The Truth Commissioner (39 page)

She lets him finish and her face is impassive but when she speaks her voice is calm and measured again. ‘Forgive me, Mr Fenton,
for interrupting you. Have you finished now?' There's no sarcasm in her voice, no condescension, nothing to help him hate
her. But now there is one final thing that he wants to say. For the first time he looks at the boy's mother and sister. ‘I
want to say that I regret deeply what happened. I'm very, very sorry.' But their faces are closed to him and give no response
or recognition to his words. He feels intensely cold now and desperate to return to his seat, to try and wrap some protective
coat about himself.

‘Thank you for that but I have a few more questions the family would like to ask.' He watches her walk back to her desk and
look at a piece of paper then turn again towards him.

‘Am I correct in saying that you, a senior officer in the REJC, induced a boy to engage in an activity, a relationship, that
exposed him to the greatest danger?'

‘Yes,' he says and his own voice is strange to him.

‘And you would have been well aware of the fate of so-called informers?'

‘Yes.'

‘But you disregarded that knowledge.'

‘Perhaps I thought…' He doesn't know what he thought and the words trail into silence.

‘And, Mr Fenton, in the time you had this arrangement with Connor, did he supply you with any information that was of importance
or helped you in your fight against terrorism?'

For a second he wants to knock the whole thing over and he hesitates, thinks of the last time he met the boy when his pale
face came swooping out of the darkness. ‘No.'

‘So a boy lost his life for supplying no meaningful information to you in exchange for petty cash?'

‘Yes.'

‘The family doesn't have any further questions,' she says, then starts to walk back to her seat.

‘I didn't kill Connor!' Fenton shouts at her back as something breaks inside him. ‘I'm not the person who killed him.'

She stops in her tracks and looks at him for a few seconds but says nothing, then turns away and resumes her seat. Fenton
stands on, trying to find a sense of balance, wishing he could reclaim his words. He stands until Stanfield tells him he can
go and then he walks down the aisle and when he passes where Anderson and Young are rising to receive him he stares straight
ahead before striding towards the doors of the chamber. There are too many people in the waiting area and he follows the signs
for the toilets. Going to a washbasin he splashes his face with warm water then as he dries it with paper towels he catches
Madden's reflection in the glass. Their eyes meet then both look away. The door opens and Young comes in.

‘The car's coming to the front, let's get out of here,' Young says, shooting a glance at Madden.

‘Give me a second,' Fenton says. ‘I'll be straight out.'

‘You all right?' Young asks, patting him on the back. ‘It's over now.'

‘Give me a second,' he says again and then after he sees him leave he goes into a cubicle to be sick, retching even when there's
nothing left. When he comes back out there's no one there and only the slow drift of smoke indicates the former presence.
He splashes his face again and knows that what he feels is the old unravelling of fear. Grasping the sides of the basin he
steadies himself, carefully checks his reflection in the glass and then goes quickly outside.

Madden stands at the lectern and silently rehearses what it is he has to say. Perhaps being an actor delivering someone else's
lines allows him to believe that they have no true connection with him. Perhaps he can speed them to their conclusion and
be gone far from this place so he begins with a little pulse of confidence and he hears his voice grow stronger as it says,
‘I joined the IRA when I was eighteen. Our home in Bombay Street had been burned by Loyalists in collusion with the security
forces and I felt it was my duty to protect my area from such attacks. I was very young and inexperienced and I didn't think
of all the consequences of that decision but I believed we were fighting in a war and I was fighting for civil rights and
to free Ireland from foreign occupation. I had only been in the IRA a matter of six months when I became involved with Connor
Walshe. I had never done anything other than drive a car on reconnaissance exercises and once as ordered I stole a car. That
sort of thing. Small stuff. But then one night we were told that Connor was passing information about Republicans to the RUC
and that he was to be lifted for questioning. This was a time when people were being lifted by Special Branch and abused in
Castlereagh and other holding centres. It was also the time of non-jury trials and so anyone who assisted the security forces
in targeting Republicans was considered a serious threat to their community and the movement as a whole.

