Bad Catholics (21 page)

Jimmy waited. The rambling finally ceased, the old man sat still and silent.

‘The next thing I want, Father, will mean a phone call. I want to meet somebody.'

‘I don't know anybody any more.' The old man's mind had clouded over again. He picked up his glass.

‘You know people, it was knowing these people that got you put away.'

The old man put down his drink.

Suddenly, there was the banging in the night at the presbytery door and the respected parish priest taken away while Special Branch officers looked on.

He had upheld the just struggle of his people against a foreign tyrant and their secret police had taken him away.

It had been the beginning of his own personal Calvary and Crucifixion and it had been the beginning of the end of his priesthood. He saw again for the thousandth time the descent of the priest-scholar to the alcoholic outcast, living on the charity of the community where he had once served and been respected.

‘You still know people, they keep in touch. I need them to save an innocent life. It really is a Just War this time, Father.'

The old man held out his hand. ‘Give me the money for the phone and get me a Jamieson's, a big one.'

‘You remember me, Father? Jimmy Costello. You know who to tell them it is?'

The old man stood up and looked at him. ‘I remember you, Jimmy. You were the best boxer and the worst fucking altar server I ever had.'

Jimmy smiled and the old man stumbled off. Jimmy waited. The old man returned after a short time.

‘Take down this name and number while I can still say

it.'

Jimmy took out a pen and paper and wrote a name and phone number.

‘Are you sure about this?'

‘I'm not sure about anything but that's all you'll get from me. That name and number won't mean anything to anyone else and I've already forgotten them.'

Jimmy stood up. He went to the bar and bought the Irish whiskey and put it on the table.

‘There'll be a couple of drinks at the bar each day for the rest of the week, Father.'

But the old man had begun his drink and was already far away in the wild west country of Ireland, a young boy surrounded by beauty with a heart burning with a love of God and his native country.

Jimmy left the pub and found a phone box, where he spoke to Sister Philomena. They arranged to meet at a Tube station and go on together to see Mr Amhurst.

‘By the way, Jimmy, you had another visitor.'

‘Police?'

‘No, not police and not the same man as before, not your businessman.'

Philomena gave a brief description.

‘Yes, I know him.' Jimmy put the phone down. Things were moving fast now. He was running out of time. He looked at the scrap of paper and dialled the number and asked the voice that answered for the name on the paper.

Kilburn, May 1976

‘Fancy a pint?'

Why not? thought Jimmy. He didn't like Eddy Clarke much but he felt like a pint. It had been a long, difficult day. ‘OK. The club?'

‘No, let's go to The Sun, it'll be quiet there and no coppers, eh?' Eddy tried to laugh but it didn't quite come off.

‘OK, have it your way. The Sun and no coppers.'

They went out of the station and walked in silence to the back street where The Sun Inn was located. It was small and clean with good beer. Jimmy had been in a few times. It was a place you could talk without being overheard. They went in.

‘My shout.' Eddy made to go to the bar but Jimmy caught his arm.

‘No, Eddy, when someone sells me information, I get the first round.'

Eddy tried to look surprised, but that didn't quite come off either.

‘Tell me I'm wrong.'

‘All right, Jimmy, a pint.'

Jimmy brought the drinks to the table and sat down.

Eddy picked up his pint. ‘Cheers.'

Jimmy took a drink, but he didn't say cheers. ‘Let's have it then, and I'll see what it's worth.'

Eddy tried to look offended, but gave it up.

‘I saw some papers yesterday, I thought you might be interested in what they were about. Special Branch have got that Irish priest friend of yours under surveillance.'

He stopped there and took a drink.

Jimmy took a drink. ‘That's it, nothing else?'

‘It's enough. You know what Special Branch watching someone with an Irish connection means. It doesn't need spelling out, does it?'

Jimmy thought. No, it didn't need spelling out. ‘Special Branch don't leave those sort of papers lying about.'

Eddy took a drink. ‘Well, Jimmy, you know, they were sort of lying about.'

