Referendum Read Online Free PDF Page B

find a way. I’ve got evidence from the old days. We worked closely but I knew you couldn’t be trusted. I’ve got pictures, tapes; things you don’t want getting leaked. It could be disastrous. Imagine all that shitty stuff leaking out all over the media right now? Is that what they’d call a national crisis?”
    “Get out.”
    “Here? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
    Donald nodded, “If I see you again, you’ll regret it.”
    “You’ll hear from me before you see me, but I’m not letting go. Take care Graeme, the next few days could be full of surprises.”
    Niall Murphy got out of the car and stood by the road as Donald u-turned across the grass covered central reservation, the uneven surface making the car bump awkwardly along the road. Car horns blared as he barred the way to oncoming traffic, heading back to the city centre. In the distance Murphy saw a life size model of a Tyrannosaurus Rex; it was advertising an adventure golf park, “You’re not the only dinosaur around here pal, it’s funny when extinction comes back and bites your arse. Next thing you know the only thing you’re fit for is a museum.”
     
    That had been two days ago and Donald hadn’t heard anything since. He assumed the routine had been just that; bluster with no comeback. Who did Murphy know in Glasgow? In Belfast he had a crew but who does he know here? Then the parcel arrived. It was a brown A4 envelope. It didn’t have much in it but the contents were enough to get his attention. Sitting back behind his desk he placed the two black and white photographs face-up. When did he take these? Thiswas the evidence. The pictures weren’t of the highest quality but they were clearly of him. It was a before and after scene. He was holding a pair of pliers in front of a boy strapped to a chair. He remembered it well; it was the boy McNally. There was a yellow post-it note attached with two words scrawled in black ink:
     
    Don’t panic.

10
     
     
    The living room was drab. Decorated in the early 90s it was badly in need of an update. The environment felt odd and the interview was making Sandy Stirrit uncomfortable. Try as he might he couldn’t stop looking at Ian Davidson’s face, which was compressed by the plastic mask tasked with restoring his features to something like the man he’d been before.
    “This isn’t an interview by the way.”
    Sandy couldn’t make out his words, which were impeded by the barrier around his lips; the lisp was hard to follow. He leaned forward, “I’m sorry could you repeat that?”
    Ian Davidson slowed down. Communication’s so frustrating, why can’t people just listen? Having spent the last few months exclusively with his parents and in hospital the people he was used to dealing with had come to understand his speech. It was annoying to be reminded of his condition by an outsider, as if he needed reminding.
    “I said this is not an interview.”
    Much clearer that time, but at this speed Sandy thought the conversation could take some time. He knew he was being uncharitable but he was so close to asking the questions that had been gnawing away at him for the last eight months.
    “I don’t remember saying this was an interview.”
    “What’s in the bag then?”
    “It pays to be prepared in my game. We can record later if you like?”
    “I don’t think so. Get to the point reporter, what do you want?”
    “I need to talk to you about Prestwick.”
    “I can’t talk to you about that, you know that.” His T’s were the hardest to follow, the lisp of the words sounded alien to Sandy, “People deserve to know what happened. Look at what happened to you; I take it you’re being well compensated?”
    “You were there, you saw what happened. There’s nothing more to say; nothing will change from me speaking to you.”
    “The public were never told – do you think that was the right thing to do?”
    “Nothing happened in the end, though, did it, they’ve got the bomber.