Read Online Bleed a River Deep by Brian McGilloway - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brian McGilloway
Ads: Link
primary-school children. Presumably anyone older might have reservations about waving flags at a warmonger such as Hagan.
Finally Weston got around to the subject that seemed to be bothering him. ‘Have you gentlemen read the newspapers today?’ Without waiting for a reply, he produced one of the Dublin broadsheets: CONTROVERSIAL SENATOR IN DONEGAL the headline read. He produced a second paper, this one from the North: WARNING TO US SENATOR AHEAD OF VISIT.
I glanced up at Weston as he showed us the stories, aware that he was reading our reactions to see if either of us was responsible for the leak.
‘What was the warning?’ I asked, gesturing towards the headline of the second story.
‘Death threats,’ he said. ‘Phoned in to the Samaritans in Downpatrick, apparently. Probably nothing, but that’s not the point.’
‘Absolutely,’ Patterson said, having finished reading. ‘We’ll have to take it seriously.’
‘Of course you will,’ Weston snapped. ‘My biggest concern is how the fuck they heard about his visit.’
Harry had so far done all he could to appease him. This time, though, it seemed Weston had overstepped the mark.
‘Well, it didn’t come from our office, Mr Weston, and I’m not sure I like your tone. Every Garda force in the country knows he’s coming, plus all the people involved in his trip to the North. Hell, the local primary-school teachers must know.’
‘The school was only informed this morning,’ Weston said, though his tone had changed somewhat. ‘I apologize, Superintendent. I’m a little worried about all this.’
‘No need to worry, sir,’ Patterson said curtly. ‘We have everything under control. I’ll investigate these claims myself,’ he added. ‘Though I can assure you that neither I nor Inspector Devlin here would have mentioned this to anyone.’
‘Janet Moore,’ Patterson said when we were back in the car after our meeting. ‘She wrote the first story. She’s a freelancer, lives in Strabane. I play indoor football with her husband sometimes. Find out where she got her information.’
‘Would it not be better you asking her, if you know the family?’
‘I said I know her husband ,’ Patterson said irritably. ‘Better a stranger asking her. You can lean on her more than I could.’
I silently wondered how he expected me to get her to reveal her sources. After a moment I said, ‘Thanks for your support back there, Harry.’
‘It was the force I was supporting,’ he snapped. ‘If I find out you did leak it, I’ll rip you a new arsehole.’
I shook my head and looked away. I wondered if Fearghal Bradley had had anything to do with the leak. And I wondered just how many more mistakes I could get away with.
I reached Moore’s house just after two o clock. She and her husband, Karl, lived in a detached house at the far end of Strabane, just off the Derry Road.
Karl Moore was crouching over a motorcycle, which lay on its side on the front lawn. He had removed a section of the engine and was spraying the parts with oil when I arrived.
He offered his hand, then looked at it, rubbed it on his jeans leg and shook.
‘I’m looking for your wife, Mr Moore,’ I explained.
He squinted at me.
‘Aye,’ he said. ‘What’s she done?’
‘Nothing, sir. I’d like to discuss a story she wrote about in the paper.’
‘Is it that bloody environment thing?’ he asked.
I shook my head. I had no idea what he meant. ‘She wrote a story about a US senator coming to Donegal. I need to check some information with her.’
‘What information?’
‘Where she heard about it, for starters,’ I said genially, hoping he might tell me.
‘Fuck knows,’ he said. ‘Probably that Bradley fella.’
My surprise at the ease with which I had gleaned that piece of information did nothing to outweigh the anger I felt at myself for having told Fearghal in the first place.
‘Is your wife about?’ I asked.
‘She’s out at that gold place,’ he said,
Finally Weston got around to the subject that seemed to be bothering him. ‘Have you gentlemen read the newspapers today?’ Without waiting for a reply, he produced one of the Dublin broadsheets: CONTROVERSIAL SENATOR IN DONEGAL the headline read. He produced a second paper, this one from the North: WARNING TO US SENATOR AHEAD OF VISIT.
I glanced up at Weston as he showed us the stories, aware that he was reading our reactions to see if either of us was responsible for the leak.
‘What was the warning?’ I asked, gesturing towards the headline of the second story.
‘Death threats,’ he said. ‘Phoned in to the Samaritans in Downpatrick, apparently. Probably nothing, but that’s not the point.’
‘Absolutely,’ Patterson said, having finished reading. ‘We’ll have to take it seriously.’
‘Of course you will,’ Weston snapped. ‘My biggest concern is how the fuck they heard about his visit.’
Harry had so far done all he could to appease him. This time, though, it seemed Weston had overstepped the mark.
‘Well, it didn’t come from our office, Mr Weston, and I’m not sure I like your tone. Every Garda force in the country knows he’s coming, plus all the people involved in his trip to the North. Hell, the local primary-school teachers must know.’
‘The school was only informed this morning,’ Weston said, though his tone had changed somewhat. ‘I apologize, Superintendent. I’m a little worried about all this.’
‘No need to worry, sir,’ Patterson said curtly. ‘We have everything under control. I’ll investigate these claims myself,’ he added. ‘Though I can assure you that neither I nor Inspector Devlin here would have mentioned this to anyone.’
‘Janet Moore,’ Patterson said when we were back in the car after our meeting. ‘She wrote the first story. She’s a freelancer, lives in Strabane. I play indoor football with her husband sometimes. Find out where she got her information.’
‘Would it not be better you asking her, if you know the family?’
‘I said I know her husband ,’ Patterson said irritably. ‘Better a stranger asking her. You can lean on her more than I could.’
I silently wondered how he expected me to get her to reveal her sources. After a moment I said, ‘Thanks for your support back there, Harry.’
‘It was the force I was supporting,’ he snapped. ‘If I find out you did leak it, I’ll rip you a new arsehole.’
I shook my head and looked away. I wondered if Fearghal Bradley had had anything to do with the leak. And I wondered just how many more mistakes I could get away with.
I reached Moore’s house just after two o clock. She and her husband, Karl, lived in a detached house at the far end of Strabane, just off the Derry Road.
Karl Moore was crouching over a motorcycle, which lay on its side on the front lawn. He had removed a section of the engine and was spraying the parts with oil when I arrived.
He offered his hand, then looked at it, rubbed it on his jeans leg and shook.
‘I’m looking for your wife, Mr Moore,’ I explained.
He squinted at me.
‘Aye,’ he said. ‘What’s she done?’
‘Nothing, sir. I’d like to discuss a story she wrote about in the paper.’
‘Is it that bloody environment thing?’ he asked.
I shook my head. I had no idea what he meant. ‘She wrote a story about a US senator coming to Donegal. I need to check some information with her.’
‘What information?’
‘Where she heard about it, for starters,’ I said genially, hoping he might tell me.
‘Fuck knows,’ he said. ‘Probably that Bradley fella.’
My surprise at the ease with which I had gleaned that piece of information did nothing to outweigh the anger I felt at myself for having told Fearghal in the first place.
‘Is your wife about?’ I asked.
‘She’s out at that gold place,’ he said,
Similar Books
