Veronica Guerin

This film contains very strong language and scenes of prolonged violence.

Father, look kindly on your children who put their trust in you.

Bless them and keep them from all harm.

Strengthen them against the attacks of the devil.

May they never offend you but seek to love you in all they do.

May almighty God bless you, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.

The mass has ended. Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.

ALL: Thanks be to God.

Good morning, Mary.

Morning, Elizabeth, how are you?

Good morning, Bernie.

Father, would you say a prayer to Our Lady for an intervention?

-Is someone sick?

-No. I want to pray for my daughter

to lose her driving licence.

Case number 37422.

-Veronica Guerin.

-GAVEL BANGS

Almost 1,200 parking tickets.

March 10th, speeding ticket.

108 miles per hour.

Just last month, another speeding ticket for 104 miles per hour.

Well, I think that shows some improvement by my client, Judge.

I'll alert mothers that it's safe to let their children on the streets.

I... I deserve to lose this case, Judge,

that's fair enough, you know, but if I can't drive,

I can't do my job. I'm a journalist with the Sunday Independent...

We all know who you are, Miss Guerin.

That does not grant you immunity.

TELEPHONE RINGS

'This is Bernie Guerin. I can't take your call at the moment,

'so please leave a message.'

Mum? I'm driving.

Can you believe it? He let me off. He actually let me off. I love you.

Oh, no. You're having me on.

No. Just a £100 fine and a warning. I'm behind the wheel again.

-It's your ma, the criminal.

-Hi, Ma.

I hope you've learned a lesson and reformed your ways.

-'You're not speeding now, are you?'

-No, course I'm not.

Well, maybe a little.

What did you say to that daft judge?

'I told him I was guilty as sin.'

And he let you off? Pleads a great case for judicial reform.

SHE LAUGHS: Yeah. Another repeat offender returned to decent society.

'This is Garda Detective Chris Mulligan. Please leave a message.'

You didn't get me this time, Chris. Still got the wheels.

I was fined, you're gonna love this, 100 quid. Can you believe it?

You owe me lunch. You said wherever I want...

SHE SCREAMS

Veronica? Veronica.

The fucking eagle has landed.

Hello, boys. You all right there, Terry?

I met your fucking sister last night.

INDISTINCT CHATTER

How are you, Boss?

Get off that.

Push off!

Get your money ready. Five pounds.

There, beat ya.

Yeah, like this.

A CHILD CRIES

How're ya?

My name's Veronica. I write for the Sunday Independent.

May I ask you some questions? Do you mind?

-How much do you pay for one of those?

-Few quid.

Anyway, it's cheaper to rent someone else's needle.

-How about the score?

-First one's free.

Well, I heard five pounds.

Where do you get the cash for all this?

We just say to some broad like you,

"Gimme your money or I'll inject you with AIDS."

-How old are you?

-What's it to you?

I'm writing a piece for the paper. I wanna know where you get the gear.

And do your work for you?

Come back when you got some money.

Check you later, all right?

-Lost, are we?

-Who might you be?

-Neighbourhood watch.

-Yeah, well, better keep an eye out.

I hear there's some dodgy scangers about.

HE LAUGHS

I fucking swear to God, fuck you.

Ah, Jamie, Jamie, Jamie.

You're an awful man, do you know that?

What did you have to shoot your mouth off to the guards about me for?

Did you think I wouldn't find out it was you?

You know... I was thinking about killing you

and then I thought to myself, "You know,

"people get killed every day and nobody gives a shite."

So, I've decided I'm going to have to hurt you a bit.

HE MUMBLES

Actually, I'm going to hurt you an awful lot.

The good news is I'm going to do you myself. Oh, yeah, personally.

I mean, you don't want people thinking

just because I've got me name in the papers and all that,

that Martin Cahill is too posh to do his own dirty work,

now do you?

MUMBLES: Oh, for fuck's sake.

Let the gag out of his mouth.

Let the scumbag squeal. He's good at that.

HE SCREAMS

SHOUTING AND SCREAMS

SCREAMS AND YELLS

LOUD SCREAMS

CAR HORN BEEPS

-Hi.

-How are you?

-Here she is now.

-Hiya. You're great.

I must be.

-How you doing?

-Hi, Jimmy.

Off to a big news story, are we?

Come on, Ronnie, give us the scoop. Who's the scumbag of the week?

Go and buy the paper, little brother.

-You ready for me?

-Did I say something?

