This Irish House (13 page)

Kate smiled weakly. “Will you go to him, Dylan?”

He looked at his watch. “I'll make a call to the station. As soon as I know anything I'll call you.”

“Thank you. I'll be at the Victoria. I've rented a room. But first I'll try to see Deirdre.”

“Try to rest. Kevin will need you to be strong.” He hesitated. “How is the investigation of Patrick's murder coming along?”

Kate shook her head. “I don't know. I haven't heard anything new and just now it's not as important as what's happening with Kevin.”

“Keep your chin up, Kate. I'll do my best.”

She smiled. “I know.”

Deirdre pulled a chair up to the window of her dormitory room and waited until she saw her mother walking across the brick driveway. Jumping up, she opened the door and ran down the hall to the stairs where she met Kate halfway. She threw her arms around her mother and hugged her fiercely. “Have you seen him? Is he all right?”

Kate shook her head. “I haven't seen him yet. Mr. McCarthy said Kevin won't be allowed visitors until all his paperwork is processed, maybe not until tomorrow morning.”

Deirdre pressed her hand against her mouth and blinked back tears. “What are we going to do, Mum?”

“Let's talk inside.” Slipping her arm around her daughter's waist, she led her back into Deirdre's dormitory room and closed the door. Then, with a weary sigh, she sat down on the bed.

Deirdre didn't think she could stand another moment without answers. She sat down in a chair across from her mother. “Mum?”

“We'll wait until we hear from Mr. McCarthy,” Kate began. “He's our best hope right now. Depending on what happens there, we can plan for several possibilities.”

“Such as?”

“If Kevin is released, he'll be required to participate in a recovery program. Mr. McCarthy believes he'll be sentenced to community service as well.”

“Will the recovery program be an outpatient one?”

Kate looked surprised. “I don't know. Why?”

“If Kevin is a drug addict, there won't be any stopping him, Mum.” The words rolled off her tongue, fast and furious and desperately sincere. “You can't make him do anything. It isn't really Kevin who's talking, it's the drugs. The only program that will work is one where he can't get out.”

“Oh, Lord, Deirdre. Let's hope it hasn't gone that far.”

“What are the other possibilities?”

“Kevin may have to serve time in jail. He was arrested with more than an ounce of cocaine on his person.” Her mother's voice cracked. “His charge is for distribution.”

“How could he do this?” Deirdre whispered. “What's the matter with him? Why doesn't he see what's happening to him and to all of us?”

Kate was losing control rapidly. She curled up in a fetal position on the bed. “Oh, Dee.” Her words were thick and tear-choked. “I don't know what to do. I can't bear this. I can't lose Kevin, too, not after all that's happened.”

Deirdre lay down beside her mother and wrapped her arms around her. “We won't lose Kevin, Mum,” she promised. “Mr. McCarthy will come through for us. I know he will.”

Kate pressed her daughter's face against her shoulder. “Of course, he will,” she said. “Mr. McCarthy is a wonderful lawyer. He knows exactly what to do. We'll put our faith in him. Meanwhile we should consider options for Kevin. I'll talk to people, check out recovery programs and counselors. People get through these things. Kevin isn't the only troubled boy in Ireland.”

“What if he won't do it? Kevin can be stubborn.” “He won't have a choice. Perhaps this experience will have scared him.” She stroked Deirdre's dark hair and pressed a kiss on her temple. “Everything will work out. You'll see.”

P
romptly, at eight o'clock the following morning, Kate walked through the double doors of the courthouse where Her Majesty's justice prevailed. She had spent a restless night and the skin around her eyes was marked with dark, bruised circles. Otherwise, she was the picture of calm, her blouse crisply white, her tailored suit pressed, her hair straight and shining, not a strand out of place, falling like a smooth curtain to the tops of her shoulders.

