The Dark Place (21 page)

I
t was the very next day, lunchtime, when Karl received a very unexpected phone call.

“Karl? Phone call, line two,” said Naomi.

“Who?”

“Wouldn’t give his name. Says it’s important.”

“Hello?” asked Karl, quickly placing the phone against his ear.

“There’s a very good chance that this will get messy –
very
messy. Are you prepared for that?” asked Brendan Burns, at the other end.

“I’m prepared for anything. I just want Katie back.”

“Okay, but don’t say you weren’t warned.”

“What made you change your mind?” asked Karl, sheer relief washing over him.

Seconds of hesitancy stretched at the other end before Brendan said, “With some reluctance, I spoke to Claire last night. She said that if it were Patricia out there, held by some monster, she would want someone to help her.”

“Please … please thank Claire for me, Brendan. I appreciate how she may have influenced your thinking. I know how hard this must have been – for you both.”

“You understand that it’s going to be difficult finding a way into the Crum without attracting any attention? The Antrim Road part is watched by the local police station. We’ll have to find a way in the back. It’s going to be very tricky.”

“I already have the way. A good friend.”

“Can this so-called
good friend
be trusted?”

“
I
trust him.”

“Okay, but he doesn’t need to know anything about me. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“There’s one other thing which needs saying, no matter how callous it sounds.”

“What’s that?” asked Karl.

“
If
Katie is in there, she may no longer be alive.”

Silence suddenly filled the line.

“You understand that?” persisted Brendan.

“Where will we meet?” asked Karl, sidestepping the ominous question.

“Park your car on the bottom of the Antrim Road, close to Carlisle Circus. There’s a little café called T 4 2, not too far from the Ulster Bank, on the corner. I’ll see you inside the café at eight, tomorrow night. Don’t be early and don’t be late.”

“Brendan?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Keep the thanks in cold storage. I haven’t done anything yet.”

“You’ve given me hope again. I’ll never forget that, regardless of the outcome.”

D
espite being the middle of summer, a weird, autumnal darkness had suddenly taken over Belfast’s night sky as the trio proceeded up the Crumlin Road toward their intended target. The night’s skin was a mixture of copper and dark purples, like some huge Rorschach inkblot. Karl thought the copper resembled a dead man’s eyes.

“Strange sky,” said Willie, as if reading Karl’s thoughts.

Karl nodded in acknowledgement, but did not speak.

Brendan said nothing either, his mind seemingly preoccupied with things other than shifting weather. His broad back carried a battered, navy-blue rucksack.

The night’s darkness, to Karl, had a sickly thickness to it, like black porridge spilling over the side of a bowl. It made him feel shuddery, as if trapped in some Gothic painting left unfinished by a dying hand. The diseased and derelict buildings on either side of the Crumlin Road weren’t helping the feeling.

“Looks like rain,” continued Willie, sounding slightly anxious. “Hasn’t rained in almost six weeks, but tonight looks like we’re in for a good soaking. I suppose it’ll keep nosey-parkers indoors.”

No response from Karl or Brendan.

“What’s in the rucksack, big fella?” continued Willie, indicating with a nod towards Brendan.

“Provisions,” Brendan icily responded.

“Remember what I said, Willie?” said Karl. “No questions.”

Before Willie could answer, the heavens suddenly erupted, forcing the threesome to quicken their pace.

Less than five minutes later, they stood hidden in the shadows of the intimidating Victorian jail, rain pooling on the roof of a decrepit watchman’s hut, coming off in waterfall fashion on to their uncovered heads.

“
We’re here, lads
,” whispered Willie, and suddenly all three craned their necks upwards, as if sketching the massive building with their eyes.

On 31 March 1996, the Governor of Belfast’s Crumlin Road Jail walked out of the fortified prison, the heavy air-lock gates slamming directly behind him, shutting for their final time. That sound ended a 150-year history of incarceration, conflict and executions. For most people in Belfast – and throughout the country – Crumlin Road Jail was a ghastly monument to man’s inhumanity to man. An estimated 25,000 people were imprisoned there during its turbulent history, whether as a result of internment or on remand as political prisoners.

The first official use of the jail began in March 1846 when 106 prisoners – men, women and children – were force-marched from Carrickfergus Jail. The youngest person to be hung in the prison was a boy of ten, Patrick Magee, imprisoned for the horrendous crime of stealing a shirt. Famous inmates have included the Irish president Éamon de Valera and Ian Paisley, another potential Irish president.

For almost five minutes, the trio stood, eerily silent in contemplation, as if at the gates of Hades itself, waiting for some godless ordination.

An elderly woman across the street at number eighteen watched the scene from a bedroom window of her home. Her denture-less face caved inwards as she mumbled something to herself before eventually slithering out of view.

“Nosey old bag,” hissed Willie. “Bloody nothing better to do than to poke her nose into other people’s business. I hate people like her.”

