This Irish House (2 page)

Democratic Unionist Party (DUP)
Right wing, Unionist, anti- Catholic party formed in 1971 by Ian Paisley

Irish National Liberation Army (INLA)
Established in 1975 by breakaway elements from the official IRA

Irish Republican Army (IRA)
Name given to original force group who fought the British for Irish independence

Loyalists
Working-class Unionist Protestants who remain loyal to the union with England

Nationalists
Working-class Catholics who want to see the six counties of Northern Ireland unite with the twenty-six counties in the Republic of Ireland

Orange Order
Powerful Protestant society whose annual marches touch off Protestant-Catholic clashes

Provisional IRA (Provos)
Militant wing of IRA that broke away from IRA in 1969

Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC)
Armed Northern Ireland police force made up of Protestants

Sinn Fein—”We Ourselves”
Political party and wing of the Provisional IRA, mainly supported by working-class Catholics

Ulster Defence Association
Largest Unionist paramilitary organization in Northern Ireland

Ulster Freedom Fighters
Pseudonym for Ulster Defence Association death squads

Ulster Unionist Party
Official and largest Unionist party in Northern Ireland

Ulster Volunteer Force (UVF)
Paramilitary body established by Loyalists in the Shankill Road area of Belfast

Unionists
Protestants loyal to the union with Britain and opposed to a united, thirty-two-county Ireland

Unionist Party of Northern Ireland
Power-sharing wing of the Unionist Party

T
he prime minister of England frowned at the woman seated before him. He was having second thoughts. Kathleen Nolan looked younger than her forty years, and much too attractive to take on the responsibility of the position he offered. Ireland was not a progressive country. A woman's voice was quickly silenced, drummed out by generations of violence, by men emasculated by unemployment and poverty. Politics, particularly politics in Great Britain, was still very much a man's world.

Still, she was Patrick Nolan's widow. That would give her automatic credibility in the Nationalist community. She also came highly recommended by the first minister, a Protestant Loyalist who never recommended anyone. Quite simply, despite his doubts, there was no one else.

He summoned his most charming grin. “The policing commission is a step in the right direction, Mrs. Nolan. It's the first step in a force for all of Northern Ireland. I can't think of anyone better suited for the position of police ombudsman than yourself.”

Kate Nolan wasn't easily intimidated nor was she prone to flattery, thanks to a mother who considered her most important role in life to expunge all signs of vanity in her oldest and loveliest daughter. Kate had learned her lesson well. It would take a great deal more than party manners, an engaging smile and a compliment to win her compliance, even if the compliment did come from the prime minister of England.

She smiled politely. “I appreciate your confidence, sir. I shall consider your offer carefully and report back to you by the end of next week.”

He blinked, swallowed a gasp and recovered quickly. “I had hoped to welcome you aboard a bit sooner.”

“How soon?”

“Today.”

Kate tensed. “That's impossible.”

“Are you familiar with the Patten Report, Mrs. Nolan?”

“Not intimately, although I understand the basics.”

“Tell me what you understand.”

She was silent for at least a minute before speaking. He watched her gather her thoughts and carefully form the words. It was a good sign, a woman who spoke thoughtfully, carefully, a woman not given to impulse.

“Chris Patten and other nonpartisan members took fifteen months to craft a document spelling out how the Royal Ulster Constabulary, the Six Counties illustrious police force, should be restructured.”

He noticed she said
the Six Counties
rather than
Northern Ireland.
Her bias was Nationalist, no matter what Trimble said. But perhaps that was to be expected, considering who she was and what her husband had been.

“Do you disagree with the findings of the report?”

“Of course not,” she said shortly. “No sane Catholic could possibly disagree considering where we are now.”

“But you have reservations.”

“Yes.” Because she knew he would ask and because it needed to be said, she told him, licking each one off on her fingers. “There is no prohibition of plastic bullets as there is in the rest of Britain. These are lethal weapons and have been used time and again against innocent Nationalists of Ulster. Secondly, there is no mention of the RUC's human rights violations. In fact, Chief Constable Finnigan is in charge of human rights violations, a conflict of interests if there ever has been. I object to the roles of Chief Constable Finnigan and Secretary of State Peter Mandelson. All accountability still rests with them.” Her lip curled. “Your police board has very little power. I'm not convinced I wish to be part of a committee that has no ability to enforce, particularly when it comes to overseeing Robbie Finnigan.

“Besides—” the corners of her mouth twisted bitterly “—everyone knows that in Ireland the most dimwitted man knows more than any woman.”

He allowed her the full strength of her emotions, saying nothing. He wished this Catholic-Protestant thing would fall into the ocean. Not that he had anything against Catholics. His own wife was a Catholic, although not the rabid, bitter kind found in the North of Ireland.

“What if I said you had the power to enforce?”

“I would ask you what that means.”

“Provision fourteen in the report allows for the board to call upon the chief constable to retire in the interests of efficiency and effectiveness.”

