A reason to kill, p.66
A Reason To Kill, page 66
“What, you now are telling this court is in fact you are unable to identify the accused girl? All you seem capable of identifying is a photo the Army showed you? More than six months after the fact?”
“Objection!” It came too late.
~~~
Brendan Monaghan had just finished giving his testimony concerning the bombing of his pub, Comford tossed the question, “How long have you known the young defendant Deirdre O’Neill?”
“Since before she could toddle.”
“Then is it at all possible, this youngster, who you’ve known all her life, could have been present in your establishment and you not recognize her?”
“ ‘Bout as likely as ice not melting in hot water.”
There was a rich smattering of laughter coming from the gallery, and the bark of an angry judge…
~~~
“What are you doing?” The uniformed female made a dash for the girl. Deirdre flung the hairbrush she was holding but it fell short and didn’t stop the woman. The girl’s fingers closed around a water glass and she smashed it. The guard stopped. The girl’s lips creased into a vicious smile as she pointed the sharp edges.
“Put it down!” The guard seethed in controlled anger.
“Come take it.” Deirdre wiggled the broken glass.
Her palms sweat. The temptation was strong for she’d handled the likes of these bitches for years—and this one was terribly weakened by starvation. The Yankee bitch was a criminal yet she’d been forced to treat her like the bloody Queen. Then common sense took hold and the officer’s tone dropped to a coaxing, “Lass, I’ve only come to help you dress—put the glass down.”
“Screw you. I put it down; you get your gun off by knocking me about, and then scream I attacked you. You want it?” Deirdre twisted the weapon menacingly as she offered, “Come take it?”
~~~
Without warning he came through the door, took in the situation, and went for the frail body. His fingers closed on the thin wrist and he bent her arm until the deadly glass edges pointed at Deirdre’s own throat. He held it there—only a slight upward shove and she would be dead. “Drop it!” He ordered. Her eyes glazed and her head fell back as the broken glass tumbled from her grasp. Scooping up the unconscious body, he tossed it on the bed. “Get the doctor. We can write off this court appearance.”
“Colonel, sir.”
“This should never have happened. You were careless, sergeant.
~~~
As Colonel Oliver Reed presided over the others into the conference room, he remarked. “They are going to cheat the rope.”
“And that would bother you,” Inspector Dan Mitchell asked as a knowing grin surfaced. He knew the military’s desire to enforce the new Terrorist Act and gain an execution verdict, came from the mistaken belief that the conviction of these teenagers, even if the death sentences were never carried out, would put a hell of a scare in older far more dangerous adversaries.
Reed wouldn’t admit this, he only shrugged. “Dead is dead.”
But the prosecutor said, “I disagree. This, gentlemen, is a test case—something one is rarely rewarded with. If we can convict two wealthy foreign teenagers, with all that money and power behind them, we will prove that the new Terrorist Act is viable.”
“What if they’re innocent?” the inspector asked.
“That has become unimportant, Dan. It may sound heartless but now only a complete victory is important. Once we committed ourselves to this game we had to win or become another laughable page in history.”
“The consensus is we’re not winning,” Mitchell said.
“Even a blind beggar can see that. The Army’s prime witnesses are folding faster than dropped hankies.”
Reed came to his own defense. “It’s Comford’s glib tongue. He makes them contradict their own testimony.”
“If he can do that to our witnesses?” The prosecutor reminded. “Can you imagine the defense he’s going to present?” This was sparked with a touch of admiration for their adversary. “Would you care for a brandy?” He moved to a locked cupboard with the remarked, “since the Army has finished our day in court.”
Reed didn’t defend his action only said, “I wouldn’t think you would be overly concerned with the defense?”
“My concern is how I win. Dan?” He turned to hand Mitchell a drink.
“We need the testimony of Deirdre’s other playmates.”