She had been here many times before but always in a professional capacity. The large desk in the middle of the lobby would have the information she needed. With the ease of familiarity, she bypassed the information booth. On the counter lay the court's daily agenda. Kate flipped through the stapled sheets until she found Kevin's name and beside it the room where his case would be heard. She breathed a sigh of relief. Rodney Thompson was one of the more reasonable judges on the bench. His reputation for fairness had won him high marks in the Nationalist community. “Thank God,” she murmured.

“Don't be too sure of that,” said a voice behind her.

She turned. Worry lines creased Dylan McCarthy's forehead.

“Why do you say that? Has something happened?”

“Have you told me everything, Kate?”

“Why?” she repeated.

McCarthy frowned. “There is no bail amount set. It looks as if Kevin is being denied completely. That doesn't happen for a first drug offense. Has he been in trouble before?”

“Of course not.”

“Then it must be a mistake and, if so, we'll fix it.”

“What are you going to do?”

“He's scheduled to come before the judge this morning. I'll do what I can to see that he's released into your custody.”

Kate wet her lips. “What if it isn't a mistake?”

“Kevin didn't murder anyone, Kate. No one sends a sixteen-year-old boy whose never been arrested to jail on a first-time drug offense.”

“A police officer was shot and a man was killed. What if Kevin is blamed?”

“Unless he fired the gun, that's impossible. There's absolutely no evidence to suggest such a thing.”

Kate swallowed. “I want to go in with you.”

McCarthy nodded. “It's good for the judge to see a lad with the support of his family.” He smiled encouragingly and motioned toward the door. “Shall we?”

She preceded him into the courtroom and sat down in the last of a row of seats near the front.

Patting her on the shoulder, the barrister continued past her, making his way toward a uniformed guard seated at a desk with several files in front of him.

Kate couldn't hear their whispered conversation. She looked around. Twelve rows of deep seats, ten and twelve across, were staggered on either side of two aisles running from the front of the room to the back. Separating the court from the spectators was a low wooden wall and two tables. An ornately carved door led to the judge's chambers and on one side of the room was a large wire cage with six seats inside.

A soft whisper startled her. “Hello, Mum.”

Kate looked up to see her daughter slip into the seat beside her. Deirdre reached for her mother's hand and squeezed it.

“Did you clear your classes?” Kate asked.

Deirdre's lip trembled. “I didn't have time. But Kevin is more important.”

The tightness in Kate's stomach eased a bit. “Thank you, love. You have no idea how I appreciate this.”

“Has anything happened yet?”

Kate shook her head.

A door behind the cage opened. Deirdre gasped.

Kate tightened her hand over her daughter's.

Kevin, in a yellow jumpsuit, hands and feet shackled, shuffled into the cage and sat down. He looked tired and unkempt as if he'd been dragged out of bed without warning. Kate tried to catch his eye but he refused to look up. He sat slumped down in the chair, head down.

Another door opened and a man wearing a black robe and powdered wig entered the courtroom.

The guard stood at attention. “All rise for the Honorable Rodney Thompson, chief justice of Her Majesty's court in Northern Ireland.”

Kate and Deirdre stood.

The judge sat down, slipped on his glasses and began to flip through a sheaf of papers.

“You may be seated,” the guard said.

Kate shivered. She knew Chief Justice Thompson well enough from her years as a social worker in West Belfast. He was serious and conscientious, an advocate for the rights of children. But he had no patience for criminal acts. Behind the ill-fitting wig and wire-rimmed glasses was the power and weight of the English Crown, the hereditary enemy of all Irishmen. How would he see Kevin, as a victim or as the enemy?

The judge spoke. “Is Kevin Nolan represented by counsel?”

The barrister stepped forward. “Yes, Your Honor. Dylan McCarthy, here, representing the lad, Kevin Nolan.”

“What is his plea?”

“I have had no chance to speak with the boy, Your Honor. May I request a stay until such time that I may discuss his case with him.”

The judge lifted his gavel. “So ordered.”