“Subject to the approval of the secretary of state.” Her response was quick, loaded, definitely not the response of a woman who knew only the basics. He smiled pleasantly and changed the subject. “Is the investigation of your husband's murder progressing to your satisfaction, Mrs. Nolan?”

Her lips tightened and a thin white line appeared around her mouth.

“Six years have passed,” she said slowly.
“Progress
isn't the word I would use.”

He had the grace to look embarrassed. “I'm truly sorry it hasn't been resolved.”

She relented. He watched her soften with more than a little relief.

“The delay isn't your fault,” she said. “I realize you haven't been prime minister for long. I deeply appreciate your interest and efforts, for my sake and for my children. For us, this must end sooner rather than later.”

“It must end with a conviction, Mrs. Nolan. The worst we can do is arrest someone without evidence enough for a guilty verdict. The eyes of the world will be on us through this one.”

“Patrick would have laughed to think he was worthy of so much attention.”

He pressed her. “Your husband would want you to take this position.”

“Yes,” she said evenly. “He would. But there are other considerations now.”

The prime minister stood and held out his hand. Kate took it. “Please, make your decision quickly,” he said.

Without using her arms, she rose, gracefully, from the wing chair. “Have you anyone else in contention?”

Once again, he grinned. He looked absurdly young and carefree for a man who'd inherited a powder keg. “Not a soul. I'm counting on you.”

“I may fail miserably, you know.”

He laughed, a boyish man with a ready smile, a head full of wavy dark hair, a wife he loved with regularity and three young children. “Have you ever in your life failed at anything, Mrs. Nolan?”

She stared at him astonished. “Of course.”

“What was it?”

Kate thought a minute. “I'm sure I have as many failures as the next person. Perhaps I've blotted them from my memory.”

“Perhaps.” The most powerful man in the kingdom winked at her. “I'm sure it will come to you. When it does, be sure and ring me up. I'll be anxiously waiting.”

Kate smiled politely. “Good day.”

“Good day, Mrs. Nolan.”

Two days later he finished signing his name at the bottom of a page of his official stationery, folded and stuffed it into an envelope, all the while allowing his phone to ring six times. This was new for him. At the beginning of his term he couldn't wait to find out who was on the other line. Confidence came with experience. He picked up the receiver. “Yes.”

“Neil Anderson is here to see you, sir.”

“Send him in.”

The door opened. The prime minister rose, walked around the desk and held out his hand. “Welcome, Neil. Thank you for coming.”

Neil Anderson smiled briefly and shook the prime minister's hand. He did not sit down. “I'm not sure you'll thank me after you've read my investigation on Patrick Nolan.”

“It doesn't signify. I told Mrs. Nolan our report would be completed.” He laughed nervously. “Good Lord, I practically gave her my word. I had no choice in the matter. Whatever you've found, we must give it over.”

Anderson held out a thick manila envelope. “This is everything. I trust you'll know what to do with this, sir. It's not a pretty picture.”

“You're a good man, Neil. I don't know what we would do without you. I understand you've taken on the Belfast situation.”

“Only the drug trade, not the bloody holy war they've been in the middle of for generations. I'm due for a bit of a break.”

“Shall I offer you tea or perhaps something stronger?”

“Nothing, thank you. I'll leave you to your reading.”

“Very well. I'll ring you back when I've finished.” Four hours later, the prime minister looked out the bay window of Number 10 Downing Street. His face was pale and his hands shook. The contents of the envelope Neil Anderson had given him lay scattered across the floor where he'd tossed it in a rare fit of temper. “Damn it,” he muttered to himself, “damn it, damn it, damn it.” There was no way in all the world he could keep his word to Kate Nolan.

Kevin Nolan answered the phone on the second half of the double ring. “Hello.”

“Kevin?”

“Aye.”

“How much for a B?”

“Who is this?”

“Eddie.”

Kevin thought a minute and then remembered. Eddie was from Ballymurphy. He'd dealt with him once before. “A bill twenty-five,” he said.

“All right. I've a friend who wants it.”

“It has to be a ball. I won't work with anything below that.”

“Is it good?”

“Do you have to ask?”

“Where shall I meet you?”

Kevin hesitated. Belfast was four hours away and he had school. He couldn't be there before the end of the week. “In the house behind the square on Friday,” he said. “Don't bring anyone else and don't lag because I can't wait.”

“I'll be there.”

“Come alone.”

“Aye.”

Kevin heard a click and then the line went dead. Carefully he replaced the receiver and picked up his textbook. History was a bugger. He hated school, history in particular, and he hated that his mother made him attend a
religious
school. Plenty of lads he knew were at the National School. Why did she insist on all this religion stuff? It wasn't as if she was particularly devout, not like Mrs. McCarthy or Johnny Gallagher's mum. Those women preached every day of the week starting with family meals and ending with nightly prayers. At least Kevin had been spared a mother like that, but barely. Christ. He was sixteen years old. Why did he have to attend a bloody religious school? If it wasn't for that and his mother, life would be bearable, especially now that he knew how to take away the hole in his heart.