Daniel Lawrence took in his surroundings as he approached the custody desk at Paddington Green. It would be an exaggeration to call the place quiet. A better description was dead. Daniel had visited countless police stations. Never this particular one. But as London’s most secure custody suite it should surely be the busiest of all?
So far Daniel had seen just one man.
‘Is it always this deserted here?’ he asked.
‘First time I’ve seen it this way.’ Sergeant Trevor Henry’s answer carried an impatient tone. ‘First time I’ve seen an ex-president shot, too. You do the maths.’
Daniel stopped for a moment. He looked Henry up and down. Ten different responses sprang to mind. All of them would put the rude police sergeant in his place. He chose to suppress them and remain civil.
‘But where is everyone? Surely the place should be crawling with spooks? CIA? MI5?’
‘They’ve got their own way of dealing with things. They were all here earlier. Cleared out every police officer but me. Place has got to have a custody sergeant. Even for a case like this.’
‘When are they coming back?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine. I suppose they’re giving you time to speak to him before the interview.’
Daniel nodded. It made logical sense. The security services had twenty-eight days in which to question Eamon McGale before they had to either charge or release him. With that timescale they did not need to hang around while he spoke to his lawyer. Which explained why the place felt like a ghost town. He turned back to Henry.
‘OK then, Sergeant. I suppose we should get this started.’
Daniel’s eyes stayed fixed on Eamon McGale as the interview room door was closed behind him. McGale looked back. Silent. His gaze firm. This was not a man ashamed of what he had done.
Not a word was said as Daniel took his seat across the table. He took a few moments to study McGale. The man was small and thin. His age was hard to guess. There was little weathering of his face and even his hands seemed youthful, but while his looks suggested a man in his fifties, his eyes were those of a much more aged soul. He wore a paper forensic suit in place of his confiscated clothing. It already looked as if he had been sleeping in it for weeks. The shambolic appearance did not sit comfortably with the determination behind his eyes.
‘Mr McGale, my name is Daniel Lawrence. I’ve been appointed to represent you.’
Daniel’s voice was confident. No hint of his uncertainty. He reached out a hand and McGale took it. The older man’s grip was firm but not tight.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Lawrence.’
Daniel was surprised by McGale’s cultured Irish voice. He was not sure why. The lack of calluses on the man’s hand suggested a professional. Someone more used to an office than a field. It was not what Daniel would usually expect from a terrorist gunman; they were rarely the intellectuals of the cause.
‘Obviously you know why we’re both here. But before we discuss today’s events I want to assure you that I act in your interests alone. As your lawyer it’s my responsibility—’
McGale raised a thin hand. Daniel stopped speaking.
‘Mr Lawrence, I am very familiar with the procedures and with the criminal justice system. Please don’t feel you have to explain them to me.’
‘Then you’ve had involvement with the police before?’
‘No, sir. Far from it. But I do lecture on the subject a little. I’m a professor of Political Science. So you can assume I know the basics.’
‘You’re a professor. And yet—’
McGale raised his hand once again. Daniel guessed it was a throwback from his teaching career. A method to silence his students. He obeyed.
‘Perhaps it’s best if I just explain myself, Mr Lawrence. Then I can answer any questions you have.’
Daniel nodded. McGale did the same. And then he waited, breathing deeply. To Daniel he looked to be steeling himself for what he was about to say.
When he finally spoke it was a torrent. Fast and uncontrolled.
‘Mr Lawrence, I did what I did today because I believe it was the only course of action left open to me and I believe that my actions were the very best thing I could do for my country.
‘I have spent my adult life studying, writing and lecturing on Political Science. I believe passionately in the peaceful resolution of political differences. My entire career has been the pursuit of the ultimate solution to the Troubles that have torn my country apart. Thirty years, Mr Lawrence. Thirty years dedicated to teaching future generations that we could bring these Troubles to an end through negotiation and compromise. I taught my own sons that same lesson. I had nothing but hope for the future. But that is a thing now denied to my children. They will never play a part in their country’s future. They will never do anything, Mr Lawrence, because not everyone wants to see an end to the hell that blights Ireland. My children and my wife were taken from me. They were killed because not everyone will gain from bringing unity to Ireland. Some people have everything to lose, and those people will do anything to derail peace.
‘It took me time and effort to see that, Mr Lawrence. But once I saw it I realised that my approach did not work. Once I realised why my life had been torn apart – and that this would happen again and again without drastic action – I saw that something had to be done. What I did today was for myself, my family and my country. I will stand up and say that in any court in which I must appear.’
McGale stopped speaking. He sat back in his chair. And yet he seemed to leave an aura of intensity behind. What he had said took Daniel by surprise. He had never heard such a perfectly articulated explanation for murder. They were not the words of a fanatic. They were the words of an educated man. One who believed in the sentiments he expressed. One who had taken the only course he felt left open to him.
Seconds passed in silence, maybe even minutes, as Daniel tried to take in what he had been told. It was too much information. Too much of a shock. Nothing had prepared him for the rationality of a man he had assumed to be either a fanatic or a psychopath. But McGale was neither. That much was obvious.
‘Mr Lawrence, do you perhaps need a moment?’ McGale finally spoke again.
Daniel looked up. He had not noticed his own silence. Now he was all too aware of it. He floundered. Forced himself to think on his feet. Every question seemed to arrive at once. When had McGale’s family died? What investigations had led him to Trafalgar Square? There were many queries, but only one demanded an immediate answer.
‘Eamon, I don’t understand. What on earth did Howard Thompson have to gain from derailing the peace process?’
McGale’s eyes bore into Daniel’s as he spoke. A look of pain – of regret – flashed across them as he listened to the question. The same emotion filled his voice as he replied.
‘Mr Lawrence, I can understand why you might think that Howard Thompson was my target today. But please believe me when I tell you this: that he was injured is something I will always regret. He is a great man who tried to do great things for my country. I would not see him hurt, not for the world. I went to Trafalgar Square to kill one person today, Mr Lawrence. And I succeeded. Neil Matthewson was an evil, evil man with a nation’s blood on his hands. He deserved to die the painful death I gave him.’
Daniel leaned forward and prepared to ask his next question. A surge of excitement fuelled him. He wanted to know everything.
‘Mr Lawrence, are you planning to drive out of my station or are you going to sit there all night?’
Trevor Henry’s voice burst through the intercom at the station gates.
‘Only it’d be a shame to close the gates on your nice new car.’
It had been an hour and a half since Daniel’s meeting with McGale had begun. The longest ninety minutes of his life. Everything he had learned had shaken him. Shock after shock. He had been relieved when Henry had interrupted to tell them that McGale’s official interview had been rescheduled to the next morning. He was not sure he could have faced it tonight.
Daniel apologised, then turned his Porsche out of the gate and onto the quiet road outside. The tranquillity was broken by his roaring engine as he pulled away.
Sarah Truman smiled as she watched Daniel’s tail lights disappear. Moments later, Jack Maguire fired up their own engine. Both were happy. Maguire’s instincts had secured them information unknown to the reporters out front. Which meant their wait here was over.
Neither Sarah nor Maguire noticed the ignition of a third engine. And so, as they pulled onto the eastbound carriageway of the A40 arterial road, they paid no attention to the black Land Rover that headed off in the same direction as Daniel’s speeding Porsche.