Unlikely Hero--13

Chapter 121

The walls of Londonderry, Ireland built in the 17th century still stood. They were overgrown now with the lush greenery of the island, and diminutive life forms hunted within their world of grass and stone. Mostly obscured from or ignored by the humans, the bugs devoured one another in the same endless cycle of survival. 2

The shutters and shades on the homes of Derry closed early to blank out more than the darkness. Saracens, on their endless patrols, shared the roads with a few large black taxicabs. Spotlights from the military lorries turned small portions of the ‘City of Two Names’ from night to day and back again. Now and then a private car skirted around areas considered too dangerous for a prosperous city dweller to enter. 3

The RUC vehicle managed to squeeze by the shell of a burned out bus that nearly blocked the narrow street that led into the Bogside. The driver of the police lorry was used to maneuvering around such obstacles. He ignored the wreck and concentrated on the shadowy figures of pedestrians. Likely these were only gents headed for their favorite pub, but one never knew. Too often out of the darkness came a tossed homemade bomb. Too often bullets flew through the air to pepper a car. Police, regardless of their mission, were unwelcome in a territory of the IRA.4

The abused body of Father Philip Reagan was still lying on a gurney in the lab, when a very tired Investigator Rodger Keenan rapped his knuckles against a door in three quick bursts. Beside him, his equally exhausted partner shuffled his feet as they waited. Nothing happened and Keenan rapped louder. 5

“Hold your water, I’m a coming.” 6

They heard the latch slide back while a grumbling voice informed them, “A bloke can’t grab a nap.” The door opened a crack. “What in ‘ell ya want?” Two distinct smells came from the wide-bodied elderly male who blocked the doorway. Sweat was slightly overpowered by booze; his gray hairs stood up in random spikes on his head and shadowed his cheeks with several days lack of a shave. His white apron needed a wash and large blotches of brown mixed with faded-yellow stained it. 7

“Mr. Cummins?”8

“Who else ya think ta find in a man’s shop this late?” His bloodshot glance shifted from Keenan’s features to the face of the younger officer. The door opened a bit more. “Andy Stone. What ya bothering me for this time?”9

“We were headed for your house,” Stone said. “We saw the light in the shop. What are you doing napping here?”10

“My old woman’s got her tail twisted. Wouldn’t have been able ta sleep in me bed, no how, her yowling like a banshee.”11

“Can we come in?” Keenan asked.12

“What the fuck for?”13

“We need to ask you a few questions, Jeff,” Stone said in an effortless voice while rewarding the older man with a soft grin. “Nothing against you. Someone break in your shop lately?” 14

“Break in?” Suspicion highlighted Cummins’ tone. “Somebody try that I’d crack their blooming skull.”15

“Can we just take a look around?” Keenan asked. He caught the edge of the door and pulled on it.16

“No reason ta concern yourself.”17

“We won’t be long.” Keenan pushed passed without waiting. “You sure nothing’s been amiss lately?” He heard Cummins angry grunts behind him and Stone’s attempts to appease the man. Quickly he made his way into the butchering area of the shop. He spotted the wall switch and flicked on some added lights. The wooden block tables used for cutting and packaging held unprotected meat but he ignored this violation and lifted a knife from a slot. The handle resembled those on the knives they found sticking out of the priest. He allowed it to drop back in its slot. 18

Cummins had moved to the table and was attempting to make rapid improvements. He wiped up some blood with a bloodier cloth. “Just started working,” he said.19

“Thought you were napping?” Keenan didn’t push the point. “Looks like you’re running low on equipment?” He ran his hand over a bunch of empty knife slots. “Appears like something more than knives are missing.” He pointed to several hooks where only the dirty imprint of saws or cleavers showed on the wall. “You sure someone didn’t lift some of your tools?”20

Cummins’ scratched at his beard and moaned. “Friggin’ sons of mine. Sell things off on me for gaming money. Pretty soon I’ll be needin’ to use my teeth to break bones on a beef.” He looked around as if doing a fast inventory. “Ain’t nobody broke in.”21

“Where your boys at?” Stone asked.22

Members of the RUC plaguing him wasn’t unusual and their asking after his sons’ whereabouts was common. Still, Cummins’ didn’t give anything up too easily. He paused as if to think things over before he said, “Young ones’ at home I suspect. Fran got himself a job at a pub in Strabane. Be workin’ now.”23

“And Fred?”24

Cummins lifted his shoulders and scratched again at his chin. “Only see ‘em when he needs a pound.”25

“What’s Fred two, three, years older than Fran?” Keenan counted the empty knife slots making a mental note for he didn’t want to jot down anything and make Cummins’ even more suspicious.26

“More like four or five, wife had a couple gals in between. Why ya askin’?”27

“Freddy got himself in a bit of trouble,” Stone said. “You might wanna come down to the station and talk things over.”28

“Not on a bet. Let him get his own ass outta the fire.”29

“Now, Jeff.” Keenan’s voice thickened with his threat. “It will pay you to cooperate. Your coming with us could be beneficial to your own hide as well.”30

