hours dismantling the restriction bars. They then moved into the area en masse, before re- erecting the bars, thus apparently materializing in the picnic spot like a ship in a bottle.
The area was not ideal for picking up McKelvey. While there were only two entrance/exit points, it backed onto an area of woodland and fields. If McKelvey made a run for it we would have difficulty catching him. We had decided that Holmes, Williams, Harvey and I would approach the caravans from behind, waiting in the trees in case McKelvey came that way. Costello himself, who knew the family, would knock on the caravan door and ask to see McKelvey in the hope that he might come peaceably Several uniforms would accompany him, while two cars blocked the exits.
We stopped about a quarter of a mile short of the campsite and my team got out of the cars and began to pick through the bramble hedges that lined the road into the field beyond. By following the perimeter, we would eventually come up behind the site. The field was sodden from the autumn rains and it had now frozen into thick brown ridges like waves, over which we tripped and stumbled. We had misjudged how long it would take to reach the camp and Costello radioed several times, impatient to get moving. Just as we reached the treeline directly behind the caravan, the snow began. Great fat flakes at first, drifting lightly around us, like eiderdown. Then the snow grew thicker and fell with greater speed, gathering on the branches of the trees and settling on our backs and shoulders. Holmes began to stamp his feet and blow into his hands for heat. Williams shuddered involuntarily and Harvey offered her his jacket. Momentarily, she looked offended, then smiled and took it. I couldn't tell whether Harvey was blushing at her smile or from the cold, but I was left to wonder how consistently Williams practised her feminist beliefs.
A buzz of static on the radio, and Costello announced that he was moving in. I drew my baton and saw the others follow suit. Holmes flicked open the catch on the slip for his pepper spray, and I wondered what he expected from a seventeen-year-old traveller boy. The snow fell increasingly heavily, the pattern of the falling flakes became almost hypnotic, and I realized that I was not paying attention to what was happening. I heard a thud as Costello knocked on the door. Then voices. Almost immediately, the curtains across the back window of the caravan, which was in darkness, were pushed back and the window opened. A small figure began to climb out, one thin leg first squeezed through, then another. Finally, the figure dropped silently to the ground and approached the trees between Holmes and Harvey. As the figure moved into the trees, Harvey flicked on his torch, momentarily lighting the startled face and the shock of black hair. Then the figure ran, with Harvey and Holmes crashing after him. I heard Williams shout and assumed that she, too, was after the boy.
I was about to shout to them to tell them it wasn't the right person, when I saw a second figure climb through the window and make for the trees. This time there could be no mistake. Even in the darkness, the luminescence given off by the snow forming at our feet was enough to reveal the almost white blond hair and pale marble skin. Whitey crept along the undergrowth on his belly, seemingly impervious to the brambles and the snow. When he felt he was safe, he stood and began to pick up speed.
He was about fifteen feet from me, moving quietly towards the fields. I can only assume that he did not hear me approach behind him over the din of the shouting and crashing of Williams and Harvey and the growing chorus of raised voices from the picnic area, where I guessed Costello was being lectured on police discrimination.
Eventually, I pushed out of the trees completely and, sticking to the perimeter of the field, was able to catch up with Whitey just as he emerged into the moonlight. I placed my hand solidly on his shoulder, my baton in the other hand, and began to speak.
I recall exactly what happened next, viewing it as if in slow motion. Whitey turned his head and I saw in his eyes a mixture of fear and aggression at being cornered. Then he grabbed my hand and clamped his teeth on it. I felt his teeth cut through my flesh, until eventually they connected, jarringly, with the bone of my hand. I could taste blood in my mouth. He shook his head as a terrier might with a toy, before releasing my hand. I screamed. Then something inside me snapped, audibly almost, and I felt a surge of adrenaline rush through my system. Without thinking, I turned and swung my right fist into McKelvey's face. I felt the cartilage of his nose shatter beneath my fist, felt the hard crunch as my knuckles connected with his cheekbone and his teeth, and saw his head snap back as blood and spittle spurted from his mouth.