Don't look at me. She's your sister.

-You warm enough?

-Yeah.

-OK.

Night, darlin'.

-I'm in the other room if you need me.

-OK.

He won't have any trouble sleeping tonight.

-That's cos you wore him out on the football pitch.

-Yeah.

-What's up?

-Nothin'.

Nothin' or somethin'?

It's bollocks. What I'm writing.

Why don't you give yourself a bit of credit?

So it's half-decent bollocks. It's light, it's human interest.

It's bollocks.

On that estate, on the street, there were needles everywhere.

-Where kids were playing.

-Jesus.

You should have seen these wankers.

Standing there with their new Mercedes.

How many five-pound hits of dope do you need to shift to buy a Mercedes?

You do the maths. How many kids is that?

Nobody's writing about it. Nobody cares.

Isn't that...? Someone needs to get after these bastards.

They're making megabucks.

That's what I should be writing about.

Now that wouldn't be bollocks.

The pushers are using the underaged kids to do their business.

They know the guards won't touch the kids. Everyone knows what goes on.

Eight kids from this block died from drugs last year. Eight.

-All under 15. Four were me sister Iris's kids.

-Jesus, I'm sorry.

TD's, guards, closed their eyes,

called it a family problem. To some, these kids are dead already.

We formed Concerned Parents Against Drugs. Made it our problem.

-I'd love you to write something.

-How often do you march?

-Once a week.

-It's quite a commitment.

-It's quite a problem.

Hey, you remember me?

Where those Cahill's lads in the van?

What van?

She can help, Timmy.

You know, Martin Cahill? The General.

You know him?

What's your cut?

-I better go. I can't be seen with yous.

-Let us help you, Timmy.

I can find you a good place to stay tonight. Tomorrow...

Do yous want to have sex with me? I'm not expensive.

-The bill, please.

-He nicked your wallet.

-What do we want?

-Pushers out.

-When do we want it?

-Now.

-What do we want?

-Pushers out.

-When do we want it?

-Now.

Are these marches always this small?

-Well, hopefully with your help the word will get to more people.

-Yeah.

I'll make sure it does.

-When do we want it?

-Now.

-What do we want?

-Pushers out.

-Tommy Mullen!

-You bastard!

-What do we want?

-Pushers out.

-When do we want it?

-Now.

-What do we want?

-Pushers out.

-When do we want it?

-Now.

-Pusher, pusher, pusher.

-Out! Out! Out!

Look who's got himself a new girlfriend.

-See you there then, John.

-Yeah, go ahead.

What the hell do you want?

Is that any way to talk to a lady?

-Ladies don't call on gentlemen unannounced.

-Oh, we're a gentleman!

Where's your manners? You didn't introduce me.

-If that's what you after.

-You closing early?

-One of the benefits of being self-employed.

-You're amazing, John.

No, really. You're a model of profitability.

How to succeed in business without any customers.

I do well enough.

Yeah, well, there must be a few bob in those brothels on Athgar Road.

What are they worth now, John?

-You're a dangerous bitch, aren't you?

-I do my best. Buy us a drink?

That's the benefit of being self-employed, John.

You are your own boss, aren't you?

You're way off the mark, Veronica. Martin Cahill isn't into the drugs.

-Neither am I.

-You sure?

We're just ordinary, decent criminals.

If you won't take my word, why don't you ask Martin?

-He's very fond of the ladies.

-Exactly. So set it up for me.

Why you chasing the drugs? You should chase the pubs,

-they do more damage.

-Yeah, right.

Yeah? No, I tried that. It was a dead end.

I'll call you back? Grand.

So, how many guys you have working for stories at once?

Now, a less generous person might say you were ungrateful

for what I gave you already.

Stealing paintings, kidnapping, you above that now?

I got you famous with those stories.

Yeah. You feed me the superficial crap.

-I make you look good.

-Great picture.

Come on, I need your help to get to Cahill.

Write me a reference.

I'm late for an appointment.

Word of advice. Stay away from Martin Cahill.

Sorry to disturb ya, are you Mrs Cahill?

Frances Cahill?

Right.

Are you Frances Cahill?

-I am.

-Hi, I'm Veronica.

-I'm a friend of John Traynor's.

-I know who you are.

Is your husband home? I want to ask him a favour.

Martin Cahill doesn't do favours for journalists.

So piss off.

There's a rumour he's putting drugs on the street, you got any comment?