“May I also request that Kevin, in light of his age and the fact that he has no previous record, be released into the custody of his mother, Your Honor?”

Chief Justice Rodney Thompson looked as if he might say something but he did not. Instead he frowned. “Ordinarily the court would gladly grant your request, Mr. McCarthy. Unfortunately, because of the situation in West Belfast, I cannot allow it at this time.” He looked at his calendar. “Because it is now Thursday and tomorrow is completely booked, Kevin Nolan will be arraigned on Monday.” He looked out over the rims of his glasses. “Is that satisfactory, Mr. McCarthy?”

“This is without precedent, Your Honor. Kevin is a sixteen-year-old boy without any prior convictions. His record is clean. What harm is there in allowing him to go home? Kathleen Nolan is the boy's mother. Surely her word is good.”

“Mrs. Nolan's character isn't in question, Mr. McCarthy,” said the judge dryly. “If I could release the boy, I would. My hands are tied in this instance.”

“May I ask why?”

“You may ask anything you please, however, I cannot give you an answer at this time.”

“Where will the boy be taken?”

Again the man hesitated. He reached for the glass of water at his elbow and drained it. Then he cleared his throat. “He'll be detained at Long Kesh.”

Kate gasped at the same time that Deirdre cried out. “This is outrageous,” McCarthy shouted. “He's a child.”

“I'm sorry, Mr. McCarthy. My hands are tied.”

Normally slow to anger, Kate didn't recognize the emotion that began at the back of her head and moved downward, heating her chest and stomach, awakening nerve endings in her arms and legs, fingers and toes. Only when she stood and walked down the aisle and lifted the latch and walked deliberately over to the cage where her son sat in dejected silence, did she identify the rage that consumed her.

“Kevin,” she said softly, “I love you. I promise you this will go away.”

From his seat on the bench, the judge spoke, ordering her back away from the prisoner. Kate ignored him.

“You'll be all right. Nothing will happen to you. Do you understand? I'll make sure nothing happens to you. No one will hurt you. Do you understand, Kevin? I won't allow anyone to hurt you.”

The guard walked toward her. “Please, Mrs. Nolan,” he said, “stay back.”

Kate reached into the cage. “Speak to me, Kevin,” she pleaded. “Say something.”

Slowly Kevin lifted his head and focused on his mother's face. She smiled. Quickly, briefly, he reached out and touched her fingers. She stifled a sob.

The guard, about to move in, looked askance at the judge. He shook his head. The guard backed away.

Behind the cage a door opened. A man in green uniform stepped inside and motioned for Kevin to follow him. Kate watched the door close behind them and struggled against the panic rising in her throat.

Faintly she heard the solicitor speak on her behalf. “When will Mrs. Nolan be allowed to visit her son?”

“Long Kesh has regular weekend visiting hours. She should call ahead and arrange an appointment for either Saturday or Sunday.”

Kate barely heard him. Her mind was racing forward, rejecting one solution after another. She felt a hand on her arm, heard Deirdre's question, the fear in her voice. “What happened here, Mum?”

Squeezing her daughter's hand, she shook her head. “I don't know. Let's go now.”

Together they left the courtroom. Dylan McCarthy followed them outside. “Something isn't right, Kate. I don't like this. Can you influence anyone?”

Kate's face was the white of bleached bone. This was what Patrick had fought against, what Liam and Dominick were still fighting against. Nothing unusual had happened back in the courtroom, just business as usual. A Catholic boy had come up against a Protestant judge. The Queen's justice had prevailed in the same routine manner it always had. “I don't know,” was all she said.

“I won't be able to get him out before the arraignment, not until I know what's happened and what we're up against. I'll find out,” he said grimly, “but not before the boy is transported to Long Kesh.”

She held out her hand. “Do everything you can, Dylan. We're depending on you.”

“What will you do?”

