A Fool for a Client (16 page)

The heavy was now tying his legs to the castors of the armchair.

“I don
’
t
know
where he is.
He
finds
me
when he needs me.
I never know where he is.
You know how paranoid he gets.”

“Yes,” said Veronica.
“And we also know how you
’
re scared shitless of him and wouldn
’
t want him to know that you betrayed him.
That
’
s why you wouldn
’
t tell us where he was even if you knew it.
But that
’
s also why we have to ask
you
these questions.”

“But how can I answer them, when I don
’
t know the answer me-self?”

“We think you do, Padraig,” said Veronica, and we have to find out.
We mean you no harm, but we have to find out who, when and where.”

The larger of the two IRA men was now rolling up his left trouser leg while the other was opening a case.
As the bigger man stepped aside, the other took out an object shaped vaguely like a gun.
But it wasn
’
t a gun: it was an electric drill.”

Padraig
’
s eyes filled up with tears and his stomach was torn by terror as he realized what was about to happen.”

“I
’
m telling you the truth!
I don
’
t know what he
’
s planning.”

“We can do this the easy way or we can do it the hard way,” said Veronica. “But one way or another you
’
ll give us the truth.”

The heavy was plugging in the drill and switching it on...

“I
’
m telling you the truth!” Padraig screamed.
“Declan told he was going to send some one else, but he didn
’
t say who!
He only said he wasn
’
t sending me
‘
cause I wasn
’
t up to the job.
He said something about getting a real man!”

The IRA man with the electric drill was now advancing towards him, a murderous gleam in his eyes.

“You know Declan never had much respect for me!
He treated me as his lap dog but he never confided in me!”

“Last chance before the pain begins,” said Veronica.

“Please!
God help me, I know nothing!”

The heavy behind him clamped a sock in his mouth and taped it over.

“You know the drill,” said Veronica, before adding “excuse the pun,” with a pang of guilt.
“When you want to talk just nod your head and we
’
ll give you a chance.
But if you don
’
t talk you get it worse the next time.”

He was frantically nodding his head already.

“It
’
s late now,” said Veronica.
“I gave you your last chance before the gag was put in place.
The rule is once the gag is in place you get one dose of the pain and then you get the chance to talk again.”

His head was shaking frantically from side to side and the tears were streaming down his face in anticipation of the searing agony.
The drill advanced towards his left kneecap.
He tried to free his leg but it was secured firmly by the ropes.
The drill made contact with his knee, cutting into the bone and sending a spasm of unbearable agony up his body to his brain.”

Even through the gag he emitted a heart-rending cry of pain.
But to his interrogators, heart-rending was a concept devoid of meaning.
The smaller IRA man pulled off the tape.
Padraig spat out the sock and coughed as he gasped for air.
He was choking on his tears of torment, knowing that the pain was beyond endurance, knowing that he may well have suffered permanent damage already, and knowing that after this he would have to go into hiding lest INLA kill him in the most painful fashion for the act of treachery he was about to commit.

“It
’
s Declan himself!” he cried in desperation.
“It
’
s Declan himself!”

“What do you mean?” asked Veronica for clarification.

“I mean it
’
s Declan himself.
He said he was going there to do the job himself because he couldn
’
t trust anyone to get it right.”

“I don
’
t believe you,” said Veronica, unsure of whether to believe him or not, but determined to test him.

“It
’
s the truth I
’
m telling you!” he screamed, terrified at the prospect of another rendezvous with the drill.
“That
’
s why you haven
’
t been able to find him.
He
’
s gone there already.”

“How can you contact him?” asked Veronica.

“I can
’
t.
He made sure not to leave a trail.”

By this stage, Veronica believed him.
She knew that he had hit the fear barrier as well as the pain barrier, the point beyond which interrogees can no longer hold out.
She had seen it before in the other interrogations which she had witnessed or supervised.
This was a man who wanted nothing more than to avoid further suffering and get out of the room with his life intact.

“OK,” said Veronica to the others.
He doesn
’
t know anything more.”

“Are you sure?” asked the bigger one.

“Positive,” said Veronica.
“We
’
ll have to track down Declan directly, using our airport contacts.
If he was stupid enough to use his own name.
But in any case if you
’
ve got pictures then we should be able to find him.”

“So what do we do with him?” asked the big one, shoving Padraig on the shoulder blade.

“He says he doesn
’
t know how to contact Declan and he
’
s probably telling truth.
But Declan might contact him and he might talk.
Deal with him.
I need some fresh air.”