‘We were told Connor had been seen with a known Special Branch member of the RUC and that he had flashed money around that
he'd been given so he was to be lifted and questioned about it. I drove the car for two other volunteers who are both now
dead and I will not give their names because they can't come to speak for themselves but this is the only information I intend
not to supply. Everything else I intend to tell as it happened.

‘We picked Connor up after he left the boxing club. I kind of knew him to see and when he came out I asked him would he be
interested in making some easy money and after he followed me to the car he was bundled into the back seat by the other two
volunteers. I drove him the short distance to a house in Ardoyne and he was taken inside. A couple of hours later I was told
that he had to be moved because there was a chance of police raids who we knew would be looking for him. I drove the car in
which he was taken to a farmhouse in South Armagh near the border – I now know the name of the place but I didn't then and
just took directions from a volunteer who we picked up in Newry.

‘When we got there the volunteers questioned Connor but no one hurt him or abused him in any way. He was just a kid and he
was scared. I was in the kitchen when most of it was happening. I had to make everybody something to eat. But he told them
everything – the times, the places, what was passed on. And then they made the tape. He told everything on the tape that you
heard. Afterwards there was a discussion about what was to happen next and the orders came through that in a couple of days
he was to be returned to Belfast and there was to be a press conference and Connor would describe how he had been recruited
by the RUC. After that he was to be allowed back to his family but advised to leave the area for his own safety. That's how
it was and that's all that was intended to happen.'

The next bit is harder. He pauses and gathers his thoughts, tries to remember. ‘We had to keep him in the farmhouse for a
couple of days until arrangements were made in Belfast. We had to wait until we got a phone call saying that we were to bring
him. Connor wanted to go home that night and got very agitated. We tried to calm him and tell him that everything was going
to be all right, that he'd nothing to fear. But he worked himself into a bit of a state, crying and that, saying he wanted
to go home. I got the job of looking after him most of the time. But I wasn't much older than him and it wasn't easy. I made
him something to eat and he was sitting in the kitchen when one of the other men called me from the other room and in that
second I was distracted Connor was out the back door and away. I wrent after him and I had a gun. I was frightened, frightened
of screwing up on what was my first real piece of active service. Frightened of getting the blame for him making a run for
it. I couldn't see him but I ran into the yard and headed towards the sheds. I went in the one with the open door – it was
a kind of metal barn – and as soon as I was inside he jumped on me and wre struggled. He tried to get the gun out of my hand
and that's when it happened. The gun went off and the next thing Connor's body went limp and he fell back and collapsed. The
other two arrived then but it was too late – he was dead. We panicked and didn't know what to do – it wasn't supposed to happen
like this. I am truly sorry for what happened to Connor – it wasn't supposed to happen, it was never meant to end like that.
It was a terrible thing, a terrible accident, and I feel deep regret for what happened. I wasn't much older than he was and
I'd never hurt anyone or anything in my life. We tried to help him but it was no use – I think he died instantly. I'm truly
sorry.'

This is what he's supposed to say and as Michael Madden stands at the lectern he knows that while he'll walk away with an
amnesty, the self-admitted guilt of his words will be printed on records for ever and he knows, too, that when he releases
the words they'll fly in directions that he's no power to control. He thinks of the look on Ramona's face when she saw him
strike Eamon in the basketball game; he remembers that first time she squirmed instinctively away from his innocent touch;
the way sometimes she whimpered in her sleep. And he knows as much as it's possible to know anything, that if he says these
words he's finished without a single hope and that whatever piece of absolving paper they give him, he's destroyed for certain
whatever future they might still have. He stands silent at the lectern and the faces are looking at him impatient for him
to start. Then into the bitterness of his knowledge surges a sudden spin of anger and he's angry that they've brought him
to this place, not just who he is now, but the eighteen-year-old who didn't know anything about anything and who could have
maybe made something better of his life. He's angry that they used him and he's angry that they're still using him now. He
looks at Connor's mother and sister, sees their sad scrutiny of him and feels the intensity of their gaze, and he thinks of
how long they've waited for the truth. Then he glances round the room at all the other faces staring at him and knows this
is finally and inescapably the time and the place.

