The Trib (33 page)

Shane had no history of mental illness and lived life to the full. He was entering in his final year at Trinity College, studying Irish and Biblical and Theological Studies. He lived in an apartment in Dalkey and had cousins and an uncle living nearby. He regularly saw his father, who lives in neighbouring Dún Laoghaire, and his mother Leonie, who lives in Redcross, Co. Wicklow, with her second husband Tony and their three children.

Shane was a young man with a busy life. He didn't smoke or drink and had a large circle of friends and interests; he was passionate about the Irish language, keeping fit and travelling. ‘To describe what he did as out of character is an understatement. He was a happy, independent young man. To know him was to love him,' adds his father. Patrick remembers his son as someone who was always reaching out to help others. When he was ten or eleven, his father brought Shane and his two younger brothers Liam (now twenty) and Jake (now eight) to a pound shop.

‘I gave each of them a pound and the three of them ran in to spend it. When the two younger boys were paying for what they bought I asked Shane what he was buying. He pointed to a homeless man outside. He'd given him the money instead of spending it on himself. That was Shane.'

On his twenty-first birthday, held in the Club pub in Dalkey, where he worked, Shane left a collection box for St Vincent de Paul for his guests to make a contribution rather than bring a gift. Last Christmas and the Christmas before, Shane phoned his father to say he'd be late up to visit him. ‘He was feeding the homeless in Stradbrook. The kind things he'd do wasn't something he'd tell people about. He'd be embarrassed if he could hear me talking about him now. He was a gentleman.'

What kind of a big brother was he? ‘He was the best,' says Liam, with a simple shrug of his shoulders. ‘Always there for everyone.'

Patrick knew his son was feeling low over the break-up of his relationship with Jennifer Hannigan. Shane had ended the three-year romance but never got over it. By the time he'd decided he wanted to reconcile with Jennifer, she had moved on and had begun dating Sebastian Creane. The pair were both students at the Dún Laoghaire Institute of Art, Design and Technology. Shane was due to travel to Calcutta during the summer to do aid work but pulled out. ‘He told me he didn't feel up to it. He went to Thailand and Australia instead – one of his cousin's lives in Thailand so he visited him. The last time I saw him was a few days before he went. I asked him if Jen was going with him and he told me they broke up. “Do you mind if I don't talk about it?” he said. I said, “Of course.” He went to try and clear his head, to sort himself out. He was twenty-two and broken-hearted. When you're that age, you think it's the end of world. Himself and Jen were a lovely couple; she's a lovely girl. They were very happy whenever I saw them together. He was besotted with her and she was besotted with him,' he recalls. ‘I think she knows what happened that night wasn't really him.'

Patrick was worried enough about his son to ring his nephew in Thailand to enquire about how he was getting on. ‘He said Shane was still a bit down but seemed better than when he first arrived. He was reading Barack Obama's autobiography. Obama was a hero of his, so was Ché Guevara. And Superman; he loved Superman.'

But when Shane returned from his trip, he was still suffering. His father didn't get a chance to see his son when he returned from his travels. During college term, Shane would call up to his dad's for dinner every Monday and Wednesday but during summertime, he'd see him less frequently But Shane did see his mother Leonie and confided in her about how he couldn't seem to get over his depression. Then he went to the doctor with his mother. The GP prescribed Citrol, a brand of the antidepressant citalopram.

Shane was taking it for about a week when he took the remaining three weeks' supply in one day, possibly an attempt at suicide. He told his mother what had happened. Two days later, she took her son to another GP. It was explained to the second doctor that Shane had taken a high dosage of Citrol two days previously. The GP prescribed Cipramil, another brand of citalopram.

As this GP was aware Shane had misused antidepressants two days previously, it was instructed on the three-week prescription that the chemist should only supply Shane with one week of the drug at a time, according to his father. But when Shane went to fill the second prescription, the chemist asked him if he wanted to get the three-week prescription filled at once, and Shane said yes. It was Friday 14 August. His family believe Shane took another high dosage of antidepressants the next day. In the early hours of 16 August, Shane Clancy carried out his attack.

‘Shane was the type of person who was always careful about taking pills. If he had a Lemsip, he'd phone me to ask if he could take paracetamol as well a few hours later. I don't know if he was attempting suicide when he took three weeks' worth of antidepressants in one day. I might never know,' says his father.

‘I don't want to be seen as pointing the finger at the doctors or the chemist, but surely if it said to only give him one week's supply at a time, the chemist should have followed that instruction.'

Patrick believes no one should be put on antidepressants unless they're already undergoing counselling and that St John's Wort, the herbal treatment for depression, should still be available without prescription. ‘I think some people do need antidepressants. But the number of young people who are taking them is frightening and they seem to be very easy to get, as you know.'

In the aftermath of the tragedy in Bray, the
Sunday Tribune
visited five GPs and reported feeling depressed. Four of the five prescribed antidepressant medication. The purpose of this investigation was to establish how easy it would be to obtain a prescription for antidepressants under false pretences and highlight that people looking for help have a wait of several weeks or months for counselling in the public service.

‘I think every parent should ask their GP where they stand on anti-depressants and in what circumstances they would prescribe them to their children. We all need to look at the relationship between doctors and pharmaceutical companies. Shane put a high dosage of chemicals into his body and I've no doubt he reacted to that. Some people take antidepressants and they don't agree with them. The consequences of that can be horrific.'

