Catherine was on the verge of tears, once again finding herself in the sweltering interrogation room. The effects of sleep deprivation had long since kicked in and the longer the detectives screamed in her face, the more agitated she became. Her concentration was shot, as was her ability to critically think. After thirty hours of threats and insults, Catherine had found herself in the throes of an anxiety attack when the first team of detectives terrorized her with the promise of having Olivia framed as a longtime informant. Somehow, she still managed to keep her silence. She had made this far, there was no way she was going to allow herself to crack now.
Again, and again, Catherine was asked to accept the immunity deal or be charged. A detective held out his hand to Catherine to show her his watch, telling her she had less than a minute to sign it. "Thirty-seconds, Catherine. Sign the deal; take it."
He pushed the piece of paper in front of her and she grabbed it, ripping it in half. They told her that her decision to deny their help wasn't in her best interest. They told her she wasn't going to be walking out of the jail anytime soon and that the next time she felt the wind in her hair would be during recreation time in a prison yard.
Back in her cell, Catherine sat on the floor with her back resting against the edge of the bed. Jimmy was in his cell too, lying on his side in the bed. He couldn't take his eyes off Catherine. He tried to figure out what was going on inside that distressed head of hers. In the special forces, Jimmy had been trained on how to deflect the very tactics that were being used against Catherine. Whereas he simply laughed in the detective's faces, knowing nothing they said held substance, Catherine was beginning to feel the weight of their words. Looking at her as she sat on the floor of the grimy cell, he noticed how her fist was clenched and her thumb rubbed against her forefinger. In the absence of her rosary beads, that didn't stop Catherine from finding comfort in the Hail Mary's she silently mouthed to herself.
He desperately wished he could comfort her, remind her that her strength never ceased to amaze him and it wouldn't be much longer until she was back in the comfort of her own bed. There was also the small issue of an informant; he would personally see to it that the tout was found and properly taken care of. He never wanted to witness her going through this brutal experience ever again.
The young and attractive detective who had first offered Catherine immunity appeared in front of her cell, forcing Jimmy to straighten up. He found it slightly suspicious that the detective was there alone, and Jimmy didn't like the way he leaned against the bars, trying to appear less threatening, as if he and Catherine had developed some sort of camaraderie. It was common sense to Jimmy that they had offered Catherine a chance to cooperate. Pride overtook him when he realized she had turned down the offer because now they were going for the last play in the interrogation handbook. With absolutely no solid evidence beside hearsay from an informant, the PSNI couldn't go forth with the charges they had threatened her with. So now, in front of Jimmy, it was time to attempt to set her up like one who had possibly dumped IRA secrets during her tenure. Luckily for Catherine, Jimmy knew better and saw right through the sad endeavor.
Keeping the same soft spirit, he had managed for almost forty-hours, the detective told Catherine that even though she had declined the immunity, he had worked extremely hard to not only convince his superiors not to charge her but also secure an early release. From the inside pocket of his suit jacket, he pulled out a business card and handed it to her through the bars. He said that the number on the back was to his direct line and that he was prepared to meet with her outside of Belfast, well away from anywhere she could be recognized.
She physically recoiled when he mentioned he'd like to take her out for a drink, or even dinner one night. She wouldn't have to say much, he assured her, just let them know if they were on the right track with certain men under their suspicions, or if she had come across anything that the PSNI would be interested in. To be polite and not do anything stupid to jeopardize her going home, Catherine took the card. Before leaving her, the detective made a snide remark about how she was too good to be associating with IRA thugs, how she shouldn't have turned down her acceptance to Queen's University, and that it wasn't too late for her to get her life back on track.
Catherine said nothing, not interested in his lecture.
When he left the cellblock, Catherine had every intention of ripping up the card up. She rolled her eyes when she saw he had handwritten his name and number on the cardstock. Turning it over, she noticed it was a business card for the Sinn Fein office which sat several hundred feet down the road from her parent's home. There were several numbers on it, one in particular which had caught Catherine's eye. She turned the card over again, her heart nearly jumping out of her chest when she realized the detective's name and number matched the one that was already printed on the card. Instead of tearing it up, Catherine decided to keep it, slipping it into the back pocket of her jeans. Surely, her commander and superior officers would be interested to have a look at it.
While being processed out, Catherine vehemently declined an officer's proposal to drive her home. It was almost eleven o'clock at night but she didn't want to be in the presence of any more officers.
