Andrew Dunne returned from the pub. Christine had called him to tell him that, finally, she had someone who could corroborate the claims she had made and, in so
doing, prove both to herself and to him that she wasn’t mad.
I made it across to Strabane just before ten o’clock that evening to join Hendry on the reconstruction of Sean Cleary’s final hours. Although Cleary was killed in the middle of the
night, there seemed little point in leaving the reconstruction until then.
The weather was an improvement on the previous night, too. The sky was clear and starry, the air chilled and sharp. Uniforms stopped cars as they passed, offering leaflets with a picture of Sean
Cleary on it. Taxi men in particular were being targeted. Cleary lived in Lifford, yet had been found in Strabane, despite not having his car with him. We also knew from Callan’s neighbour
that Cleary had arrived at his house in a cab; possibly he had used a cab at some stage later that evening, too.
Hendry was directing the other officers when I arrived, so I availed myself of the offer of a sausage roll and a mug of tea from a flask set up in the back of one of the police jeeps until he
was ready to speak to me.
‘Good of you to join us,’ he said. ‘I see you’ve got down to the important stuff first,’ he added nodding at the cup I held.
‘I like to get my priorities in order. What’s happening?’
‘The post-mortem was completed this morning. It confirms mostly what himself told us the last day; Cleary was shot with a silenced pistol at close range. The bullet shattered in the
baffles and the pathologist recovered the pieces he could find, so we’ll run ballistics; it’ll be tricky, though, with the shattering.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘Time of death is probably between midnight and four in the morning, which doesn’t help us wildly. He did find one thing which he was interested in. Cleary’s fingers on his
right hand were covered with paper fibres and smudges of ink. The pathologist has suggested newspaper fibres. The smudging of the ink suggested to him that someone pulled the paper from his grasp;
the doc seemed to think it happened shortly before death.’
‘It could mean he stopped at the chippie on his way to the playground and someone stole his fish supper.’
‘It’s all food with you, isn’t it?’ Hendry said. ‘Milk and two sugars,’ he added, gesturing towards the flask.
‘We also got lucky on the bloody footprint Ryan suggested we would find. It could be the killer’s. Small, mind you – a size 7 Adidas Ambition Powerbounce 2.0,
apparently.’
‘Short and snappy.’
‘The name or the wearer?’
‘Both by the sounds of it, if he wears a size 7. What’s your theory?’
‘I’m hoping some of the kids across the way will be able to help,’ Hendry said, glancing across at the waste ground where we had seen the remains of the fire the day
before.
In fact, we kept an eye on the old factory site throughout the evening. When I first arrived, three or four boys were lurking inside the wall, sticking to the shadows, watching the police
operation with a mixture of disdain and fascination. As the evening progressed, though, the numbers grew, until by midnight there were over a dozen. They had tired quickly of watching the
checkpoints and the lack of response they had got from the occasional insults they had shouted. Hendry had warned the uniforms not to react; he wanted them to settle, wanted to ensure there were as
many of them there as possible. Only if they looked like they were leaving should someone approach them.
Eventually they drifted across to where we had seen the remains of the fire on Sunday morning. Sure enough, a few moments later we saw the first flickers of flames as they started burning some
of the rubbish lying around. They were seated on the milk crates and, having perhaps been reluctant, initially, to start drinking alcohol on the street so close to a PSNI checkpoint, they soon
doing, prove both to herself and to him that she wasn’t mad.
I made it across to Strabane just before ten o’clock that evening to join Hendry on the reconstruction of Sean Cleary’s final hours. Although Cleary was killed in the middle of the
night, there seemed little point in leaving the reconstruction until then.
The weather was an improvement on the previous night, too. The sky was clear and starry, the air chilled and sharp. Uniforms stopped cars as they passed, offering leaflets with a picture of Sean
Cleary on it. Taxi men in particular were being targeted. Cleary lived in Lifford, yet had been found in Strabane, despite not having his car with him. We also knew from Callan’s neighbour
that Cleary had arrived at his house in a cab; possibly he had used a cab at some stage later that evening, too.
Hendry was directing the other officers when I arrived, so I availed myself of the offer of a sausage roll and a mug of tea from a flask set up in the back of one of the police jeeps until he
was ready to speak to me.
‘Good of you to join us,’ he said. ‘I see you’ve got down to the important stuff first,’ he added nodding at the cup I held.
‘I like to get my priorities in order. What’s happening?’
‘The post-mortem was completed this morning. It confirms mostly what himself told us the last day; Cleary was shot with a silenced pistol at close range. The bullet shattered in the
baffles and the pathologist recovered the pieces he could find, so we’ll run ballistics; it’ll be tricky, though, with the shattering.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘Time of death is probably between midnight and four in the morning, which doesn’t help us wildly. He did find one thing which he was interested in. Cleary’s fingers on his
right hand were covered with paper fibres and smudges of ink. The pathologist has suggested newspaper fibres. The smudging of the ink suggested to him that someone pulled the paper from his grasp;
the doc seemed to think it happened shortly before death.’
‘It could mean he stopped at the chippie on his way to the playground and someone stole his fish supper.’
‘It’s all food with you, isn’t it?’ Hendry said. ‘Milk and two sugars,’ he added, gesturing towards the flask.
‘We also got lucky on the bloody footprint Ryan suggested we would find. It could be the killer’s. Small, mind you – a size 7 Adidas Ambition Powerbounce 2.0,
apparently.’
‘Short and snappy.’
‘The name or the wearer?’
‘Both by the sounds of it, if he wears a size 7. What’s your theory?’
‘I’m hoping some of the kids across the way will be able to help,’ Hendry said, glancing across at the waste ground where we had seen the remains of the fire the day
before.
In fact, we kept an eye on the old factory site throughout the evening. When I first arrived, three or four boys were lurking inside the wall, sticking to the shadows, watching the police
operation with a mixture of disdain and fascination. As the evening progressed, though, the numbers grew, until by midnight there were over a dozen. They had tired quickly of watching the
checkpoints and the lack of response they had got from the occasional insults they had shouted. Hendry had warned the uniforms not to react; he wanted them to settle, wanted to ensure there were as
many of them there as possible. Only if they looked like they were leaving should someone approach them.
Eventually they drifted across to where we had seen the remains of the fire on Sunday morning. Sure enough, a few moments later we saw the first flickers of flames as they started burning some
of the rubbish lying around. They were seated on the milk crates and, having perhaps been reluctant, initially, to start drinking alcohol on the street so close to a PSNI checkpoint, they soon
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