“Sorry, can’t help there, I never thought I’d say this but it has become impossible. After I grabbed Dede, the O’Neills put a tight wrap on little Amy and the Carey boy. It would take an invasion to get even close to the Fitzgerald kid. We’ve picked up a pack of others, but nothing they know seems useful. We still have Kevin Henry’s tapes?”
“For what good they are. Even if we could get Ryan Martin, Kevin’s guardian, to allow him to testify, which we can’t without arresting the boy, Kevin’s condition like those tapes would be perilous. They clear Sean and make Deirdre O’Neill look like a mischievous child. I need those American teenagers.”
“There’s a fair chance Comford will use their testimony, allowing you a crack at them.”
“Wise little Yanks.” He said with a confident smile. “I could turn them inside out. Their own use of language could destroy them in an English court. There is someone who might be able to help?” It was more a consideration than a question to Mitchell. “He could spin O’Neill’s cunning ploys into a rope to hang his granddaughter. He might even be able to help us fashion a muzzle for that faggot son-in-law of the old man’s? You could get him for us, Dan.” This drew a questioning nod. “Garth Jeffers Monroe? He’s burned The O’Neill’s ass in many a conflict.”
“You’re balmy. Garth, help the Army. Did you forget they killed his child?”
“An accident.” He gave a casual shrug. “Perhaps understood by now and he can place the blame at Deirdre’s doorstep where it properly belongs. You two were close?”
“Once. I haven’t gone near him since Bridget’s death. I worry about another accident—namely mine.”
But the prosecutor wasn’t apparently listening as he went on. “If he would testify how the wretched games of the IGA got his daughter killed. We need to bring the IGA into court.”
“What do you think is sitting in your court room every day?” Reed looked surprised. “The young people that keep showing up from a dozen different countries aren’t the junior members of the UN.”
“They maybe IGA.” The Prosecutor admitted. “But ask the Inspector why we’re not contacting any of them.”
“Those young people were carefully chosen.” Mitchell shrugged. “Not a damn one of them, not even the Aussies or South Africans, have any connection what’s so ever to either defendant or the Island its self. We’re watching them close. We think they’ve been imported to make trouble. Especially, if there’s a conviction.”
Chapter 120
London, 1985
The grand opening, so hawked by the news media, had begun to fizzle. Instead of the strong smell of an arena, with the law dragging its cringing captives to feed the blood lust of the crowd, the stink of wordy games was causing interest to dwindle. This morning a seemingly willing Crown witness had testified.
Comford had now taken over and Doctor Roger Monaghan was responding.
“When I was recruited to care for a badly injured Sean O’Donnell, first by the Army then by the convincing request of the muzzle end of a thirty eight, to my knowledge the lad was no longer considered a fugitive. In fact the Army was convinced Sean was not involved in any of the malicious mischief of the IGA.”
“Deirdre O’Neill, however,” Comford coaxed, “was supposedly involved in terrorist activities?”
This brought a slight grin and the admission, “Known Dede since she was a babe. She loves to brag.” Tales allowed because they were given mouth to ear by the accused and appeared to strengthen the prosecution’s case against her soon brought out the story of the British flag waving a top the Dublin monument. “No, I didn’t see any real crime in what the kids did at that time. I wasn’t there the night they switch flags, so I didn’t report it. They did it to insult those they called the Dublin flunkies for allowing the British Army hot pursuit across the border.”
Above the chuckling audience the gravel banged loudly.
~~~
As his brain ceased to recognize his peril, he took only a mild interest in the court proceedings. ‘No more drugs’ they threatened in hopes the pains of shrinking organs would break him before he withered beyond repair. ‘No more drugs’, his Uncle decreed, if you want to kill yourself, we’ll not make it easy. Acid worked its way up from his empty stomach to his lips—weakly he wiped it away with the back of his hand.
The prosecutor’s voice was raspy in his ears.
“Miss Brennan? On the night of the bombing you received a phone call? Tell the court who it was from?”
“Sean?”
“Sean O’Donnell, the defendant, is that correct?”
“Yes sir, it was from Sean O’Donnell.”
“Will you relate that conversation?”
