nelson,” Devlin answered. “Sergeant Sullivan has made it clear that none of the kids, taking part in the performance, were involved in the riot except perhaps Amy as a victim. The others were securely in police custody by the time things got out of hand. The kids were simply putting on show—you can’t arrest the actors just because you don’t like the play.”
