Chapter 117

 

Southern Ireland, 1984

 

Mitchell made no move toward his own clothing as he said, “The publicity might do him good. It put Connors on his throne.”

“A dead child, a grieving father with his back against the wall disclosing the whole vicious plot for the sake of his country makes for a better script than two wealthy kids brought up on murder charges.”

“Oh? I don’t know about that. Have you had a radio on lately? Someone has already turned Sean and Deirdre into martyrs. Imagine the lost profits if we don’t give them the bodies to match the song.”

A raised glass punctuated, “Let’s try not to. You English have generously given enough martyrs to keep the Irish singing forever.”

Masked by the conversation, the inspector’s mind had been actively engaged. Now he put his thoughts together with words. “They will have to go to trial immediately. Can you convince Comford any unnecessary delay could prove fatal?”

“A hunger strike by the kids?”

“Not only is that a chance, but everything is in an uproar right now. Let things cool down and fanning the flames again might prove difficult. Our play has to be staged in open court. Clear them there and everybody comes away clean.

“Like it or not these new acquaintances of yours are going to have to do their part. There are certain contacts you or they can reach that I can’t. Our top priority is to discredit Reed’s witnesses. Given the proper fuel Charles Comford can burn their testimony right in their mouths.”

“He’s the man to do it,” Devlin agreed. “What about the prosecution?”

“We leave them alone. Advise them and their case will be put forth so weakly no one will be fooled. We work from the outside. Start trying the case on the telly before a jury is called. With our connections, lad, between us we can make the bloke who wrote the song a millionaire.”

Devlin saluted his co-conspirator with his drink as he said, “A tribute to a power greater than law—public opinion. Given a choice, if it could be covered up, both governments would simply let the youngsters die.”

Inspector Dan Mitchell wore a dark frown as he watched the other man’s departure and decided, when this is over Mr. Thomas Devlin, you and I are going to do some more serious talking. Helping himself to another drink, he dressed slowly as he lay out the game plans in his mind. He never needed paper to remember each careful play. He continued to work as he left the hotel. By the time his plane landed at Heathrow, he was ready to begin.