Free Bleed a River Deep by Brian McGilloway Page B

Fearghal’s mood seem so dark. The thought registered only for a second, though, and then was gone. He laid his hand on top of the case for a moment, then wiped away his handprint with a cloth.
    After they had completed the necessary paperwork, Fearghal announced that he was hungry. I suggested getting something to eat. Though none of us had extended an invitation, Weston excused himself on the grounds that he had too much to do to prepare for the following day’s visit but insisted that dinner would be on him, handing Linda Campbell a hundred-euro note.
    ‘ Bon appétit , folks,’ he said. ‘See you all tomorrow.’
    We drove back to Lifford to the Old Courthouse, beneath which is an Italian restaurant, built in the converted cells where criminals and lunatics were detained side by side centuries ago.
    Fearghal ordered two bottles of wine for the group along with our meal. I added a soft drink to the order, on the grounds that I had to be up early the following day in preparation for Hagan’s visit.
    ‘Speaking of which,’ I said, ‘you didn’t happen to mention the visit to anyone, did you?’
    Fearghal was stuffing a chunk of ciabatta in his mouth and attempting to down a glass of red wine simultaneously. ‘You didn’t tell me not to,’ he said defensively, when he had swallowed his food.
    ‘I know I didn’t, Fearghal. Just the same, did you tell anyone?’ I persisted, smiling as best I could.
    He shook his head sulkily.
    We sat in silence for a few minutes.
    ‘So, how did you two know each other?’ Linda asked finally.
    ‘We lived near one another. Then we were at college together,’ I said. ‘University. We were both doing Politics modules in our first year. We became drinking buddies.’
    Bradley seemed to warm to the recollection. ‘Our kid brothers were friends once too. Then at uni, Benny was doing English or something; I was doing History. We were arrested together,’ he stated. ‘Benny Devlin in handcuffs.’
    Linda laughed lightly. ‘What for?’ she asked, directing the question to me.
    ‘We broke into one of the admin offices for a sit-in protest,’ Fearghal said. ‘In protest at – what was it, Benny?’
    ‘The university refused to recycle paper,’ I explained, aware of how ridiculous it sounded. ‘They said it was too expensive to separate all its rubbish. We were part of an Environmental Club. Five of us got drunk one night and thought it would be very clever to break into the admin building. We thought the press would cover it and highlight the travesty.’
    ‘Instead,’ Bradley continued, ‘they called the cops and had us all lifted. We had to pay a fine and they wouldn’t let us graduate.’
    ‘Seriously?’ Linda said, her face bright with smiling, looking from one of us to the other.
    I looked at Fearghal and smiled at the memory, though for long enough it had not been a particularly happy one.
    ‘You wouldn’t think it to look at him now,’ Fearghal said, ‘but he used to be a bit of a rebel. He used to give it to “the man”. Now he’s paid by him.’
    The comment hurt more than I would have thought, but I tried to brush it aside with a laugh.
    ‘Not you, though, Fearghal, eh? Always the rebel!’
    ‘Do you think?’ he said, a little sadly. ‘Not these days. Do you know how that fucker Weston got Kate back? He sponsored an entire wing of the museum for five years.’
    I figured this wasn’t the first time Fearghal had mentioned it, for as he spoke Linda Campbell placed her hand on top of his in reassurance.
    ‘What can you do, Ben, eh? Refuse the man and a whole wing of exhibits closes.’
    ‘It’s a tough one, Fearghal,’ I agreed.
    ‘It shouldn’t be,’ he said, spitting bits of bread on to the tablecloth. ‘We wouldn’t have taken it when we were youngsters.’
    ‘The price of growing older, Fearghal,’ I said, smiling a little uncertainly. He seemed to be getting drunk very quickly. His face was flushed and red, and beads of sweat were