Burning Bright

Chapter 20

The website went blank. There was an anxious whisper of concern as everyone tried to reconnect to it, but no one could.

There was much conversation I didn’t understand about hosting and platforms and something (I wasn’t sure what) was tracked down to a company in Bangalore, and someone knew the person who knew the person who ran the company, there were frantic phone calls and apologies for dragging people from their beds at gone midnight, but this was important, and then discussions about server patches and people reassuring me that it could and would be fixed. I hoped and prayed they could do it. It wouldn’t take much for people to lose interest if they couldn’t get on the website, and I was desperate to keep the money coming in.

It was just over a very anxious hour later when the website was restored. And not before time as there was another surge as the UK and Ireland woke up and, at just after 2 am, the page clicked over to the magic €600,000. I cried, we celebrated, and I texted Moira and Eoin’s mother. Eoin could come home.

I didn’t bother going to bed. I wouldn’t have slept and would have missed Eoin too much, so I went for a very early swim before even the pool attendants had arrived, showered, changed, printed out the documents I thought we’d need and, managing to avoid Veronique, went with Pierre down to the court to hopefully to get an appointment with the magistrate. We had to wait a while, with me pacing up and down with impatience until we were finally called in. He was surprised to see me as I entered his office.

‘Miss Curran, I hope you haven’t come to renegotiate the release fee.’

‘No sir, I’ve come to tell you we’ve met it.’ I could see the look of disbelief on his face as I presented him with the screen print of the website before leaving home. ‘Is this enough evidence?’ I asked hopefully.

He frowned at the page. ‘I was hoping for something rather more official, Miss Curran. Something attested by a legal representative at least.’

‘But sir, you can check the figures yourself on-line.’

‘But anyone could have deposited a lump sum and then withdraw it afterwards. I’m afraid this doesn’t prove anything.’

‘Please look on the website, sir. You can see the funds’ history and the money as it’s paid in from thousands of different sources. It’s a well known website, sir. It’s the one you used when you did your sponsored swim.’

‘You have been doing your homework.’ He called over his PA. ‘Get this website up for me, will you?’

I held my breath, hoping it hadn’t crashed again, but it eventually came up with the page, and at another ten thousand rupees since my last screenshot. We watched for a few minutes as the numbers increased, and then he looked down the list of contributors, Ireland, the UK, America, India . . . all with messages of support for Eoin (the tigers getting an occasional mention), and a few less flattering of the conviction at which the magistrate raised a wry smile.

‘This is most unorthodox, Miss Curran.’

‘But it’s evidence, Your Honour.’

‘I can vouch for it as well, sir,’ Pierre interjected. ‘I’m a trustee of the Vimla Tiger Sanctuary and oversee their accounts. The website is genuine and the funds will all go to the sanctuary.’

‘You have some identification?’

Pierre handed over his passport and his ID and paperwork from the tiger sanctuary. The magistrate turned back to me.

‘Very well. Although I shall want something more formally attested by the end of the week. Miss Curran, you are a remarkable young lady. Mr Macken is very lucky to have you fighting his corner.’ He called the clerk over. ‘Prepare Mr Macken’s release papers and I’ll sign them now. You can wait outside for them.’

It took about half an hour before I was summoned back to his office and I had them in my hand. ‘Will they release him straight away?’

‘I’m sure I shall hear about it if they don’t.’

‘Thank you, Your Honour.’

‘Miss Curran,’ and he beckoned me closer to his desk and spoke in a low voice. ‘I tried hard to find a way to not find Mr Macken guilty, but my hands were tied. I hope his appeal is successful.’

‘Thank you, Your Honour,’ and he smiled as he turned to the pile of paperwork and I left his office and rejoined Pierre.

‘Straight to the prison?’ he suggested with a grin.

‘Let me think about that . . . OK, you’ve persuaded me.’

We headed back to Pierre’s car and I found that I was shaking.

‘You OK?’ Pierre asked.

‘Yes, just a bit . . . well, shocked, I suppose. That we managed to raise the money. Incredible.’ I sent texts to Eoin’s mum and Moira about where I was going, for once not worrying about the time difference.

Vimla Prison was like stepping into another world. I’d been there too many times, but each time I was overwhelmed by the awfulness of it. I insisted that Pierre wait outside, hoping that I could go straight in without too much trouble, but taking Pierre with me might have been more difficult. Obviously, I didn’t have my ID with me, but they recognised me and got me to sign in, accepting just my passport. I showed them the paperwork and was placed in one of the interview rooms while they went to find Eoin. And waited. And waited. After half an hour I went back to the main reception to ask what the problem was. And then I saw him.

‘My God, Eoin, what have they done to you?’