“Sure, Sean called sometime before ten. Told me a parcel of Brits had been blown up. The Army was ripping up the city. Liftin’ all the lads. Said his car might draw them and they’d be all over him. Guess he was ‘fraid of a hammerin’. Asked if I’d take a bus come morning and fetch his car.”
“And did you?”
“Sure, I’d driven his car plenty of times.”
“Where did you locate the car?”
“Right there at the bus station.”
“How far was that station from Monaghan’s?”
“Couple blocks.”
Weren’t really my car, Sean O’Donnell thought, weren’t nothing ever mine. Pretty thing, red over white and up ta the year. Davy gave it to me. Gas was bubbling in his stomach and he sniggered at the vulgar sound. Then in a whisper he began a soft humming chant.
Hang ‘em high, Molly girl, hang ‘em high.
Soon another voice was crackling in his ears, “Miss Brennan? How close were you with Sean O’Donnell?”
“We were friends.”
“Friends? Friends?” Charles Comford shook his head as if dismayed. Then he came back with a sympathetic moan. “Isn’t it more the truth you were lovers? Lovers!” This halted the girl’s response. “Until Deirdre O’Neill came into his life. She replaced you? Be honest Molly.”
“All right. I loved Sean but I didn’t sleep with him.”
“Molly, we are not trying to judge you. Only your motives come into question. Isn’t it true, you planned to marry Sean O’Donnell?” He went on so rapidly she had no time to respond. “Wasn’t your father often bragging about such an occurrence?”
The prisoner began the plaintive moaning again,
Hang ‘em high, Molly, girl, watch ‘em die…
His song ended abruptly against the wide palm of a court officer. “Hush lad.” The man quietly ordered and Sean took to concentrating on his protesting inner organs. A tiny pain really but sharper than the rest was poking to right of his left nipple. His raised his hand to rub at it; the guard shoved it down.
“Smoke,’ Sean whimpered.
“Smoke.” The next witness declared. “He darn sure smelled of smoke.”
“What time was he at your establishment?”
“ ‘Bout half nine.”
“How long do you estimate he remained?”
“Not long, maybe five minutes. Just sorta checked everybody over. Left his pint and high tailed it.”
How ‘ard is my fortune.
So weak and low was the tone that no disturbing sound interrupted the trial. The guard frowned but left the prisoner to his moaning.
Bile swirled into Sean’s mouth and automatically he gulped. His stomach complained and it welled back up to drip from the corner of his mouth as he whimpered on:
~~~
Several news people nearby overheard the plaintive song and scribbled in their notes. So after an explanation, the song its self was played on the evening news.
~~~
The next morning in court and Sean’s words, as he tried in vain to make his foggy memory work, became a gray hiss. “My name is? My name? Michael? Gaughan,” He giggled softly with success.
Pity surfaced on the faces of even hard men in the courtroom. Sean sucked weakly at a burning pain. It had become difficult to remember words but he struggled.
Saw my people suffering swore ta break the chains…
The prosecution’s request that the prisoners no longer be admitted to court was quickly argued against by the defense.
“Mr. Parker Connelly?” Comford seemed to emphasize the man’s last name. Then he turned towards the pathetic youth in the dock as he threw the question back. “You, Mr. Connelly, I take it, are well acquainted with Sean O’Donnell? He was a regular at your establishment?”
“Nay, but I’d seen him a time or two.”
“Where?” Comford barked as he spun back on the witness. “The telly?” and the audience erupted in laughter over the bellow of the Prosecutor.
As if influenced by the noise the young voice gained power.
The black flag was hoisted, the cruel deed was over…
The guard’s palm slapped over the offending mouth. Sean gagged. Fingers of hot pain clutched at his chest and he crumbled in full view to the floor, so it appeared the guard had slugged him.
A timid sound quivered in the air as the prisoner was carted off.
The four courts of Dublin the English bombarded.
It strengthened and rose in volume as other voices took up the challenge.
