16

There was an obituary for Sean Sugrue in the January 1999 edition of the Garda Gazette. Born in County Clare, he joined the police force in 1966 at the age of eighteen. Ten years later, while serving in Tralee in Kerry, he foiled a bank robbery at the main post office and was wounded. Subsequently, he received the Scott Medal for Bravery and two years later, in 1978, he acquired his detective’s badge and moved to Special Branch in Cork. From then on he worked in counter-terrorism. Notable successes included his involvement in two foiled IRA gunrunning attempts – the interception of the Jenny May off Dunmore East in 1980 and The Ottoman near Baltimore in 1989. In late 1997, he took early retirement from the gardaí in order to pursue an ambition to be a lay missionary. The following year, before taking up a post in Romania, he died in a car crash. He was survived by wife, Annette, and children, Tomás and Meabh.

Noelie looked up Annette Sugrue in the phonebook. It was not a common surname so he phoned around explaining that he was doing research on Scott Medal winners. Bingo on the seventh call – Mrs Sugrue lived in Mitchelstown, about thirty miles from Cork.

Noelie decided to visit immediately. On Hannah’s advice he dressed up and put on a shirt and jacket for the meeting. At the front door he smiled and explained about the research he was doing. Mrs Sugrue was in her late fifties, grey-haired and thin. She wore a blue cardigan, a white blouse and a black skirt. Noelie was reminded of a nun.

She didn’t want to talk and she was sceptical. Noelie expanded on the Scott Medal thesis, explaining the importance of a book on courage given Ireland’s present woes. ‘If more people spoke out a few years back this country might not be in the state it’s now in.’ He got nowhere with this angle however and changed tack, asking instead about her late husband’s religious convictions and how they had influenced his life. Mrs Sugrue relented.

‘Come in,’ she said, adding as a qualification, ‘my son’s here.’

Noelie wasn’t sure what that meant. ‘This really won’t take long,’ he assured her.

He was shown into a front room with sofas arranged around a big empty fireplace. There were a series of professional pictures of Sugrue on the wide mantelpiece. In the main portrait, Sugrue was in uniform wearing his Scott Medal. He looked exceedingly proper and po-faced.

‘Fine-looking man,’ Noelie said.

‘He was.’

At that moment Noelie saw the son. He appeared at the doorway looking blankly at Noelie, a large man but younger than Noelie.

‘Mammy,’ he said.

Mrs Sugrue promptly led him away. She returned a few minutes later. ‘What do you want to know?’

Noelie told her that he knew a good deal about her husband already. He was particularly interested in his willingness to speak out. He produced the statement about Dalton. ‘This was very brave.’

Mrs Sugrue moved away. ‘Are you a journalist?’

‘I’m not.’

‘What do you want then?’

‘I’m the person who found this document. I know the Dalton family. They’re desperate for information. They still haven’t found their father’s body.’ Noelie moved nearer. ‘This is an extraordinary statement, no? Basically your husband is saying that the gardaí executed …’

‘It was a long time ago.’

Noelie waited. He expected Mrs Sugrue to say more but she remained silent. She wouldn’t look at Noelie.

‘Garda HQ have rejected your husband’s claims. They’re saying this meeting with the commissioner never took place.’

‘It took place, I was there. Not at the meeting, of course, but I accompanied Sean to the gates of Garda Headquarters in Phoenix Park. The meeting happened.’

‘You’re certain?’

‘Of course I am,’ snapped Mrs Sugrue.

‘Is there any documentation, something that would support what you’re saying – an appointment card or a letter even?’ Noelie nearly said email but he realised that they hardly existed back in 1997.

‘Sean never discussed work with me. But that meeting did take place. It’s not a time or an appointment that I’m ever likely to forget. His retirement came immediately afterwards.’

‘Because of how that meeting went?’

‘That and other reasons.’

Noelie waited for clarification but none came. ‘Your husband implied in his statement that there may have been something sinister going on. Did you know anything about that or what he was thinking of?’ He read from the statement, ‘“… the murder of Mr Jim Dalton may have taken place for quite different reasons than those given to me.” What did he mean by that?’

Mrs Sugrue stared.

‘Mrs Sugrue?’

‘I have no idea what he meant.’

‘Any information might help.’

She shook her head again.

‘Yet a few months later he was dead.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘Just that he appears to have made a very serious claim, and then within a short period of time he died.’

‘God called him home.’

Noelie frowned. He hadn’t heard that sort of phraseology in quite a long time. ‘A collision with another car, I understand?’

‘It was a single-vehicle crash. The car went out of control and they hit a wall.’

‘They?’

Mrs Sugrue didn’t answer. Instead she said, ‘Sean was going to go abroad. He had signed up for a two-year contract. He was attending a meeting to arrange the details.’

‘To Romania. It seems like an odd place to go, as a missionary I mean.’

Noelie’s observation was met by a cold silence. Mrs Sugrue shook her head with the sort of finality that made Noelie think he was about to be shown the door.

‘Don Cronin was a friend of your husband’s?’

‘He was.’

Noelie explained that the statement about Jim Dalton’s death had been in Cronin’s possession for quite some time. Did she know anything about that?

‘He’s not someone I either like or trust. We never got on.’

A sudden sharp noise like glass breaking startled them both. Mrs Sugrue left immediately and went down the hall. Noelie followed. The hallway had a musty smell that brought back unhappy memories of aunts in Clonakilty reciting endless decades of the rosary. He went quietly as far as the kitchen door. Mrs Sugrue was outside in the spacious back garden attempting to corral her son, who was dodging her like a rugby player avoiding tackles.

The kitchen had an ancient feel about it too. Noelie saw glass on the floor near the stove. His eyes were drawn to a neat arrangement of bowls on the table. One contained silver medals, miraculous medals he realised; he had had one as a child. Another held cotton squares and a third, folded prayer cards. On a tray nearby there were hundreds of glossy white boxes neatly stacked. Noelie examined one. It contained a medal and chain carefully arranged on a cotton pad. There was a card with a picture and information printed on it. He put a box in his pocket and returned to the front room.

Mrs Sugrue came back. ‘I’m afraid I can’t give you any more time.’

Noelie smiled graciously. ‘You’ve been very generous – I appreciate it.’ He put away the statement.

‘One more thing.’ Before Mrs Sugrue could say anything, Noelie had produced the Danesfort photo and put it in front of her. ‘This picture belonged to Jim Dalton. He’s in it.’ Noelie identified him in the line of boys, adding, ‘Your husband was very interested in this photo. According to Mrs Dalton he recognised someone in it. I was just wondering if you have any idea who that person might be?’

Mrs Sugrue reluctantly took the photo. There was a long silence.

‘Mrs Sugrue?’

When she looked up Noelie saw that her eyes were glistening.

‘Where did this come from?’ she asked.

‘It was Jim Dalton’s.’ He explained the background to the photo.

Mrs Sugrue sat down. Noelie said, ‘I can come back another time.’

‘You must leave.’

‘Okay.’ Noelie put out his hand for the photo. ‘What is it?’

‘Are you doing this deliberately?’

Noelie didn’t understand. ‘Doing what?’

‘Please go.’

Noelie was shown to the front door. At the gate he looked back at the house. He wondered what to do. Clearly Mrs Sugrue knew something but he didn’t want to pester her. Back in his car he called Hannah and got her answering service. She texted a while later to say she’d be home in the late afternoon. She suggested they meet at her place.