“This jail looks like something from Charles Dickens,” said Karl.

“Not a place for the fainthearted, I can tell you,” volunteered Willie. “This old bastard was built in 1846, and believe it or not, was one of the most advanced prisons of its day. Seventeen prisoners were executed inside its walls. They say their ghosts can be heard, crying at night looking for freedom. Inside there are four wings, each four stories high. There are six hundred and forty cells.”

“You seem to know a great deal about the place, if you don’t mind me saying?” commented Brendan.

“I did nine months in this hellhole, years ago,” boasted Willie. “I know its history, inside out.”

“Nine months? That must have been terrible,” responded Brendan.

“You can say that again. Not a place for the weak-kneed. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”

“If someone had ever told me that one day I’d be breaking into the Crum …” said Brendan to Karl, while watching Willie work his magic on the medieval lock studded into the jail’s side gate.

Karl said nothing, his eyes nervously glancing up and down the eerily deserted street, watching for patrolling police cars.

The rain began thundering down so heavily, visibility was becoming almost impossible.

“I can hardy see the damn lock,” complained Willie, working the needle-thin tool into the lock’s cavity, filthy rainwater bombarding his hands. “Can’t we just use a torchlight, for a minute?”

“No. The cops would be like moths to it,” said Brendan. “If they come, we won’t have to worry about breaking in. They’ll give us a personal invite.”

“Just take your time, Willie,” encouraged Karl, finally breaking his own silence. “You’ve worked under more stressful conditions than this.”

“Tell me about it. I remember the time I was asked by a client to do this wee break-in job, right beside a police station. Ha! Those were the days when –”

“We can reminisce once we get inside,” said Brendan impatiently.

“Keep your knickers on,” retorted Willie. “I don’t know what your role is, big fella, and I don’t want to know. But without me, we aren’t
going anywhere. Understand?”

“Everyone here is important,” cut in Karl, quickly trying to defuse the rapidly deteriorating situation. “But I need both of you to stay focused … please … for Katie’s sake.”

There was an embarrassing silence before Willie’s contrite voice said, “You’re right, Karl. We’re like school kids at a pissing contest. Sorry.”

“Just stay focused,” reiterated Karl.

“Got it!” exclaimed Willie, triumphantly. “Got the bastard.”

“Good man, Willie. Good man,” encouraged Karl, immediate relief sweeping over his face.

Seconds later, the three men stepped inside, quickly closing the door behind them.

Silence greeted them. A peculiar, almost sickly silence. Neglected, one-time security lights had burned out so the only light on the narrow path between the yard and the far wings came from street lamps at the back of the prison, silhouetting the threesome like grey ghosts against the bars of the gate. Lattices of razor wire curled above the ramparts.

Karl could hear his heart thump thump thumping in his ears, as if underwater in some murky lake.
Time to strap on your balls, Karl me bucko
, thought Karl, suddenly feeling apprehensive.

“Not a soul,” said Willie.

“The place is no longer guarded as such, because there’s nothing left to steal. All the wings have been gutted, supposedly to make room for a five-star hotel. Only one wing remains intact,” responded Brendan.

“Which one would that be?” asked Willie.

“That would be A Wing. That’s the one the cops conducted their three-day search on. A Wing is where they kept republican prisoners, I believe,” supplied Brendan. “If I’m not mistaken, loyalists prisoners were housed in C Wing. And the notorious Basement was the place they housed the rats.”

“They housed rats?” asked Karl.

“The worse. The most treacherous. The two-legged kind.”

“You’ve got that right,” agreed Willie. “I had a couple of good friends put into C Wing because of the rats in the Basement. You still
haven’t told me how you know all this.”

“Let’s move, Willie,” said Karl, trying to prevent Willie from digging further with his questioning. “We’re wasting precious time.”

“Okay. This way,” instructed Willie, heading for the open yard, followed closely behind by Karl and Brendan. “That large door ahead should lead to the Circle. The wings all stem from there. Once inside, A Wing should be directly ahead, if my memory serves me well.”

The modern door leading into the Circle held little resistance for Willie. Three minutes later, it opened. “We’ll take the stairs over beside the –”

“Hold on a second, Willie,” said Karl. “This is as far as you go.”

“What?” Willie looked perplexed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Things are probably going to get very hairy from here on in. You’ve already taken too many chances helping us. Besides, we need you to stay outside with this walkie-talkie,” said Karl, offering the device to Willie. “We need to know if anyone approaches the place. It’s vitally important that we get a warning.”

“You’re not serious? How the hell are you two going to find your way about in there without me? Eh? Answer me that, Bamber Gascoigne?”

“
I
can answer that, Willie,” supplied Brendan.

“
You?
How the hell would you know?” said Willie disdainfully.

“I was a … guest here, for almost twelve years.”