‘In an unattended brief case?'

‘Sort of, what's the difference? I know and now I'm telling you. It can't be bent info, what good would that do anybody? I'm telling you as a favour, stay away from him. If he goes down it will make a big splash, big enough to get serious questions asked about anybody on the surveillance pictures. Just go to another church and another priest if you need one. There's plenty about.'

Jimmy considered the advice. Eddy was right, this information was no good. The only way it could be used was to tip off the IRA or Father Liam himself and anyone would have to be mad to try to do either. Surveillance of IRA suspects was top priority and total.

‘OK, Eddy, thanks for the info but why bring it to me?'

‘I know he's a friend of yours, he married you and Bernie, didn't he? I thought you'd want to know to keep out of the way.'

‘And the price, Eddy?'

At first Eddy was going to laugh but he didn't and he didn't try to look surprised or offended either. He just said, ‘You'll think of something, no hurry.' He finished his pint. ‘Another?'

Jimmy shook his head.

‘No, neither will I.' Eddy got up. ‘I think I'll be going. See you, Jimmy.'

As he left, two men came in and went to the bar, got their beer, and went to a table on the other side of the room. Jimmy sat and turned over what Eddy had told him. He didn't know why he had come to him. Maybe it was because he couldn't go to anyone else. IRA info only interested Special Branch and the IRA themselves and, of course, the Security Services, who were about as trustworthy as a whore with your wallet. Poor old Eddy, some really valuable material comes his way and the only people who would pay the market price were terrorist psychos or spook psychos, and as it probably came from the spooks, it had to be the IRA or nothing. Eddy didn't have the bottle to try finding the IRA, never mind trying to sell them anything. So he has to take what he could get from me, poor sod, just a favour if and when.

Then Jimmy began to turn it all over slowly again. He didn't like it, it was wrong. Somehow it was wrong. This kind of info was the very hardest to come by, yet according to Eddy someone had left it lying around. That didn't work. Eddy had no contacts who might let something like this slip so where did it come from? Someone had to have given it to him for a reason. If there was no one else he could go to then he brings it to me and gives it to me as a favour, because I know the priest. Now that didn't work. But if the info was true and it was given to Eddy to pass on, there had to be a reason.

What was it all about? A light began to dawn.

What if someone, someone with real clout, was making damn sure that a humble DS didn't pick up the kind of Special Branch black mark that put the stopper on any chance of promotion. Did that work? What if whoever had given the priest to Special Branch had given the information to Eddy Clarke and pointed him straight at me. Was someone looking after him? Was he already in someone's pocket and they wanted to make sure he could move right on up? Jimmy didn't like where his thinking was taking him. He took his empty glass back to the bar and left.

That Sunday Father Liam was outside church after Mass as usual, shaking hands and talking to people. He was greatly loved by the people, he brought such a breath of joy as parish priest now that Father McGinty had finally retired. Jimmy, Bernadette, and the two children regularly came to this Mass and always had a few words with him as they left church.

‘Good sermon, Father, I managed to pay attention till almost halfway through.'

The priest laughed. ‘It must have been good to keep your interest that long, Jimmy.'

‘Special Branch are watching you.'

Jimmy's face hadn't changed, the smile was still there but his voice had dropped so only Father Liam heard clearly. The priest's face changed but Jimmy said quickly, ‘I try to listen, Father, but you know how it is, the spirit isn't very willing and the flesh is worse.'

The priest laughed again, he was used to making his actions suit the occasion. You don't bury people's parents or grandparents twice a week, marry the young on Saturday and baptise babies on Sunday without learning to make your face fit the occasion and keep your own feelings to yourself.

‘Next week I'll preach on football, racing, and the television.'

‘I'll try to listen, Father, but no promises.'

Jimmy and Bernie walked away from him and another couple took their place.

‘Did you say something to him, Jimmy?' Bernadette asked.

‘Nothing important, Bernie, a bit of police info he needs.'