‘My name is Michael Madden. I joined the IRA when I was eighteen. I joined because it was a good thing to do and because
I thought it was the best way to defend my area from attack. My home in Bombay Street had been burnt out and there was nobody
to defend us and that day had a big impact on me. So I joined the Provisional IRA and I thought it made me into somebody,
I suppose it made me feel big. I didn't do anything big, however – I wasn't much more than a message boy. I did some driving
and collected people and packages a couple of times. That's all. Small-time stuff. Then one night I was told that Connor had
touted to the RUC, that he had been seen with a Special Branch man and was taking money from them. We were told to pick him
up. I knew who he was but I'd never spoken to him or anything. We were told he was in the boxing club and when he came out
I was told to approach him and ask him if he wanted to make some easy money. I did this and two other volunteers bundled him
into the car. He was taken to a safe house in Ardoyne but after an hour or so a senior member of the brigade said he had to
be moved because there would be police and army raids in the area. So I drove Connor and two volunteers to Newry where a man
I believed to be a senior member of the IRA got into the car and with him directing we drove to a farm in South Armagh.

‘There was no one else there except us and after Connor was taken inside I was told to park the car in one of the outhouses.
When I came in Connor was crying and the man we picked up in Newry was shouting at him, calling him a tout and other things
I don't need to repeat. When I came in the room I was told to get out and go in the kitchen and make some food. Connor was
sitting on a chair and he was crying and shouting. So I went into the kitchen and as this was going on I tried to make a meal
and all I could think of rustling up was toast and cheese and while I was getting this ready I could hear the voices shouting
and shouting in the other room. There was a lot of screaming and then it went quiet. I was scared and wanted to be anywhere
other than there but it was too late. Too late for all of us. The senior man came in and had his food and drank a cup of tea.
Just like nothing had happened. And then he smoked a cigarette. Hardly acknowledged that I was even there. I was scared of
him – there was something about him made you nervous to be around him. Then I remember that phone calls were made and at one
point I was given the job of sitting guard on him and I was given a gun – it was the first time I had even held one. Connor
was very quiet, his nose was bleeding and he had bruising on his temple and round his eye. He asked me what was going to happen
to him and I told him I didn't know and I really didn't. Later one of the volunteers told me that they were going to make
a tape of him admitting what he'd done. And he was told that when he'd made the tape he'd be taken back home and all he had
to do was appear at a press conference and it would all be over. I was in the room when he was told that and I believed that's
what would happen.'

Madden pauses and drinks from the glass of water. His hand shakes a little as he lifts it to his mouth and a droplet splashes
on his suit. Suddenly he's aware that his voice and the words he's using sound intensely strange, as if he has reverted to
an older language that has rusted unused and almost forgotten. He thinks of the rust that lined Lynch's fingers on the day
he handed him the letter that brought him here.

‘A couple of hours later a senior man from our own district arrived from Belfast. When he saw Connor there was a real bust-up
with the guy we'd picked up in Newry. He was angry about the state that Cannor was in and how he couldn't be put in front
of the press looking like that. They went in the front room and there was a lot of raised voices and the one thing I heard
was the Newry guy shouting that we were all fucking soft in Belfast and too interested in looking good to get our hands dirty,
that we were users and not worth a spit in the wind. If went on like this for a while and there was obviously bad blood between
them. The upshot was that Connor was to be kept there for a couple of days or so until he mended up and then he was supposed
to go back and make his public appearance. Someone else – a woman – arrived and left in supplies and then left again. I didn't
know much about cooking but somebody thought I did and I got the job of making cups of tea and bacon sandwiches. Endless cups
of tea and sandwiches.