Willie’s left eyebrow curved into a hairy question mark. “You? Twelve years? You’re pulling my leg. He
is
pulling my leg, Karl. Right?”

“No … no, Willie. Brendan’s telling the truth.”

Shaking his head with disbelief, Willie mumbled, “And there’s me blabbering about doing nine months. I feel a right old fool.”

“Don’t,” cut in Brendan. “Nine weeks, nine months, nine years – it’s all the same when time has been stolen from you.”

“I suppose you don’t wish to tell me what you were in for?”

“Willie, I told you, no questions,” said Karl quickly, seeing Brendan’s face tighten. “Now, just do as I ask. Take the walkie-talkie, and –”

“Shoplifting,” said Brendan.

“Shoplifting … and they gave you twelve years?” said Willie
suspiciously. “Must’ve been a pretty expensive bit of shoplifting?”

“I lifted it twenty feet in the air.”

“What?”

“Explosives.”

“Oh.”

“Oh indeed,” cut in Karl. “Now, will you watch our backs or not?”

Nodding, Willie took the walkie-talkie before walking toward the front gate, whispering under his breath, “Twelve years …”

Inside, Karl and Brendan were greeted with almost pitch black. Dim papillary lights, each the size of a baby’s toe, lined the walls, giving an eerie bluish hue to the darkness.

“Grim place,” said Karl, feeling his stomach do its familiar trapdoor movement.

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know what I was expecting.”

“Always expect the unexpected. It’ll help keep you healthy,” said Brendan, removing a torchlight from his rucksack before handing it to Karl. “I’ve got a couple of flares also, but we’ll keep them in case of an emergency.”

“Where do we start?” asked Karl.

“That’s the easy part. Straight to the end of the wing and into the one-time canteen, on the left. Come on.”

The chalky beam from the torchlight guided them, causing their shadows to dance and stretch before them.

Inside the canteen, a family of broken windows granted some jaundiced light, enough for the torchlight to be extinguished. Below the main cooking area, enormous potholes suddenly came into view.

“It’s a virtual warren,” said Karl in amazement. “The cops must have used jackhammers.” A moment of guilt suddenly hit Karl. Wilson
had
done a thorough job, as he had claimed.

“They’re the entrances of my old tunnels,” said Brendan, a hint of pride in his voice. “Eight, to be exact.”

“All the tunnelling was done here?”

“Most. There were twelve tunnels in all. Four more to check,” said Brendan, heading for the ablutions.

The shower area resembled a war scene. Toilets and showers smashed; plumbing mangled into metal knots. Cisterns were leaking, causing massive puddles of filthy water to spill into the cavities littering the ground. Streaks of orange rust trailed down from faucets opening to the drains, their colour developing through waste and edging towards the darkened holes.

“This is what’s known in prison jargon as a sledgehammer and fine-tooth comb of a search. The cops did a thorough job,” continued Brendan, surveying the devastation. “Have to give them full credit for that.”

“Not a stone’s been left unturned,” acknowledged Karl, his stomach coiling into a cold fist of defeat. “They’ve checked everything in –”

Suddenly, Willie’s static voice began crackling over the air.

“
Karl?
”

“Yes, Willie?”

“There’s someone approaching the jail. Hold tight …”

“Fuck!” said Karl in desperation.

“Take it easy,” encouraged Brendan. “There are a couple of ways out.”

“
Out?
Who’s looking
out?
My daughter is
in
here somewhere. Think I’m leaving without her?”

“Look, Karl, sometimes you have to walk away, so that you can –”

“Don’t give me any of your wartime philosophy bullshit! You go the fuck wherever you want! I’m staying here – even if it means digging up every dirty piece of soil in this –”

“
Karl? You there?
” crackled Willie’s whispery voice. “
Karl?
”

“Yes … yes, Willie. I’m here,” said Karl.

“
All clear, Karl. It was only someone out for a late night walk. How are things back there?
”

“Everything … everything is fine, Willie. You’re doing a great job. Keep alert.”

“You’ve got it. See you soon … or, over and out, as they say in the movies.”

The walkie-talkie went dead.

“I told you there were twelve tunnels,” said Brendan. “So far, these make eleven.”

Karl’s heart began moving up a beat.

“There’s one more?”

“I hope it’s still there.”

“Where?” said Karl, trying desperately to remain calm. “Are we far from it?”

“There is a unique passageway leading from the jail to the courthouse directly across the street. The screws used it as a security precaution to ferry prisoners to the courthouse.”

“And you dug a tunnel there, right under the Crumlin Road?” asked Karl, incredulously.

“The screws’ lack of intelligence and imagination made them arrogant. They never thought I had the audacity to tunnel right under their noses – or the so-called judge’s arse,” smiled Brendan. “Come on. It’s a good ten minutes walk to get there.”