He fell to the ground, legs splayed, and I lifted my foot and stamped down with my heel on his crotch. McKelvey doubled up, his face contorted with hatred and embarrassment, and I noticed a stain widen on his trousers as his bladder emptied. He looked at the mess he had made on himself, touched the wetness with his fingertips as though he could not believe his own eyes, and then held the moist fingers towards me. 'I'll fuckin' kill ya,' he spat, scrambling to his feet as he cupped his genitals in his hands.
I almost chased after him again, until I felt a hand close on my arm and I spun to face Williams, my fist raised. I saw a momentary flash of fear, or something deeper, flit across her face, and I lowered my fist in shame, stammering my apologies. I watched as my colleagues crashed through the undergrowth in pursuit of the boy.
Then the pain in my hand sharpened as the adrenaline dissipated; I doubled over with shock and pain and vomited into the snow, bile mixing with my blood, which appeared as black as oil under the moonlight. I felt momentary relief before a searing pain gripped my insides and I vomited again, retching over and over until I felt Williams's hand on my shoulder. I spat the sour taste out of my mouth, wiping away the thick strands of saliva with clean snow. Williams was busy wrapping her scarf around my hand and calling for help. Then, in the distance, I saw Whitey McKelvey being shoved towards me, Jason Holmes towering behind him with one hand clamped tightly on McKelvey's neck and the other holding his handcuffed wrists behind his back. When McKelvey stumbled and slid in the slush and snow, Holmes simply pulled on the cuffs, snapping the boy's arms back sharply, so he had to fight to regain his footing quickly or risk dislocating a shoulder.
When he got abreast of me, he pushed McKelvey onto the ground then placed his boot on the back of the boy's neck, pushing his face into the snow and mud. 'Are you all right, sir?' he asked. Red spots flickered and flitted before my eyes and everything went dark.
I came to a moment later and, for a second, could not remember where I was or why these people were staring at me through a snowstorm. Gradually my mind began to work again and I tried to stand. Williams helped me to my feet, while Holmes lifted McKelvey and again began pushing him towards the cars. I saw Harvey to my left, leading the black-haired boy, who was also in cuffs. I noticed a cut on his cheek and the beginning of a bruise, livid and purple, flowering below his eye.
'What happened to him?' I asked, nodding over at Harvey and the boy.
'He ran into a baton,' Williams said. 'Lucky I stayed here with you. Where would you men be without women, eh?' She put her arm around me and pressed her head against mine, and in that brief moment of warmth I could only ask myself the same question.
'I'm sorry I… you know… raised my hand to you,' I managed to say as she helped me towards the flickering blue lights cutting through the branches of the trees around us. She patted my shoulder lightly in what I took to be a sign of forgiveness. 'I shouldn't have hit him, either,' I added.
'No one needs to know, sir,' she said. 'These things happen, eh?'
I nodded, grateful for the opportunity to forget that my shame at hitting the boy had been equalled by the satisfaction I had felt in doing so.
Three uniforms kept the irate group of travellers at bay as the two boys were placed in separate cars and taken back to Lifford. I wanted to go with McKelvey, but Costello wouldn't allow it, telling me I was to get to the doctor's surgery before anything else. Holmes and Williams took McKelvey, but promised not to begin the interview without me.
The snow was falling so fast that the windscreen wipers of the car would not clear it. It had lain dry on the car bonnet like powdered sugar and now blew back onto the windscreen as we drove.
The doctor gave me a tetanus shot and stitched and bandaged up my hand, showing me first where the skin and ligaments could be pulled back to reveal the yellow-white bone beneath. Again, the bile rose in my throat and I had to swallow it back to stop myself being sick. As he gave me a bottle of painkillers, he broached a subject I had not wanted to consider.
'I've taken a blood sample for testing, you know,' he said, looking me in the eye. I nodded and did not speak. 'HIV, hepatitis, that kind of thing; I'll get the results for you quick as I can. There's a three month incubation period with HIV, though; might have to get that done again in the spring. It's unlikely, Inspector, but all the same – better be safe than sorry, eh?'
'Safe…' I said, unable to articulate the thoughts which darkened my mind.
Now I sat in the patrol car as we carefully wound our way down the snow-covered streets of Lifford and slid
