An Irish Solution by Cormac Millar

Author:Cormac Millar
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2004-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

There were no trains, but otherwise the Four Courts reminded Davnet of a dingy railway station. Asking the porters for directions, she pushed along crowded corridors until she came to the Fennessy trial, which was going on in a badly lit room with brown churchy panelling. She entered amid hubbub and commotion. The court was rising. The judge swept out and Jerome was led away, head bowed. Davnet stood at the barrier and tried to attract the attention of the lawyers. Eventually, a thin bearded man, mumbling to an old wreck in a wig, turned and noticed her.

‘Mr Ó Neachtain?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m Davnet. I have an appointment. Could we talk confidentially?’

‘In this madhouse? What do you think, Mr Roche?’

‘Whisper in my ear, darling,’ said the old wreck, stepping to the barrier.

It was a remarkably large ear, none too clean, with a large flappy lobe. She recited the story of how Billy O’Rourke had refused to believe her, and how his Mowbray’s pen matched Gloria’s bank in the Cayman Islands.

The two men reacted differently. Fiachra Ó Neachtain was jubilant; Mr Roche was dubious: ‘It’s a matter of tactics,’ he murmured. ‘If we can get Mr Fennessy off without having to suggest that policemen are twisters, that will be nicer. Juries don’t like having their value systems upset, d’you see. They don’t mind discounting for a spot of perjury, but the notion of an orchestrated conspiracy by the men in blue tends to put a strain on their faith. Supposing we did want to float this item, could you give evidence for us?’

‘If you think it’s important.’

‘It might be. And you’re sure of what you’re saying?’

‘Of course. Do you believe Mr Fennessy is innocent?’

‘As the babe unborn,’ Mr Roche said emphatically with no conviction whatever. ‘Leave your address and phone. We’ll call you when we need you. We must go and talk to the poor man now.’

She found the way out and set off on foot for the city centre and the bus ride home. Her visit to the Four Courts had obviously been useless, and anyway Mr Fennessy was probably guilty as hell, but at least the walk would do her good. She had not gone back to school today. She could not face Miss Power. Besides, she had to read States of Ireland for her history essay. Ma had phoned home at lunchtime, enquiring whether Davnet might be in town that afternoon, and asking her to buy three pairs of winter socks for Pa in Hyperbulk. He had been complaining of rising damp in the feet, and his summer hosiery was no longer warm enough. Hyperbulk, near the Jervis Centre, was Ma’s preferred supplier of clothing. She alleged that it offered even better value than Dunnes Stores, which was of course absurd, since everyone knows that Dunnes Stores Better Value Beats Them All. Shopping for food at Hyperbulk was impractical, as it was too far to carry heavy items home. Ma ordered her groceries by telephone from a local shop that did deliveries.

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