A joint inquest into the death of Shane Clancy and Sebastian Creane in the coming months could provide some answers for the two grieving families. It is possible that the two GPs who prescribed antidepressants, as well as the chemist, may be called to give evidence as to his state of mind.

‘It's easy to dramatise what happened. But we have to look at the bigger picture and ask why,' says Patrick. ‘I hope that out of Shane and Sebastian's death something constructive can happen. We all never think things like this can happen to us. I did too until I got that knock on my door.'

Overnight, rapist Larry Murphy became the most feared man in Ireland, and Larry-watching became a national sport. Did media coverage of his release from jail reflect the public mood, or create it?

15 August 2010

T
he angry mob outside the hostel in Coolock were united in misplaced anger and fear. ‘Get him out,' they chanted. But Larry Murphy wasn't there, nor had he ever been. Gardaí were called to control and calm the crowd of about sixty people. Eventually, the mob was placated and the possibility of violence was narrowly averted. Overnight, Larry Murphy had become the most feared man in Ireland. The scene outside Priorswood House in Coolock, a halfway house for ex-prisoners, was a truly extraordinary ending to a truly astonishing day.

Larry Murphy mania began early on Thursday morning. Reporters and photographers began to assemble at 5 a.m. in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Ireland's most infamous rapist. Journalists had been hanging around outside the prison on and off all week because of the slim chance that Murphy could slip out early. Despite the early hour, the press corps were in high spirits. No-one had even glimpsed the forty-five-year-old carpenter in the ten-and-a-half years since he was convicted of the horrific rape and attempted murder of a Carlow businesswoman.

The release of Larry Murphy from prison was always going to be a big story, the main reason being that he is the suspect in the disappearance of three other women in Leinster. Also, the brutality of his crime suggested to gardaí that it wasn't the first time he had carried out an attack of this nature. As Ireland's only suspected serial killer, the Baltinglass native is a legitimate object of fascination to the media and the general public.

The fact that he steadfastly refused to have any rehabilitative therapy for sex offenders while in jail is of major concern. It suggests this man has no remorse and does not want to address whatever psychological problems drove him to carry out such a violent crime. People are afraid he might do it again.

But fear over Larry Murphy's release took on a life of its own last week and it is still not clear how this story will end. Many gardaí privately believe Murphy will be driven to suicide by the relentlessness of the media coverage.

Adding to the excitement among journalists outside Arbour Hill on Thursday was the fact that no-one knew how he would exit the prison. Would the prison service smuggle him out in a van? Would the gardaí whisk him away in an unmarked car? Journalists began making bets about what time he would emerge.

At about 9.30 a.m., news trickled out that Murphy would make his first public appearance in a decade at around 10.15 a.m. A taxi had been booked to pick him up. He was not going to be hidden by the prison service, gardaí or anyone else. He would walk out the door of Arbour Hill prison and face the music outside. Many ex-cons are greeted warmly by family and friends. Murphy had a large group of media instead. The gardaí had sensibly erected a barrier to keep the press back.

As the door opened, the heave to get a glimpse of him was immediate. Larry Murphy was everything we expected and more. Wearing an Adidas cap and black sunglasses, he strode out confidently. What seemed to be the beginning of a smirk was visible at the corners of his mouth. But didn't he have plenty to smile about? He was a free man. Murphy strode purposefully towards the waiting taxi. He looked fit and healthy in a black hoodie with gold NY lettering, runners and jeans.

‘Do you think he's going to New York and he's sending us a message?' one hack speculated moments later. ‘No, sex offenders aren't allowed into America,' another replied.

Murphy had put on some weight, but his physique appeared well-toned from exercise. Out of boredom, many inmates work out regularly. Since Murphy didn't feel it necessary to try rehabilitation, he spent his days working in the carpentry workshop and exercising.

He had been told there was a crowd waiting for him. He had had ten years to look forward to his freedom and must have imagined every day what the moment would feel like when he walked out the prison gates. If he was perturbed by the scrum, he didn't show it. But he didn't hang around either. He ignored the questions shouted by the media and jumped into the waiting taxi.

A handful of angry spectators were also present. They shouted ‘rapist', ‘beast' and ‘you f**king bastard' as he was spirited away. One woman said she'd come because she just wanted to see what Murphy looked like ten years on.

The media were relatively happy. Everyone got their photograph. A few words from the now mythical man would have been great, of course. But journalists knew this was unlikely. Larry Murphy has never explained to anyone, not his family or gardaí, why he did what he did to that young woman that winter's night in February 2000. Never has so much been written about a man whom journalists know so very little about. Aside from his well-documented crime, we know nothing about what makes Larry Murphy tick. This makes him all the more fascinating.

The taxi quickly drove away from the prison. Imagine the conversation between the driver and the Wicklow native. That driver had a story to tell that every journalist in the country was dying to hear. He broke his silence in the
Star
yesterday but did not go into detail about the journey.

Murphy surely expected to be followed and the media did not disappoint. Three photojournalists on high-powered motorbikes were in immediate pursuit as the taxi made off towards Phoenix Park. Gardaí in unmarked cars and motorbikes also followed, as did many more photographers and reporters in cars. Adding to the drama was the garda helicopter circling overhead. Murphy might be free, but he would not be allowed to enjoy his freedom. The chase was on.

Murphy's next move, though, surprised everyone. He did not seem to be a man with a plan – strange, considering he had had nothing but time to prepare his release. After driving around aimlessly for a while, he asked the driver to take him to Coolock garda station. He wasn't happy.