Shadow Dancer by Tom Bradby

Author:Tom Bradby
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781446422595
Publisher: Transworld

CHAPTER ELEVEN

RYAN LIT A CIGARETTE, SHUFFLED HIS FEET AND LOOKED AT THE OLD blue Cavalier. He realized this was becoming a habit.

In theory, on his calculation, there was little risk, but there was also little doubt that it was totally unnecessary. But was that right?

The reality was that, since his return here, the whole thing had been preoccupying (haunting, you might even say) him in a manner he didn’t think was healthy. And then, last night, he’d played the whole event – the whole disastrous, tragic patrol – through in his mind. He was shocked at how strong the images still were.

And the truth was simple. Straightforward and simple. He held himself personally responsible for Declan Walshe’s death. And the worst of it was that he knew it wasn’t self-indulgence.

As he’d lain awake last night, staring at the ceiling, the clearest image in the darkness had been not of the incident itself, nor even of the dead boy’s face.

No, the clearest image had been the look on Smiler’s face just before they’d gone out. He’d seen the look and he’d known the man was cracking up. They’d done five months and twenty-five days and, for all of that time, in the cramped, uncomfortable, filthy fucking barracks, Smiler had been bullied – relentlessly – by Jacko and the rest, and he, the platoon commander, had known then, as he knew now, that he was not doing enough to stop it. Some of it was good-humoured, certainly, and some of it was inevitable, and he’d done his best to try and keep Smiler’s morale up, talking to him about his family, helping him with his divorce papers. But, in his heart of hearts, he’d known that in the last month or so it had gone beyond the acceptable. On that last day, he’d seen Smiler’s face before the patrol and he’d known, without any doubt at all, that Smiler was on the edge.

And he’d still taken him out.

Ryan chucked his cigarette into the flower bed and got into the car. He thought briefly about the risk again, but he knew the car was old and shabby and he was feeling bolder. He turned left into Balmoral and slowly moved forwards in the traffic, trying not to think about it and failing.

What got to him now was not so much the death – the murder – and Christ knows he’d tortured himself enough about that, but the lies. So many fucking lies.

Lie one: that the soldiers shouted at Walshe three times to stop before opening fire.

Lie two: that Walshe had a suspicious bulge in his pocket that looked like a handgun.

Lie three: that the soldiers had asked Walshe to turn out his pockets and it was this that caused him to run.

Facts: Declan Walshe was just an ordinary Catholic boy who was stopped in a completely routine way. The RUC detectives with them were at the other end of Beechmount Avenue and he, Lieutenant David Ryan, was looking down the street, wondering if there was any immediate threat.

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