Considering her purse and wallet were still at home, Catherine had no other choice but to walk. That didn't matter to her anyway, as the cool breeze against her skin had never felt so welcoming before. There had been a point during her interrogation when Catherine was beginning to wonder if the detectives were speaking the truth and she'd never taste freedom again.
Walking along the A501, she got to thinking. In the event that she was actually caught and charged because of her own fuck-up, Catherine would happily serve her time. The idea of a tout destroying her life made her angrier than she could ever remember being. A small part of her was hoping that after the events of the last two days, Jimmy would lift her suspension on his own. That way, she could get right to work in figuring out who had screwed them over.
Much to her pleasure, Catherine found Patrick had left the front door unlocked just in case of her arrival. When she walked in, the pungent aroma of the spicy potpourri her mother insisted on keeping in the living had never smelt so good. Although she was beyond exhausted and the thought of climbing the flight of stairs defeated her, Catherine reminded herself that upstairs awaited a hot shower and cool, comfortable bed. Her wobbly and sore legs didn't want to make the journey, but once she was in the bathroom, Catherine immediately turned the taps on for a shower. She stripped from her clothes, throwing them into the wastebasket under the sink instead of the laundry basket. Only when the mirror was completely steamed up did Catherine finally step under the scolding spray. She reached for her washcloth and Patrick's bottle of body wash.
Squirting nearly half the bottles contents into the washcloth, Catherine scrubbed herself nearly raw. She wanted to make sure not even the faintest odor of the jail could be traced on her skin, ready to move past it all and just focus on getting back to her normal life.
Stepping out, half-an-hour later, her skin was pink, looking as if she had spent the entire day out in the sun. As she wrapped a clean towel around her, Catherine was hit with a forceful wave of nausea that brought her to her knees. After two days of no food, the only that came up was acid and the little bit of water she agreed to ingest. Nose and throat stinging, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes, Catherine backed up against the wall and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. As she flushed the toilet, she attributed it to her severe lack of sustenance and high anxiety. Getting sick didn't seem out of the ordinary for Catherine, as her body had always been rather sensitive to high levels of stress.
Pulling herself off the floor, she brushed her teeth. Before leaving the bathroom, Catherine remembered the business card that was still in the pocket of her trashed jeans, so she retrieved it, holding it tight in her hand. In the hallway, Liam nearly scared Catherine half to death as he was standing only inches from the bathroom door when she pushed it open. He wasted no time in pulling his sister in for a hug, thankful his prayers had been answered.
"How does it feel ta be a common criminal, jus' like the rest of us?" Liam joked.
Catherine was the last O'Toole to have ever been arrested. In their family, it seemed as though it was a rite of passage. Even Olivia had been arrested during her teenage years for suspicion of IRA membership.
She smiled, happy to see the exuberant aura that normally filled the house wasn't gone. They laughed and made jokes about the predicaments they found themselves in, because if they didn't, they'd cry, and being melancholy never seemed to make life any easier.
"Brilliant. Now I've got street credit." Catherine snickered. "But, in all seriousness, what in the bloody hell are ya doin' here? Please tell me ya didn't leave Shauna all alone wit' wee Erin this whole time."
Liam shook his head, assuring he hadn't left his wife and newborn baby home alone for the last two days. He had just arrived as he had planned to head down to the jail with Patrick to pick her up around three in the morning, but she had been released early.
"What did they wanna know?" He asked.
Clutching the business card a little tighter and out of Liam's view, Catherine shifted uncomfortably. He was her link to the intelligence that was collected for the PSNI and MI5, and the last time she asked, Liam, told her she was in the clear. If Catherine and Jimmy were at the top of the list to rounded up, he would have told them to get out of dodge for a while. For her, it was too much of a coincidence that it didn't happen until Jimmy was home from California.
Arresting them together seemed counterproductive to her. If they wanted her to flip on Jimmy, it would have been in their best interest to do it when he was gone, and not sitting across from her. Catherine wondered if Liam had intentionally lied to her, or if his sources lied to him.
The thoughts that flooded her mind, made Catherine feel like a terrible person. She knew Liam was struggling financially, more now than ever with a two-month-old baby at home. His job with the IRA didn't bring in much cash, and he was having a difficult time finding employment with a conviction for IRA membership on his record. The money the PSNI offered to informants was extremely tempting.
