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Authors: Eoin McNamee
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grabbed him from behind.
‘I’m fucking innocent,’ he shouted. ‘I never done nothing. I’m a victim of brutality. I been wrong accused of this crime. I got mental conditions the police took advantage of.’
Hand-cuffed to two policemen Victor waited outside the line-up room. The detective came out.
‘Good try, Victor.’
‘You like that, Herbie?’
‘Very good. You should of been in fucking films.’
‘Sorry about the identification evidence, Herbie. As you say, I don’t know what come over me. And here’s you with all this evidence you can’t use no more since my brief’s going to get up on the hind legs in court and say your honour this here evidence is flawed because my client went and made a show of himself in front of the witnesses and that’s why they’re identifying him and after all the trouble you took.’
‘Is that a fact Victor?’
‘Afraid so. You see I always took this keen amateur interest in the law and it says all the people in a line-up’s got to behave the same way. Still and all, it’s good to see you take it generous.’
‘The thing is Victor you’re going to have to stay with us for a while till I get this sorted out and see if we can’t come up with an accomplice and figure out a way to let him know that this running round the place, shooting everybody in sight, is not a very mature activity and maybe he’ll tell us a story and maybe you being a famous person’s going to be in this story.’
‘That’s very fucking comical, Herbie, you practise that or something?’
‘Natural talent is all, Victor, natural talent.’
*
It was a shock to Dorcas when she heard that Victor was in the prison for murder. Although she knew that in times of rioting and disorder in the streets the police and courts were subject to errors in their thinking it never entered her mind that Victor would fall victim. It was exactly the ordeal a mother dreads. She was in a crippled apprehension for news in the first week but no information was forthcoming to her. Day after day she went to police stations to sit in grim thoughts while the police took not a blind bit of notice of her. The idea that she once placed faith in the police was a source of bitter laughter.
It was a normal thing in such circumstances to blame Godand be in dismay. But this was a temptation to which she resisted with all her might. Instead she took Big Ivan’s suggestion that it was a case of mistaken identity. Though when Big Ivan said it first she felt at that moment that Victor was not himself but somebody else unknown. Or like identity withheld until next of kin are informed. She thought that it was a strange thing in families to become suddenly unknown to each other through thought or deed.
During those four weeks before he was released she had to go each Thursday on a minibus to visit, along with other women who had family in Crumlin Road. She did not wish to pass unnecessary judgement, but simply to say that some of them lacked anything which could be described as manners. She would pass over many of the things that came out of their mouths as words were not adequate. She was often fit for nothing by the time the minibus passed through the prison gate.
Being searched was a further tribulation, being sometimes required to remove garments, which was a large matter and not helped by the commonplace remarks of other women.
She regarded it as a sad matter for a mature woman to be in a place where men were caged like the beasts of the field. It recalled to her the cattle pens at the docks that were a part of her childhood, the pens being full of the sound of metal gates to wake the dead and a smell that rancoured in your nostrils as well. She thought at the time that all those animals bound for slaughter was an offence to innocence.
In addition it was not permitted by regulation to bring Victor a few small things of comfort, such as Tayto crisps or soda bread. There was also an atmosphere of damp to compare to their
‘I’m fucking innocent,’ he shouted. ‘I never done nothing. I’m a victim of brutality. I been wrong accused of this crime. I got mental conditions the police took advantage of.’
Hand-cuffed to two policemen Victor waited outside the line-up room. The detective came out.
‘Good try, Victor.’
‘You like that, Herbie?’
‘Very good. You should of been in fucking films.’
‘Sorry about the identification evidence, Herbie. As you say, I don’t know what come over me. And here’s you with all this evidence you can’t use no more since my brief’s going to get up on the hind legs in court and say your honour this here evidence is flawed because my client went and made a show of himself in front of the witnesses and that’s why they’re identifying him and after all the trouble you took.’
‘Is that a fact Victor?’
‘Afraid so. You see I always took this keen amateur interest in the law and it says all the people in a line-up’s got to behave the same way. Still and all, it’s good to see you take it generous.’
‘The thing is Victor you’re going to have to stay with us for a while till I get this sorted out and see if we can’t come up with an accomplice and figure out a way to let him know that this running round the place, shooting everybody in sight, is not a very mature activity and maybe he’ll tell us a story and maybe you being a famous person’s going to be in this story.’
‘That’s very fucking comical, Herbie, you practise that or something?’
‘Natural talent is all, Victor, natural talent.’
*
It was a shock to Dorcas when she heard that Victor was in the prison for murder. Although she knew that in times of rioting and disorder in the streets the police and courts were subject to errors in their thinking it never entered her mind that Victor would fall victim. It was exactly the ordeal a mother dreads. She was in a crippled apprehension for news in the first week but no information was forthcoming to her. Day after day she went to police stations to sit in grim thoughts while the police took not a blind bit of notice of her. The idea that she once placed faith in the police was a source of bitter laughter.
It was a normal thing in such circumstances to blame Godand be in dismay. But this was a temptation to which she resisted with all her might. Instead she took Big Ivan’s suggestion that it was a case of mistaken identity. Though when Big Ivan said it first she felt at that moment that Victor was not himself but somebody else unknown. Or like identity withheld until next of kin are informed. She thought that it was a strange thing in families to become suddenly unknown to each other through thought or deed.
During those four weeks before he was released she had to go each Thursday on a minibus to visit, along with other women who had family in Crumlin Road. She did not wish to pass unnecessary judgement, but simply to say that some of them lacked anything which could be described as manners. She would pass over many of the things that came out of their mouths as words were not adequate. She was often fit for nothing by the time the minibus passed through the prison gate.
Being searched was a further tribulation, being sometimes required to remove garments, which was a large matter and not helped by the commonplace remarks of other women.
She regarded it as a sad matter for a mature woman to be in a place where men were caged like the beasts of the field. It recalled to her the cattle pens at the docks that were a part of her childhood, the pens being full of the sound of metal gates to wake the dead and a smell that rancoured in your nostrils as well. She thought at the time that all those animals bound for slaughter was an offence to innocence.
In addition it was not permitted by regulation to bring Victor a few small things of comfort, such as Tayto crisps or soda bread. There was also an atmosphere of damp to compare to their
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