The Gamal (47 page)

—So. We’ve established that the defendant changed his story when confronted with the evidence that his semen was taken from the body of the victim. Having been confronted with this evidence by the gardaí. By the men and women who have the job of finding criminals.

—Your Lordship, I’m sure the jury know who the gardaí are.

There was a fierce laugh in the court then. People needed a laugh. At least.

—What I mean, Your Lordship, is to emphasise the seriousness of the job at hand.

—OK, move it along now, please.

—Well, these men and women who were working tirelessly to apprehend the merciless, cowardly, utterly heartless rapist and murderer were told by Denis Hennebry, when confronted with the DNA evidence, through his lawyer, that he wanted to change his story. Now, Dr Morlay, could you tell me, please, is this common? Is it common for . . . a suspect . . . a prime suspect . . . Is it common for a prime suspect who is later found guilty . . . is it common for such a suspect to have changed his evidence, to change his statement, when confronted with DNA evidence?

—It’s not unheard of in murder trials and rape trials. It has happened on numerous occasions in Ireland but probably thousands of times abroad.

—There you are. Thank you very much for your expertise, Dr Morlay.

—You’re welcome.

—Mr Healy, have you any questions for Dr Morlay?

—No, Your Lordship, thank you.

—Then you may leave the witness stand. Thank you. Now I think everybody needs their lunch break at this stage. We’ll resume at two fifteen.

—All rise.

I remember one time in school when we were only very small they were all teasing this one boy who was only in the school for a few months. We were making Easter cards for our mammies and daddies. Happy Easter To Mammy and Daddy I love you. This boy’s daddy didn’t live with his mammy and him so he had to make two different cards. And they all ganged up on him teasing him cos this made him the odd one out. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like the kids hated him cos he was different and they wanted him to suffer for it.

Sinéad cried too once when she chose to be the odd one out by singing and people teased her. Made it hard for her to choose. Sometimes it’s best to stay quiet and not to be drawing attention to yourself. Ask the animals. The boy and his mammy moved on to some place else anyhow. It’s a lonely kind of crying I remember him for, with the head down looking up at the pairs of eyes in the gang every now and again for only a sec. Disbelief isn’t it? Hard to choose standing out, seeing as how we are and all.

The Frank and Walters’ song ‘This Is Not a Song’.

The Frank and Walters were encoring. We were all locked together arm in arm singing. The whole lot of us. I broke free letting on shyness. I seen Sinéad in slow motion singing and laughing and wipe some beads of sweat from her forehead and move some hair from her brow to behind her ear. I’d never seen her sweating like that at night-time. Only in daytime when she played tennis. Was different now with the light. This light was more selective, finding her glowing eyes and her cheekbones and her soft shining lips. Her laughing smile revealing her white teeth in a flash of perfection, caught in tiny time fragments by the clueless disco lights above. Even caught the glisten of her collarbone once. That’s all what I seen. Two seconds worth living for. Went back to real time then again. Or usual time. Time we think in isn’t it? The Frank and Walters were after making one of the whole lot of them in the hall. Thousand to one. One body. Carefree. Happy. I think they knew these moments would be rare. They’d seen our parents. Our uncles. Our aunts. Our neighbours. Ourselves in the everyhour of the everyday. Made it all the more special though isn’t it?

Every mouth sang along. A wild teenage choir led by a few Cork lads who had come home after being carried around the world on the wave of this new song of theirs. And now to welcome them home a thousand teenagers sang the song they knew as well as the band did. A thousand teenagers. All their pretend cynicism banished to reveal the truth of their teenage hope. So much shit as yet unlearned. Kind of shit that makes shit of people. When it’s shared. Music. I seen it then. Some reaction. Thousand to one. Whole. Happier than the sum of their parts they were. And stronger somehow. Unison. They sang.

We listened to Dolly Parton too this one evening I think it was eleven times. ‘I Will Always Love You’.

—I imagine her singing in the forest and a big strong handsome woodcutter like Little Red Riding Hood’s father hearing her and following the music, said Sinéad.

—Ha!

—And then he finally sees her.

—Sure how could he miss them?

—A vision.

—Two visions.

—He falls totally in love with her and she with him. They make love there and then cos they just can’t resist each other.

—Dirty thing.

—Sure she couldn’t resist him.

—Not her, you.

—Ah sure you can’t really help what you think. My brain is in charge of what I think. I don’t have a say.

—Dirty mind.

—And he minds her and protects her all the days of his life. And all the best days of hers.

—Does he now?

—He does. Cos he loves her.

I headed off then cos I could tell by the way she was looking at him that she’d have asked him to kill me if I didn’t. Anyhow whatever they did, they wouldn’t have been able to do it if I stayed there. I’d say they probably went for a walk in the woods.

An Awful Business Surely

It was Detective Crowley came to tell the mother and father. He’d have known I used to hang around with her a lot of course. I was above in my room getting dressed after being called for Mass. Every Sunday morning I used to have to get up and get dressed for Mass.

—When you live in this house you abide by the rules.

Usually my parents went to the nine o’clock but sometimes they had a lie-in which meant I could sneak back in to the empty house after the later Mass had started. When the mother came back she would ask about the sermon and which priest had said Mass. It was a guessing game.

—You’ll have no luck for it, so you won’t.

—How can you expect to have luck in this world if you insult Our Lord every Sunday?