With that, Veronica
McLaughlin
left the room.

“Pleeeease!
I swear on my mother
’
s grave I won
’
t tell him a blessed thing!”

The smaller IRA man was fitting a silencer to a point thirty eight, while the bigger man was refitting the gag, choking Padraig
’
s final pathetic plea for his life.
Strictl
y speaking only a point two
can be effectively silenced, but with a two-two the danger was that the bullet would lodge in the brain without actually killing the man, leaving him a vegetable.
With a forty five there was a danger of a high velocity exit, as well as a noise that might attract attention.
For indoor executions, the thirty represented the ideal compromise.
The smaller man picked up a cushion from the sofa and held it to Padraig
’
s head.
Then, pushing the gun right into the cushion and aiming it at Padraig
’
s temple he squeezed the trigge
r and fired off a single shot.

Padraig
’
s head recoiled and then lolled limp against his shoulder as his body drooped sideways as far as the ropes that bound him to the chair allowed.

“When I first saw Murphy he was in an extremely agitated state.”

Abrams
’
after-lunch witness was Bernard Stern, the doctor who had treated Murphy at the hospital.

The courtroom was even more crowded now than at the start of the trial.
The press coverage of the early sessions, the fact that Justine was conducting her own defence, the drama of a young woman on trial for murder, and a medical student at that, all made for the kind of living drama that drew the crowds, and the public interest was growing, in tune with the media publicity.

“Could you elaborate?” asked Abrams.

“Well when I arrived he was ranting and raving hysterically.
He had a low temperature, ninety three point seven, and was shivering and trembling.
His breathing was heavy although he wasn
’
t hyperventilating.
He had chest pains and watering eyes.
Most significant, from a diagnostic point of view, he claimed that he
’
d been poisoned.”

“You could object,” whispered Parker to Justine.
“It
’
s blatant hearsay.”

At the back of his mind, Parker knew that the objection would probably be overruled.
This evidence was clearly part of the
res gestae,
the sequence of events that forms an integral part of the crime, and was therefore an exception to the rule barring hearsay evidence.

“Drop it,” Justine replied.

“What about
the symptoms which Murphy described.

“Well it
’
s hard to say really.
He didn
’
t actually describe anything coherently.
As I said, he was ranting and raving a lot.”

“Did he give you anything?”

“He gave me a bottle of tequila which he said he believed contained poison.
He claimed that he had imbibed some of the contents of the bottle without realizing what it contained.”

“At this stage, Your Honour,” Abrams continued, “I would like to introduce the bottle and its preserved contents as People
’
s Exhibit Two and ask the witness to identify it.”

“If the witness marked the bottle for identification with some non-removable, non-repeatable mark before it left his possession then I
’
ll accept this witness
’
s identification of the item.
Otherwise I
’
ll have to rule against it at this stage on the grounds that insufficient foundation has been laid.”

The judge already knew where things stood on this matter.
But the facts had to be entered into the record.
He turned to the witness.

“Dr. Stern, did you mark the bottle for identification?”

“No Your Honour.”

“In that case I
’
m, going to have to rule against its admission
at this stage
.
If the People can establish chain of custody between this witness and one who did so mark it, then The Court will admit it in evidence.”

Abrams appeared
unperturbed
by this.
The bottle had been handed to some one else and could be linked to the crime by chain of custody evidence.
He
’
d just have to call a couple of extra witnesses from his witness list.
In the meantime, he resumed his cross-examination.

“What did you do when he gave it to you?”

“I handed it to a hospital orderly called Brian Colt and told him to take it to Professor Ostrovsky in the toxicology lab and have him analyze it.
I also phoned through to Professor Ostrovsky to tell that it was on the way.”

Abrams looked up at the judge, satisfied.

“Your Honour I have no further questions of this witness at this time.”

“Any cross-examination?” asked the judge, looking down at Justine.

“No Your Honour,” said Justine calmly.

The judge and jury eyed her puzzled.
She had gone to great trouble to get a particular type of jury.
But now she was offering them nothing by way of evidence, and not even a hint of her defence.
For now at least the tension and waiting had to continue.

The clouds were overshadowed by Justine
’
s face and by the occasional human figure that drifted by in the background.
She was standing in front of a drugstore, her face almost pressed up against the glass.
But it was not what lay behind the window that held her attention.
It was her own reflection.
That face that had always looked so familiar when she had seen it as her mother, now looked like a stranger when she saw it as herself.