Witnesses

March 1998

March 1998The first week in March had been milder than usual. I was sitting outside looking across the bay when Dee arrived. Dropping an A4 envelope onto my lap, he took the chair across from me, popped himself a bottle of lager and clinked it to mine in the custom.

''Slainte Tim.''

My caravan is in Gyles Quay, in a private park situated beneath the Slieve Foy Mountains on the Cooley Peninsula.

It's a beautiful quiet place that's out of the way of prying eyes, has one private road in and out for vehicles. For those that have homes there, that is, and one walkway they can also use, but there was another two pathways, known only to myself and Kelly.

''Hows things Jim Degan?''

As usual, I got a kick out of his accent. His family having embraced life in the south of the country over two decades before, when they'd fled Belfast in the aftermath of what had happened to his brother Conn.

A time that had left its mark on both him, his parents, and so many of us. The accent helping him blend in as a native southerner, and meant not having to wrestle with the bullshitted superiority many southerners possessed since the war of independence. Believing, that anyone born in the North, were not only inferior to them, but not as Irish as they were. That the North had no business being attached to their Island and if they could cut it away, would do so without any hesitation, and that was only the ones in Killymoon.

''You came on the bus?'' I asked

''Thumbed a lift,'' his reply

''I've told you before Dee not to do that, use your car.''

''I know. Anyhow, I thought you should know that Bob's wanted for questioning, nothing more.''

''Any sign of him?''

''No, and the Detective sent from Dublin thinks he's gone to England, and Mr Morgan added, that they won't be going to look for him.''

''Morgan? I said, recognising the surname.

''Yeah, and we know him, but nothing to get concerned about.''

''I don't believe in coincidences Dee, especially names from the past; tell me, what are your thoughts on Bob?''

''He'd have had help to disappear that fast, but he's well away Tim, and see no reason to believe he'll ever show his face again.''

''Who would have helped him?''

''Cat Bowden, Ray White, a few others,'' his reply.

''There was a Ray who came into the café a lot, always sat in the last cubicle, and didn’t someone named White own the Shadows nightclub?'' I asked.

''Everything's in that sleeve. I went through the police records for the Bowden's. Turns out Cat's sons were born in Belfast. Lived in Peel street until their dad died on a cocktail of drink, and moved away after that. Cat's originally from Dublin.''

''Her maiden name is Sloane, and had a brother who was in the IRA, which got me curious, and in miscellaneous found a hyperlink that took me to CENOI.''

''Now, that my old friend is something to read before bedtime, and that title is explained in precise detail. Ok then, that’s me, you know how to reach me. I told Ita I'd be back for supper.''

''How is she?'' I asked.

''One week to go.''

''Boy or girl?''

''A boy, the name's picked.''

I didn't have to ask the name. I knew he'd call the child after his brother.

''I need to talk to you about the christening Tim, but I see your gear's packed. When will you be back?''

''I'll have a few drinks while reading the file, then have a few hours kip. I'm heading for the Cooley's before dawn, a few days to clear my head is all Dee, and be along to see you both when I get back. The keys are in the jeep, take it.''

He drove off while I worried about coincidences, and names that were Sloane and Morgan, and a feeling that the past had somehow found its way to the present.

That was March 6th, two Friday’s past and the last time I saw Dee. Ita was now a Mother, and inconsolable. The christening was on hold, and I was heading to Belfast for Roddy's funeral in a car named ‘T he Tardis,' because of Dee's fascination with Dr Who, and my mind now jumped to 1972.

Unable to shake the snapshots of what Rod had endured before death from my mind, I stepped on the gas.

Dee hadn’t like lying to his fiend. Morgan had taken one look at the driver licence for Jim Degan and known it was Tim.

''You wanna tell me what’s going on Dee, and why someone supposed to be dead, isn’t?''

''He’s tried to get on with his life Colm, we all have.''

''You think I don’t know that? That’s why I took the job in Dublin. I didn’t just leave Belfast I was forced out after the branchmen’s mercenaries tried killing me. Does he know about the other people?''

''No, he doesn’t know everything, neither do you, you never did'' replied Dee.''

''Tell me then,'' and he’d told Morgan what he knew, and what he didn’t.