“You ain’t got no reason for lifting me.”31

“We aren’t arresting you,” Stone said. “Just need a bit of your time.” He took a satchel from a shelf on the wall. “Like to borrow a few of your tools. You wouldn’t mind that?”32

“Don’t know about that.” Still, Cummins didn’t attempt to stop the inspector when he dropped several knives in the satchel. “Got me a solicitor. Think I’d best give him a call.”33

“You do that Jeff.” Keenan said. “We’ll wait for you in the car.”34

***35

What started as a despicable afternoon for Fred Cummins continued on into a disgusting night. 36

Morning soon came and his abundance of cash that should have allowed him to be buzzing was locked away and he was cold sober. He still hadn’t managed to consume one sip of good stout and that angered him more than the fact he was still in the lockup. He tried to sit still. The things the lawyer said, kept making him jump to his feet, rant a bit and collapse in the chair again. “Why them bastards lying?”37

“Calm down. Half the city hearing you won’t help the situation. The soldiers have no reason to lie. They set the check point up at nine and remained at the spot until nearly quarter past eleven.” Alistair McNeil had dealt with men like Cummins for twenty of his forty-five years. He believed only a small portion of what they told him and he rarely let them upset him. His voice remained non-committal as he continued. “You definitely made a lasting impression but the soldiers can’t pinpoint the exact time they encountered you. They checked some twenty or so cars yesterday morning, and since nothing but your nasty disposition was amiss they didn’t record the time. When they were called away for something far more important, no one thought enough about you to remember the exact time.”38

“What about my lousy brother-in-law?”39

“Hennessey said, you left your car off the afternoon before and borrowed a van from him. You did bring the auto back sometime after ten but so what. Father Reagan was murdered yesterday morning. It’s only a fifteen-minute drive at normal speed from the church to where the army was stopping vehicles.” McNeil flipped through his notes and frowned. “They haven’t charged you with the Fitzgibbon murder but they will.”40

“What the fuck for? I liked that lass, I wouldn’t kill her.”41

“Maybe so. Still, a black van was parked in front of her house. I don’t know much more than it apparently was there a good part of the night. You work in your daddy’s shop and have access to butcher knives?”42

“Yeah, so? Coppers said she was beat ta death.”43

“I wasn’t referring to Fitzgibbon just then. The priest was killed with a butcher knife in fact several were used on him. It’s not looking good for you Fred.” McNeil didn’t raise his tone. 44

“Suppose, they’re gonna tack the whore on too.” Fred grunted in disgust. “Tryin’ ta clean up by stackin’ all them murders on me. Sons of bitches, they are.” His fist pounded the table and he squalled. “You got ta get me out of this.”45

“What whore, Fred?”46

“Leona Ahern!”47

“They said nothing about the Ahern murder. Why would they think you killed her?”48

“’cause I fuckin’ knew her.” His face purpled in rage, his eyeballs rolled upward so his sockets became nearly white and he sputtered through a mouth of saliva. “This shits. This shits all ta hell!” He was banging on the table.49

“Calm down. You’ll have them dragging you out!” McNeil’s voice finally showed some concern. The portly male stood up and backed away from the table.50

The rage left Cummins and he slumped back in his chair, tilting it slightly. “I ain’t nutty,” he said. Then allowed himself a caustic snicker as he eyed the lawyer who remained standing. “If someone else saw me at around nine or a little after, yesterday morning, would that help?”51

“They have a fairly tight time schedule and since we’re talking minutes here anything might help. How reliable a person is this?”52

“She ain’t gonna be too thrilled with saving my ass.” Cummins chuckled as if enjoying a marvelous joke. Then he spit on the floor before he said, “Aileen Hailey.”53

***54

In New York, Garth Ahern’s neck continuously swiveled his head to the left, to the right, and back. From the moment they came down the concourse his eyes stretched to their fullest as he attempted to see everything at once. People everywhere, so many people rushing about, in fancy outfits critters usually saved for best. Store after store crowded up next to restaurants in the mammoth terminal. Since the scene was as loud as it was colorful, Garth grew nervous and he clutched his uncle’s hand tightly. 55

Mathew glanced down at him and smiled. “Bit overwhelming?”56

“Too many people,” Garth said. “How do they find places ta live?”57

“Oh there’s plenty of room in America. Wait until you see New York City from the ground? Anything you want, you get thirsty or hungry, you just say so.”58

“Can we go in there?”59

“The Video store? Sure. But we won’t buy any right now. I’ve got a few surprises for you when we get home.”60

Home as a word never meant much to Garth, it was a place he ate and slept--got belted or cursed. Mostly to him it was Leona’s prison that held him captive until he was old enough for the real one. He hated that ‘home’. He longed for the real prison where he would have the company of heroes. 61

His heroes were gone from his sight but they felt nearby. His free hand slipped into the pocket of his bright new jeans. He touched the game that rested there and a sly grin creased his mouth. Then his fingers brushed the picture. His father’s face? The word home coming from his Uncle Mathew’s mouth took on an agreeable meaning. 62

“Let’s forget the store, Uncle Matt. Let’s forget New York and hurry on out ta this Westchester place.”63

Mathew grinned. “Stores we can bypass Garth, but I’m afraid the city is just too big.”64