She stared at him, blue eyes wide, defensive, furious. “I can't tell you.”

He sucked in his breath. “Don't do anything rash, Katie. It won't help us in the end.”

“I'm going to save my son, Dylan. None of this will matter if he's found with his throat cut.”

“You're exaggerating.”

Her raised eyebrows mocked him. “Am I? Have you forgotten what they did to Patrick?”

Embarrassed, Dylan apologized. “Forgive me.”

She nodded. “Of course.”

“Do me a favor, Kate. Be careful.”

Again she nodded. “Goodbye, Dylan. I'll see you on Monday morning at the courthouse.”

Deirdre waited until the solicitor left them. “What are you going to do?”

Kate was once more the professional, poised, in control. “I shall call in my markers.” She smoothed her daughter's dark hair. “I'd like you to go back to Queen's. I'll call you later. We can meet and I'll tell you what's happening. Will that be all right?”

“Yes, of course. Are you sure you don't want me to go with you?”

“Not this time.”

Deirdre's face reflected her emotions as clearly as a glass lake. The child was terrified.

Kate's heart broke. Would the sights and sounds of Sligo always hover, ever present, in her daughter's memory? “Don't worry, love,” she said soothingly.

“Nothing I do will be dangerous. I'm not at all brave, remember?”

Deirdre laughed. “You're the bravest person I know.” Kissing her mother's cheek, she strode back to the car park, waving before she disappeared around the bend.

Kate waited a full twenty minutes before she made her way back to her Volvo. Inside the car she waited another ten minutes arguing the merits of what she was about to do. Then she pulled out into the street and turned the car toward the west side of the city.

The unmanned barricade separating East and West Belfast was an eyesore. All recommendations called for its complete demolition. So far nothing had been done. Slowly Kate drove past the brick and barbed wire. In her own mind, who she was had never been more clear. She was an Irish woman, a Catholic, in a land of English Protestants. Her husband's murder remained unavenged. Her children had no rights. Only here, in the Falls and the Clonard, in the streets of Andersonstown was she safe.

Passing the Peace Line that had nothing to do with peace, she crossed the Springfield Road into the Falls. Houses were small here, built back-to-back, directly on the asphalt, without yards. They weren't in ill repair, but they were too similar to be charming. Children's toys, tricycles and prams lay in haphazard disarray around doorways and front steps.

She stopped at the intersection of Glen Road and Whiterock to allow a group of schoolboys in parish uniforms to cross the street. They grinned and waved at her. She waved back. Her spirits lifted. In front of St. Patrick's Church a priest gathered his cassock and lifted one leg over a rusted bicycle. He pushed off, settling himself nicely. A woman called to him from the other side of the street. He answered her greeting with a friendly shout. In spite of herself, Kate smiled. She had forgotten that West Belfast was a community.

She passed through two more intersections and turned down Divas Street. They would be home, both of them. She'd called ahead to be sure.

Kate stopped in front of a white-framed house with a narrow porch. She set the brake but didn't bother to lock the door. No one in his right mind would disturb a car parked here.

Her heels sounded loudly on the wooden porch. Before she could knock, the door opened. Liam Nolan smiled at her and held out his hand. She took it. “Welcome, Kate,” he said, when she'd stepped inside. “It's been too long.”

“Thank you, Liam. It's nice of you to say so.”

“Please.” He motioned toward a shabby sofa. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“That would be lovely.”

“Dominick should be back soon. He knows you're here. Shall we wait for him?”

Kate nodded. She had never been on warm terms with Patrick's youngest brother.

Liam busied himself in the kitchen. She could hear the sounds of his movement, china tinkling, the kettle whistling, a drawer opening and closing.

“Shall I help you?” she called out.

“No, thanks.” He appeared in the doorway carrying a tray. “I've managed to put it together.”

The biscuits were the commercial kind, but the tea was hot and sustaining. She had poured her second cup when Dominick walked through the front door.