—You wouldn’t be having these troubles if you’d let the Lord into your heart.

—I am the way, the truth and the life.

’Twas no laughing matter with her either. She’d be roaring it sometimes with tears in her eyes. It was the thought of me burning for all eternity in the fires of hell that drove her demented. When they went to early Mass I usually went for one of my walks along the river instead of smoking and talking shit out the back of the church with the other eejits. Course James was never there cos he was a Prod and Sinéad was never there cos she was Sinéad.

So anyhow, there I am above in my room and I sees Detective Crowley climb out of the car that was too small for him. The whole side of the car rose like a sigh of relief when his dead weight got off the suspension. The car could breathe again.

—You can come too.

Some light young lad got out of the passenger seat after, saying nothing. There was no sigh of relief this time. The car didn’t even know this little fella was there. Seemed like Detective Crowley hardly did either. Probably some local politician’s nephew or something to be given a detective job so young. Detective Crowley stood with his hands on his hips and his fat belly stuck out even more as he stretched his back. He looked around at his ease. Looked at the house like a builder surveying a job for a price quote. I don’t think he could see me behind the net curtains. But I don’t know. Without as much as a word or a ‘come on’ nod of the head to his young partner, Crowley made his way to the front door. When the young lad caught up with him Crowley muttered one word. With that, the young lad turned, speed-walked to the car and returned with a notepad.

The mother was ready for Mass and was waiting for her husband who was pissing the three or four cups of tea he has on Sunday mornings.

—Hello Detective Crowley, is everything OK?

Her voice cracked like an upset child’s.

—I have bad news Margaret.

Margaret, that’s my mother’s name by the blah. Don’t think I mentioned it. It didn’t come up really. She’s a grand mother.

—Oh.

—Is Charlie in?

—He is. He’s getting ready for Mass. Charlie!

—Yeah?

That’s me.

—Come down.

That’s my mother.

So I come down. Dressed but not washed. Sometimes I washed myself after dressing myself. Sure I’m the only one that would know. Wet my face and hair, squirt of deodorant under my arms and who’d know if I’d a shower or not? No one. That’s who.

Anyhow. So down I comes.

—Hello.

—Hello Charlie. Will you sit down for a minute please, I’ve bad news for you I’m afraid.

’Twas in the sitting room they all were. So that’s where I sat.

—Your friend Sinéad is dead. She was found below under the bridge this morning. I’m sorry Charlie.

Even though I was numb that morning I could tell that Detective Crowley was studying my reaction and behaviour. His eyes were on me like an X-ray machine. Subsurface. Boring into me. I didn’t see it. I felt it. The stone cold sober stare. This man wasn’t going to miss a fucking trick. This Detective Crowley will catch the bastard I was thinking to myself. My mother started weeping. My father strained to keep the emotion in his stomach so he could use his throat to speak. His voice broke a little on the S word though.

—Jesus . . . was it suicide?

—We don’t know yet. So we’re just going through the motions for the moment. Treating it as suspicious, until the coroner tells us not to.

He still hadn’t taken his eyes off me.

—Charlie? Are you OK? It’ll take a while to sink in you know Charlie. And I’m very sorry for you. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions Charlie?

I heard him but I couldn’t speak. This was real. This was real. This had happened and it was real. I did OK. I couldn’t talk or do anything now, but I did OK I think.

—He’s gone pale as a ghost, Detective Crowley said.

—Charlie are you OK love? the mother asked as she sat on the couch and put her arm around me. I’d gone into a black hole and I didn’t care if I never came out of it. Sinéad was gone now.

—OK Charlie, I’m just going to have a little word with your dad outside OK? I’m going to ask him to get the doctor down to have a look at you because I think you’re in shock. Keep him warm, he said to my tearful mother quietly, and said God bless to her then nodded for his young partner to lead the way. Then he gestured for the father to go outside, then he followed himself. Outside the door Detective Crowley spoke loud, making sure I heard every word. State and all as I was in, I was starting to like this Detective Crowley’s style.

—Just a couple of routine questions John.

—Fire away.

—Did Charlie sleep here last night?

—Jesus Christ Tony, is Charlie a . . .

—A suspect? He is. And so are you. The only one who’s not a suspect to my mind this minute is myself. And that’s the way ’twill be until I’m sure what we’re dealing with. We
might
have a murder on our hands, so I’ll deal with it as such. Was Charlie here last night?

—He slept here yeah.

—All night?

—Yeah. Since he got home like.

—Got home from where?

—From being out like. For the night with all the rest of them. They go out every Saturday night sure Tony, Jesus Christ.

—I’ll be asking everyone around the same questions. It’s only routine John.

—I’m sorry. I’m worried about him, that’s all. And I can’t believe that poor beautiful girl is dead.

Could hear the father letting himself down and going all teary in front of Detective Crowley.

—I’m sorry.

—That’s alright John. Isn’t it as well you’re not used to this lark like I am. Listen, does Charlie take a drink?

—Christ no. Never. One blessing we have with him at least.

—Were you awake when he got home?

—No. I never am. Margaret usually wakes up though. Will I get her?

—Stay where you are a minute anyway.

An order it was. A policeman’s order. Not a friend’s request.

—Charlie was good friends with her was he?

—Jesus Christ. She was good to Charlie like you know? Fond of him.

—Fond of him?

—Yeah. You know Charlie is . . . well he’s a bit special.