I know he nailed a tout to the floor of a flat, was it drug-related?

I want a comment. Off the record. I'll be out of your...

Mr Cahill! Could you do me a favour?

I need the names of those kids selling drugs for you.

And I'll do you a favour. I won't write about what people are saying.

You know, you're having kids with your wife's sisters?

There's me number. Gimme a call!

Cheers.

SIRENS BLARE

'What can I do for you, Veronica?'

How could you lose a body?

I mean, that's just downright careless.

You find some, you lose some. It'll turn up. They always do.

You gonna join the cause of those crying foul?

"More Garda incompetence? Is this why we pay our taxes?"

Some might say incompetent, but you could say you're understaffed.

You can't have 24-hour surveillance on a murder site with 24 staff.

People should know that. Someone should write that.

And if someone did write that, what would that someone want in return?

I talked to the couple you detained after the weekend in Amsterdam.

Held for 48 hours cos they bought nothing there but a box of condoms.

How does it feel to wait for a mule to shite out a condom full of drugs?

You and I both know the couriers are the lowest man in the organisation.

Some Mr Big is laughing at you and your stool sample.

Now you can't touch him. I want...

-We both want to get Mr Untouchable.

-What'll you do when you do?

Your paper's so scared he'll sue if you name him,

they employ more lawyers than journalists!

Well, there's more than 300,000 people...

I don't want to blow my own trumpet,

but they know that Martin Cahill's The General,

because what I write in the Sunday Independent.

At least they know what he's up to.

Great. For your readers, but does it help me put him behind bars?

We're on the same side, Chris.

I trained as an accountant, right?

If I could have a look at these files,

then I could go after those other wankers.

Put some pressure on them. Come on.

Go on.

Look, I've got more packing to do. I'll be back in an hour or so.

Looking forward to reading someone's column on Sunday.

-"For The Coach, every day is Lotto Day."

-LAUGHTER

"What others might earn in a decade, he can conjure up in an afternoon."

"His Swiss scam was a stroke, a child of his remarkable ingenuity."

"The fruits of a complex fraud..."

-Coach, boss.

-What?

I never knew you were such a horse lover, John.

-What took you so long?

-The traffic.

Nothing to do with that woman from the Sunday Indo?

Did the boys say somethin'?

That's not the question. What did you say to her?

Nothin' important.

She fancies me, so I humour her.

You know why I'm successful, Johnny?

I lead a quiet life.

Nobody knows what I'm doing and that's good for business.

When you talk to that bitch and she writes about you,

you feel like a movie star.

And don't think she doesn't know how to use that, because she does.

You're not as smart as you think you are.

That makes you a liability. Remember this.

If that bitch ever mentions my name,

you pay.

GUNSHOT

Hey, you like playing the gangster, do ya? Do ya?

-Make you feel like a big man, does it? Does it?

-John, please.

-How does it feel now?

-John!

-You heap o' shite!

-You heap o' shite!

-Please!

You bunch of eejits. Which fucking genius fired a gun around my horses?

You don't insult me boys, Gerry.

You leave that to me, unless you want some of the same yourself.

Word of advice. Keep your fucking mouth shut.

-I called you here, cos we've got a debt to settle.

-What debt?

Your man Martin Cahill thinks over half a million quid is owed him.

He loaned us that to start up the operation. He wants it back.

There's no back, that money moves forward.

He lent you it when you were out of prison. You had nothin'.

Now, he's down on his luck. He can't shift the paintings. Too hot.

-Why don't you just pay him?

-No, no. You don't get it.

When a scumbag like him is down on his luck, kick him in the bollocks.

I wouldn't try that with Martin Cahill.

Who's side are you on, Coach?

I just think we should make payment.

Don't you worry about it. We're gonna make payment.

SHE SCREAMS

Then he poked that one...

GUNSHOT

GUNSHOT

Jesus!

CHEERING

LAUGHS

Are you people fucking insane?

-For a few hundred grand you murdered all of us?

-I don't like your tone.

Maybe the guards don't know, but if the Cahill mob find out,

they'll kill yous and everyone you work with.

The IRA has claimed responsibility for the murder of Martin Cahill

and we are now doing everything in our power

to apprehend the gunmen involved.

No progress has been made.

This isn't the first execution. What about the Davey and Gormley cases?

I cannot comment on any other investigation.

No progress is ever made in cases involving the IRA.

Cahill's family has stated that The General and I quote,

"Was not killed by the IRA, but by someone who saw the money he made."

