room for doubt over Leon’s involvement.
‘The fucking idiot called me from the offices last night. They brought him out just after three this morning.’
‘Why did he do it?’ I asked.
‘Another one of these bloody publicity stunts.’
‘Why come to me? What can I do?’
‘We were hoping you could put in a good word for him. With the cops up North.’
I said nothing, but Fearghal obviously read my feelings clearly.
‘Look, I know he’s fucked things up here for you,’ he said. ‘If you don’t want to help him, I’d understand, but help me. Please.’
*
I called Hendry, who was able to give me the name of the arresting officer in Omagh, though by the time I phoned, Leon and his three co-accused were already on their way to appear in court.
I changed out of my paint-splattered clothes as quickly as I could, but by the time we reached Omagh the Eligius Four, as they had been dubbed, had already appeared before the magistrate. The barrister representing them spoke briefly with Fearghal, explaining what had happened during their appearance. He named the four men, though the only name I knew other than Leon’s was Seamus Curran; he had been in the papers some years back over a miscarriage of justice. In the 1970s, Curran had been one of a number of men arrested on terrorism charges in England, who had been denied legal representation and had confessions beaten from them. Curran’s conviction had finally been overturned several years ago with an unspecified settlement and an apology from the Home Office. Whether or not he had been political before his arrest thirty years ago, his time inside had certainly politicized him, and he was frequently pictured in the local papers leading demonstrations against one thing or another, though without affiliation to any particular party. The other two men’s names meant nothing to me.
The hearing had been quick and uneventful, apparently. A PSNI officer who introduced himself to the court as Inspector Sweeney outlined the facts of the case and stated that he could connect the four accused with the break-in.
Leon Bradley spoke only long enough to confirm his name and age. The magistrate set bail at £2,000 for each of the accused, to reappear again on the 28th. Sweeney in turn suggested that Bradley might pose a flight risk following an incident in Donegal and requested that he be refused bail. However, instead the magistrate ruled that his bail be set at £5,000 and that he report to Omagh PSNI station once a day until the trial.
Fearghal organized the bail as quickly as he could, and later that morning we collected Leon from the Gortin Road station where he was being held. Fearghal asked to speak to Leon alone before he was released, and I guessed he was preparing him for my presence.
While I waited in the station foyer, I read through the local newspaper, the Tyrone Herald , and was surprised to see a story about Ted Coyle, the Carrowcreel prospector. He claimed to have been attacked, at his campsite by the river, and had been admitted to hospital with fractured ribs and a broken ankle. Gardai believed that the attack was a mugging; someone perhaps looking for his gold nugget. Supt Harry Patterson appealed to people to stay away from the campsite, stating that, in the time that prospectors had been working the river, only Coyle had found anything worth mentioning. The level of human activity on the river was also having an adverse effect on local wildlife, he said, as well as permitting the type of lawlessness that had resulted in the attack on Mr Coyle.
*
Leon smiled at me sheepishly as he was led out from the holding cells. His hair was even more dishevelled than the last time I had seen him and his clothes smelt of the smoke of both cigarettes and wood fires. I noticed he wore faint eyeliner around his eyes and this, coupled with his thin build, the paleness of his skin and his prominent cheekbones, gave him a vaguely feminine appearance – in marked
‘The fucking idiot called me from the offices last night. They brought him out just after three this morning.’
‘Why did he do it?’ I asked.
‘Another one of these bloody publicity stunts.’
‘Why come to me? What can I do?’
‘We were hoping you could put in a good word for him. With the cops up North.’
I said nothing, but Fearghal obviously read my feelings clearly.
‘Look, I know he’s fucked things up here for you,’ he said. ‘If you don’t want to help him, I’d understand, but help me. Please.’
*
I called Hendry, who was able to give me the name of the arresting officer in Omagh, though by the time I phoned, Leon and his three co-accused were already on their way to appear in court.
I changed out of my paint-splattered clothes as quickly as I could, but by the time we reached Omagh the Eligius Four, as they had been dubbed, had already appeared before the magistrate. The barrister representing them spoke briefly with Fearghal, explaining what had happened during their appearance. He named the four men, though the only name I knew other than Leon’s was Seamus Curran; he had been in the papers some years back over a miscarriage of justice. In the 1970s, Curran had been one of a number of men arrested on terrorism charges in England, who had been denied legal representation and had confessions beaten from them. Curran’s conviction had finally been overturned several years ago with an unspecified settlement and an apology from the Home Office. Whether or not he had been political before his arrest thirty years ago, his time inside had certainly politicized him, and he was frequently pictured in the local papers leading demonstrations against one thing or another, though without affiliation to any particular party. The other two men’s names meant nothing to me.
The hearing had been quick and uneventful, apparently. A PSNI officer who introduced himself to the court as Inspector Sweeney outlined the facts of the case and stated that he could connect the four accused with the break-in.
Leon Bradley spoke only long enough to confirm his name and age. The magistrate set bail at £2,000 for each of the accused, to reappear again on the 28th. Sweeney in turn suggested that Bradley might pose a flight risk following an incident in Donegal and requested that he be refused bail. However, instead the magistrate ruled that his bail be set at £5,000 and that he report to Omagh PSNI station once a day until the trial.
Fearghal organized the bail as quickly as he could, and later that morning we collected Leon from the Gortin Road station where he was being held. Fearghal asked to speak to Leon alone before he was released, and I guessed he was preparing him for my presence.
While I waited in the station foyer, I read through the local newspaper, the Tyrone Herald , and was surprised to see a story about Ted Coyle, the Carrowcreel prospector. He claimed to have been attacked, at his campsite by the river, and had been admitted to hospital with fractured ribs and a broken ankle. Gardai believed that the attack was a mugging; someone perhaps looking for his gold nugget. Supt Harry Patterson appealed to people to stay away from the campsite, stating that, in the time that prospectors had been working the river, only Coyle had found anything worth mentioning. The level of human activity on the river was also having an adverse effect on local wildlife, he said, as well as permitting the type of lawlessness that had resulted in the attack on Mr Coyle.
*
Leon smiled at me sheepishly as he was led out from the holding cells. His hair was even more dishevelled than the last time I had seen him and his clothes smelt of the smoke of both cigarettes and wood fires. I noticed he wore faint eyeliner around his eyes and this, coupled with his thin build, the paleness of his skin and his prominent cheekbones, gave him a vaguely feminine appearance – in marked
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