The spirit for freedom they tried hard to quell…
The gavel banged uselessly as the song swelled louder,
Above all the din came the cry, NO SURRENDER! t’was the voice of James Connelly the Irish Reb…bel…”
~~~
Seamus O’Donnell had struggled desperately through the crowd only to discover he was too late.
“Took him to hospital.” A clerk informed.
“Fuckin’ nonsense,” Michael O’Neill growled as he dragged Thomas Devlin behind him while he and O’Donnell forced their large bodies through the near rioting crowd. He shoved aside a reporter who said, “Good script!” as they made a dash for their car.
As Seamus O’Donnell dropped into the rear seat he swore. “Damn! The lad is eating this shit up! They got him believing he’s a bloody hero.”
“We’ve got to put a stop to it.” Michael O’Neill growled. “Before they’re both dead. Give in, Tom, I want a closed court.”
“No! They’ll beat us in a closed session. We have to keep performing for the audience or we’ll lose the kids anyway.”
“Fucking lot of good this show’s going to do us, if our kids starve to death before it’s over!” O’Neill deliberately spun the car in the direction of several converging news cameramen.
“Hay,” Devlin yelped. “Those boys are on our side.” And O’Neill turned in time to miss the scurrying creatures.
Chapter 121
London, 1985
Every morning he appeared and stayed throughout the day. The same poorly cut dark suit hung on his large frame and only the color of his shirts varied from time to time. Soon he became conspicuous by his continuing presence. A growing curiosity for the big man, whose coppery hair and thick beard were pale now with the infusion of grey and white hairs, plagued Seamus O’Donnell. “It’s Colin.” He decided.
“Nonsense.” Devlin gave a sharp laugh when Seamus made the declaration. “Your brother’s liver would have done him in years ago.”
“Suppose it is?” Michael O’Neill, once close with Colin O’Donnell, was of a different mind. “Leave him be. If he wants to contact us he will. If he’s jeopardized himself in concern for his son, we’ve no call to give him away.”
“His son?” Seamus took the heat. “He’s no claim on the lad!” And he shoved by them growling, “I’ll be seeing he stakes none.”
In the rear of the courtroom two brothers were soon staring at each other over a fifteen-year gap that hadn’t softened the hate. “Colin!” Seamus spit out.
“Ya got the wrong bloke.”
“Like hell!”
And Devlin, at Seamus’ back, ordered, “Take it outside.”
Obediently, Colin O’Donnell rose and shoved by his brother while mumbling, “Don’t know what the fuck’s a matter with ya?”
~~~
An icy rain froze in their hair causing glistening highlights while its sting flushed their fair skin. Pulling up collars, their shoulder brushed evenly as they moved rapidly away from the courthouse. “Baby brother’s still lookin’ ta find the way ta hell?” Colin O’Donnell sneered into the wind.
“You’re dead!” Seamus O’Donnell growled. “You crawled under the earth years ago. To Sean you’re dead. To young Colin you were dead before he could remember your face.”
“Aye, mate, I died before he was born. I was dead from the night my fuckin’ brother stole my bed. Maybe, lad, you thought I didn’t know?” Seamus turned to glare but it was his own eyes that dropped as his brother continued. “Seen it coming, I did. Beth was all motherly to ya. Hugging, petting, motherly shit! I was an old bloke ta her; you was the prize young stud. Then damn didn’t she come wiggling her ass at me like a bitch in heat.”
“Keep your filthy mouth off Beth.” Seamus shoved and because it was unexpected Colin staggered into the railing. “She wanted no part of a drunken slob. She did it to protect the child.”
Righting himself Colin sneered. “Sure, but I knew that. Took the offering anyway.” His younger brother’s face grew richer with color. “How’s it set to know I baptized your bastard with my sperm you cuckold!”
Seamus’ fist bounced off the heavy beard. In expectation Colin rolled with the punch. Quickly bracing himself he came back in a crouch; his fists hammered into the chest and belly as his brother attempted to cover up.