In your opinion, could this be drug-related?

-You can't believe everything you hear.

-Neither can you, Des.

BARRAGE OF QUESTIONS

Look, Veronica,

-every journalist sees a vast conspiracy in everything.

-Get away.

We haven't a fucking clue. We don't know who killed Cahill.

And you don't care, right?

If they kill each other, it's easier for you.

Here. Let's sort out the petty criminals first.

Those who loved Martin Cahill

feel a deep sense of loss and pain.

Violence can only lead to death...

..because it's the way of hatred,

fear and revenge.

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed by thy name. Thy kingdom...

Nothin' like a funeral to bring out the competition, is there?

-Yeah.

-Look at Gerry Hutch, all tearful.

-Or should I say The Monk?

-He's not bad looking for a monk.

Thing about monks though, is they're celibate.

Supposedly.

-See those two there?

-Yeah.

-Dealers, right?

-Yeah.

Fatso Mitchell and Tommy Mullen.

Right.

-Cahill wasn't running drugs.

-No?

I followed the money and it turns out

your man was absolutely broke.

-The family had to borrow 10,000 for this.

-Really?

-Didn't have the cash to run drugs.

-Fuck's sakes.

Will you look? The north-side rivals to pay their respects.

-Out.

-That's Brian Meehan there.

-The blond one?

-Yeah.

Nasty little fucker.

The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women

and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

Hail Mary full of grace,

the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women

and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

TELEPHONE RINGS

-Yeah?

-The IRA didn't act alone.

Tell me something I don't know. Where are ya?

Gerry Hutch ordered the hit on Cahill.

Hutch? Jesus, are you sure?

I was there.

She bought it.

Boo-hoo(!)

-Holy Mary, mother of God.

-Boo-hoo.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee...

RAISED VOICES

OK. Let's bring them in. Bring them in.

Leave it out lads, please.

Strip 'em and search 'em.

I'll get you,

your wife, your kids.

Think you're the big fella now?

-You'll not be so big the next time you meet me.

-Yeah? I'm trembling.

We can do this the hard or the easy way, your choice.

Please, let's do it the hard way, huh?

Do you like men with big cocks, do you? Want that, do you?

Is she a lesbian? Fancy me arse, do ya? Pervert!

All right, get your designer gear back on and get the fuck out of my sight.

There's over £600 there. You can keep that.

Yous fuckers need it more than I do.

Bunch of fuckin' eejits, working and paying taxes. Do you know what?

I make more in a week than yous fuckers earn in a month.

Here. Much more than you earn in a year.

Thanks. See you, guys. All the best.

-You can tell the time, can't ya?

-See you soon.

I always like to go shopping after a funeral.

-What are you doin' here?

-It's lookin' bad for you.

-People say you ordered the hit on Cahill.

-They can say what they like.

I was out of the country.

Is that your response, Mr Hutch?

Or should I call you The Monk?

You're invading my privacy and the privacy of my family.

If you don't get off my property I'll sue you and your fuckin' paper.

Now fuck off.

Can I quote you on that?

I can't talk to anyone right now.

It's Tony Gregory. He's an MP for Dublin South.

I know. I still can't talk. Tell him I'll call him later.

-You can tell him yourself.

-Hiya, Tony.

-What is this shite?

-It's Ireland's finest newspaper.

"Dublin city is currently like a tinderbox waiting to explode"?!

-Self-fulfilling prophecy.

-It's a quote.

It's a source quote. It's not me editorialising. Understand?

No gang was involved in the murder.

The Garda filed photos of these gangs. No-one identified them.

The only reason there's no blood bath

is the Cahills didn't buy your story.

As far as I'm concerned, this woman is reckless and inflammatory.

She treats rumour as fact.

And you are irresponsible for publishing it.

I expect to read my response over breakfast next Sunday.

-I did nothin' wrong.

-I know that.

-Did you corroborate your facts?

I was told by a source. He's never been wrong before.

I didn't name Hutch. I didn't even call him The Monk.

Hutch said he was out of the country.

-He said he'd sue us, but didn't deny it.

-We know that.

-And the lawyers approved it, Angus.

-We don't doubt you,

but Gregory doubts you. He's an MP for the area. He wants his say.

-I don't give a shite.

-What about the source?

-Will he go on record?

-Of course he won't, he's a criminal.

-This is like being a cop.

-It's worse.