Bernadette collected Michael and Eileen, who had been talking to friends. She didn't like it. She didn't disbelieve Jimmy but it was all wrong. Jimmy didn't bring police work home and he would never take it to Mass on Sunday. Jimmy kept home and work very separate and home included Father Liam.

She thought about it as they walked, then she decided she didn't want to know. It was Jimmy's world not hers.

‘Lunch at half past?' she asked. Sunday lunch was always at half past. It was her way of saying, ‘I don't want to know.'

‘Yes, lunch at half past is fine.'

It was his way of saying, ‘I know you don't.'

In the darkness, an unmarked police car was cruising the busy night-time street. The two detectives in the car were part of a squad trying to get a quick result on a series of smash and grab raids carried out around this time on jewellers in the area, which the press had decided to feature. Three armed robberies and the police with nothing to go on frightened people and made the police look foolish. Cruising the streets was a waste of police time but at least it meant the press release could say, ‘our officers are out there', and that made people feel better. They had good descriptions of the robbers and there was every reason to believe they would push their luck and do another job soon. They were just idiots who had been lucky. They would push their luck one job too far.

‘Pull in.'

The detective constable driving the car pulled into the side of the road. Jimmy, in the passenger seat, looked at his watch.

‘Is it half past ten?'

‘Nearly.'

‘Look back there at those kids in that doorway, how old do you reckon they are?'

The DC looked. ‘Eleven, twelve. Why?'

‘What are they doing hanging about at this time?'

‘Who cares? Leave it alone. If they're up to something, we don't want to know. Nicking kids, it's twice the time and paperwork and there's nothing at the end of it. Besides, we've got work to do.'

‘Come on.'

‘Not me, I told you, I'm not interested.'

Jimmy got out of the car alone and walked over to the kids. The driver watched him talking to them, then all three came back to the car. The kids got into the back and Jimmy got into the front. Closer up, the older one may have been about thirteen but the younger one was no more than eleven.

It was the older one who said, ‘We going to have fun then? Cost you a tenner each.'

The DC turned to Jimmy.

‘Fucking hell, what are you up to?'

‘Get going, back to the nick.'

‘Let us out,' shouted the older kid, ‘we didn't know you was fucking coppers. You can't take us in.'

The younger kid looked frightened. Jimmy turned to them. ‘We'll take you to the station till we can get you home safely. We just want to know who you are.'

‘It won't do you no good, we belong to Denny Morris. Denny won't let you do anything to us,' the older boy smirked, ‘not unless you pay,' and he began to giggle in an unpleasant way.

The DC shrugged his shoulders and began to drive. Jimmy radioed in. He wanted a social worker, a doctor, two WPCs and two interview rooms kept available.

When they got to the station the two boys were taken to the canteen by the WPCs. While he waited for the social worker and doctor to arrive, Jimmy began the paperwork. His partner looked on, clearly unsettled.

Quite soon, one of the WPCs came into the office.

‘We've got names and addresses.' She handed Jimmy a piece of paper.

‘Get on with it, then. I want the parents here as soon as you can.' Jimmy put the paper in his pocket and the WPC left.

The DC closed the door. He looked worried.

‘Look, kids that age don't throw Denny's name about, not unless they really do belong to him, which means we've run into something of his. Why don't you slow down until we know what it is?'

‘Don't you know what it is, Andy? Have you got to put your fucking nose in it before you can smell it's shit? Those kids are on the game.'

The DC came and sat on the edge of the desk opposite Jimmy. ‘So? Since Lenny Monk joined the angels, Denny runs everything round here including the sex trade. You know that, why is this different?'

‘It's different.'

Andy tried for a short while but then gave up. There was no reasoning with Jimmy when he got like this. He got up and went towards the door.

Jimmy called to him. ‘Hang on.'

Andy stopped.

Jimmy got up from the desk and crossed the room.

‘Try to leave this office and I'll put you down.'

‘Don't fucking threaten me, Costello.'