been remodelled several times since its doors first opened. The long room that constitutes the main area features wooden beams, a feature fireplace and drinking paraphernalia that would do credit to an antiques shop. The relatively low height of White’s ceiling was one of the reasons Wilson was not a regular patron. When he entered, he saw that McDevitt was already installed at the table furthest away from the bar and next to the toilet. He was seated directly under a black and white photograph of the Titanic , and two pints of Guinness were on the table before him.
‘Guinness, alright?’ he said pushing a pint across the table.
‘Perfect.’ Wilson sat facing McDevitt and the photo of the ill-fated ship. He picked up the glass and took a deep draught. ‘I thought we arranged to communicate by email.’
‘I thought it would be nicer to have a little chat.’ McDevitt withdrew a folded sheaf of white paper from the inside of his jacket and laid it on the table. ‘The complete Chronicle file on the murder of Cormac Mallon and Sean Lafferty. My guess was spot on about the coverage. There was too much happening at the time. Murders were a dime a dozen.’
Wilson unfolded the packet and found it consisted of three sheets each containing a copy of an article. The first was the largest and consisted of about six column inches. It was dated the day after the murders. He read quickly through the piece, which outlined the bare details of the killings. There was nothing new. There was speculation that the boys had been either in a fire fight or had been caught in the crossfire of a fire fight. The source of that speculation was attributed to the RUC but no particular officer was cited. The article on the second sheet was dated two days later and consisted of four column inches. The RUC made a statement that the killings had been random and sectarian in nature. There was no apparent link between the killings and other murders in the Province. The perpetrators were being sought. The final page carried a two-column inch piece on the funerals of Mallon and Lafferty. The funerals had been notable for the absence of tricolours on the coffins and paramilitary demonstrations: just two more victims of a murder spree that went on for years. ‘This is it?’ Wilson asked when he’d finished.
McDevitt nodded.
‘It must have been a heavy news week,’ Wilson said.
‘Don’t blame me,’ McDevitt sipped his drink. ‘I was still in short trousers and had yet to develop an unhealthy interest in women. I don’t even think a reporter was involved. Probably a sub editor working off a press release.’
‘No human interest piece as follow up?’ Wilson asked.
‘It was a time when most human interest was confined to keeping themselves alive. You could go into a pub anywhere in Ulster for a quiet drink, and exit in a body bag.’
‘I’ve never seen a case where both the RUC and the Fourth Estate took so little interest in finding out why a kid’s football game was targeted.’
‘Come on. They weren’t exactly kids.’
‘They weren’t exactly adults either.’
‘It was years ago. You said yourself there’s no evidence remaining and probably most of the participants are dead. There’s zero chance of bringing the perpetrators to justice.’’
Wilson thought of the old man lying on his deathbed in Beechmount Parade and the earnest teacher in Omagh. They were still alive, if only just in the case of Lafferty. ‘This isn’t only about justice, it’s also about closure.’ Wilson finished his drink and motioned in the direction of the bar for a refill.
‘I followed up on your other request,’ McDevitt said finishing off his glass.
‘And?’
‘If there was only one pond of shit in this province, you’d find your way into it,’ McDevitt leaned forward. ‘I have sources in most of the security apparatus.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘I fed the names of your new colleagues into the black box.’
The barman
‘Guinness, alright?’ he said pushing a pint across the table.
‘Perfect.’ Wilson sat facing McDevitt and the photo of the ill-fated ship. He picked up the glass and took a deep draught. ‘I thought we arranged to communicate by email.’
‘I thought it would be nicer to have a little chat.’ McDevitt withdrew a folded sheaf of white paper from the inside of his jacket and laid it on the table. ‘The complete Chronicle file on the murder of Cormac Mallon and Sean Lafferty. My guess was spot on about the coverage. There was too much happening at the time. Murders were a dime a dozen.’
Wilson unfolded the packet and found it consisted of three sheets each containing a copy of an article. The first was the largest and consisted of about six column inches. It was dated the day after the murders. He read quickly through the piece, which outlined the bare details of the killings. There was nothing new. There was speculation that the boys had been either in a fire fight or had been caught in the crossfire of a fire fight. The source of that speculation was attributed to the RUC but no particular officer was cited. The article on the second sheet was dated two days later and consisted of four column inches. The RUC made a statement that the killings had been random and sectarian in nature. There was no apparent link between the killings and other murders in the Province. The perpetrators were being sought. The final page carried a two-column inch piece on the funerals of Mallon and Lafferty. The funerals had been notable for the absence of tricolours on the coffins and paramilitary demonstrations: just two more victims of a murder spree that went on for years. ‘This is it?’ Wilson asked when he’d finished.
McDevitt nodded.
‘It must have been a heavy news week,’ Wilson said.
‘Don’t blame me,’ McDevitt sipped his drink. ‘I was still in short trousers and had yet to develop an unhealthy interest in women. I don’t even think a reporter was involved. Probably a sub editor working off a press release.’
‘No human interest piece as follow up?’ Wilson asked.
‘It was a time when most human interest was confined to keeping themselves alive. You could go into a pub anywhere in Ulster for a quiet drink, and exit in a body bag.’
‘I’ve never seen a case where both the RUC and the Fourth Estate took so little interest in finding out why a kid’s football game was targeted.’
‘Come on. They weren’t exactly kids.’
‘They weren’t exactly adults either.’
‘It was years ago. You said yourself there’s no evidence remaining and probably most of the participants are dead. There’s zero chance of bringing the perpetrators to justice.’’
Wilson thought of the old man lying on his deathbed in Beechmount Parade and the earnest teacher in Omagh. They were still alive, if only just in the case of Lafferty. ‘This isn’t only about justice, it’s also about closure.’ Wilson finished his drink and motioned in the direction of the bar for a refill.
‘I followed up on your other request,’ McDevitt said finishing off his glass.
‘And?’
‘If there was only one pond of shit in this province, you’d find your way into it,’ McDevitt leaned forward. ‘I have sources in most of the security apparatus.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘I fed the names of your new colleagues into the black box.’
The barman
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