Liam was her eldest brother. When she was a child he would be the one who rubbed her back until she fell asleep again after a nightmare. He taught her how to rollerblade, and pelt rocks with a slingshot at British soldiers when they were on patrol. The information the detectives had only could have come from someone close to her. Catherine refused to acknowledge the likelihood of Liam being the tout until she was punched in the face with the mounting evidence. Until that day, she decided to stick with simple answers.
"Ya know I can't say anythin' until I go through my debriefin'."
Liam nodded sympathetically, accepting the fact Catherine chose to stick to protocol. All volunteers, no matter the rank, were expected to meet with a security team at a safe house to discuss their interrogation. This was done to make sure they hadn't divulged any information to the police.
"Speakin' of which, Darragh's gonna be here soon ta talk wit' ya about that, so get dressed. Da's downstairs wit' food."
Not wasting any time, Catherine dressed. In the kitchen she found Patrick and Liam talking quietly to one another. When she cleared her throat, making her presence know, they stopped. Patrick tossed his half-burnt cigarette into the ashtray and jumped up from the table. He engulfed Catherine into a tight hug, never wanting to let her go. Watching her being carted off to jail was one of the few times in his life where Patrick had been filled with genuine fearfulness. Of course, it was difficult for the father to watch his eldest son go through the court system when he was charged, and it never got any easier to deal with the concern that came along with Brien's occasional arrest due to his doings with the Sons of Anarchy. Catherine was a different story for Patrick; she had the most of lose.
These last two days had been hell for Patrick, finding himself crawling into a bottle of whiskey as he blamed himself for leading Catherine to the sacrificial altar of the Irish Republican Army. If he had called it quits after prison, the influence never would have been around her.
Wrapping her arms Patrick, Catherine's fingers curled into the material of his shirt until her knuckles turned white. She filled with a familiar warmth of safety and tranquility as she nuzzled her face into his chest. Patrick's hands tangled in her damp hair as he rested his cheek on the top of her head. Catherine took a deep breath, expecting to be greeted with Patrick's sharp clean, and tobacco scent. Her soul crushed when she caught a whiff of Bushmills. She realized she'd have to be the one who broke the news to Olivia that he was drinking again.
Taking her cheeks in large hands, Patrick lifted Catherine's head off his chest. He examined her closely under the soft light in the kitchen, making sure she hadn't come home with a single scratch on her. For Jimmy, he had been wishing for the exact opposite, hoping like hell the officers hadn't been afraid to knock him around a bit.
"None of those fuckers tried ta cop'a feel durin' yer search, did they?" Patrick sternly inquired.
"No," Catherine shook her head. "They got in me face, but never touched me. Jimmy, on the other hand, …not so lucky."
Liam brought his can of beer to his mouth to hid his chuckle. It was safe to say both Patrick and Liam didn't have much concern over Jimmy's wellbeing in jail. They were both hoping the PSNI had enough to charge him, or at the very least hold him for the next five days. Catherine, on the other hand, couldn't shake Jimmy from her thoughts. She felt bad that she had been released early when she was just as guilty of the accused crimes as he was. Years ago, Jimmy had told Catherine he was more than prepared for a lengthy prison sentence, but Catherine never wanted to see that day come. In the eyes of many, he was the backbone of the cause, keeping them focused on why they continued to fight even after the Belfast Agreement had been ratified.
A knock at the back door brought them back to reality. Catherine wiggled from Patrick's hands, opting to be the one to open the door for her commander. Letting Darragh in, she joked about whether or not he was regretting his decision to bring her into his unit. A small flame of hope reignited within in when he said there was no one else in Belfast he'd be honored to work beside. Liam took that response a little too personally, to which Darragh shot back by saying:
"When ye can safely transport a few million quid worth of guns an' explosives through international borders, then I'll say the same of ye."
That seemed to shut Liam up. Patrick only shook his head at his sensitive son.
Catherine tried to stay focused on the conversation at hand, but the heavy smell of greasy, fried fish in the air made her stomach roll. As Darragh and Patrick squabbled over which safe house Catherine would be brought to for her debriefing, she got up and fetched a cup of ginger tea. She knew she'd feel better after a restful sleep and decent meal.
"Ya got a problem goin' 'ta Dundalk?" Patrick asked.
She had zoned out as she sipped her tea, and only brought her attention back to Patrick when he snapped his fingers in her face. He asked again and she shook her head. Getting out of Ulster seemed like a dream come true. No way in hell was she going to protest a few days in the Republic.
A little R&R was exactly what the doctor ordered.