You can't get a search warrant or tap but you must prove everything.

Yes, and you want to check how reliable that source is.

Is Traynor about?

What time? Whatever. Yeah.

OK. Uh-huh.

-Jesus!

-Sorry, John. Just a quick question.

You're not aiming to start a gang war between the Cahills and Hutch?

-Jesus. She's famous.

-Shut up, you.

I have a feeling you've been feeding me a line of shite about The Monk.

-What?

-Get the south-side and north-side gangs to kill each other,

-so someone else can take over?

-You're talking out of your arse.

-Get out of here, unless you want to join in.

-You said you were there.

-I done you a lot of favours.

-I'm doing the favours.

No, I've done you the favours. Don't forget that.

I tell you what I know. I don't tell you what to do with it.

You come in here calling me a fucking liar?

That's a bit of an overreaction there, John.

-Why don't you come and have a pint?

-Too many journalists for me.

You can't join the club if you ignore the members.

I know what they say. No experience, I'm exaggerating the drug problem.

-My sources are unreliable, can't spell.

-Pretty accurate.

-Get away and shite. I know I'm no great writer.

-I think you're a poet.

Go on. Go on, Cantona.

That's poetry.

What's the score?

Nothin' nothin.' Cantona's a fuckin' vacuum cleaner today, man.

It's unreal.

-He's what you call a striker. Number seven. Watch him.

-A striker?

-What did you say his name was?

-Eric Cantona.

Born 26 May 1966, led Man United to six cups,

-winning Footballer Of the Year in 89, is that him?

-Fuck me pink, it is.

Yeah. Fair play to you.

-I met him, you know?

-You met him? What did he say to ya?

-Doesn't matter, does it? He's a genius.

-He is a genius. He's deadly.

Would you look at that? I bet you any money The Monk done that.

Do you fancy a pint? There's a great pub down there. Very quiet.

That's almost three million quid.

Where would you hide all that?

How could you find any fun in hiding that? You'd be spending it like mad,

-wouldn't ya?

-Yeah. That's exactly right.

-Good night. Thanks.

-So, no pint, no?

Not a chance?

-Well done on the Brinks job.

-What are you doing following me?

I'm gonna write about it, so you may as well talk.

I don't give a bollocks.

-What do you do with the money?

-None of your business. There you go.

You know, I've forgotten my manners.

You've been to my home. Maybe it's about fucking time I visit yours.

-Right ahead, sir.

-Thanks. I'll see you again.

-'Night, Ma.'

-'Night, love.'

-What are you reading, Ma?

-Some of me notes.

-On the bad guys?

-No.

There's just one bad guy I'm after who's up way past his bedtime.

Now, let's go.

You're getting too big for your ma.

HE LAUGHS I'll have to read you a story.

GUNSHOT

-Stay there.

-All right.

You gonna give someone else a go?

Me! Me! Me! Me!

Oh, that's great.

-Ronnie?

-Hmm?

-We're all nervous.

Ma's nervous, I'm nervous.

Even Graham. He just won't say anything.

There's no use talking to you.

Those people issue death threats if their laundry's folded wrong.

Ma? Where did you put the candles?

They're on top of the bread box.

Oh, right.

It's not the first. Remember the religious fanatics

after the Bishop Casey story? There's always someone.

-You get used to them.

-No, you get used to cold water,

not bullets. This is madness.

You'd do the same. If you saw those kids on the streets.

-Not if people were shooting at me.

-Ma, look!

-Cathal, that's great! Who gave you that?

-You and Dad.

Yeah.

I'm listening. Whoever did it made sure I was not in the room.

Could you do this? You're better at it.

-There's nothing to worry about.

-Nothing?

I'm the only Guerin in the phone book. Who will they come after?

Don't flatter yourself, little brother.

Are you gonna dance or go fast? Give someone else a go.

MUSIC MUFFLED THROUGH HEADPHONES

You coming to bed?

-What?

-I know you can hear me, are you coming to bed?

-I'll be along in a minute.

-Fine.

Suit yourself.

-SWITCHES MUSIC TO SPEAKERS

-Turn it down.

-Turn it down.

-Come on.

I love it. I love my work.

-I'm doing something that could make a difference.

-What can I do with you?

-Come on.

-No.

MUSIC: "Everlasting Love" by U2

OK.

# We'll have our own... everlasting love

# Love will last forever

# It's going to last forever... #

Good boy. Up you come.

# You will realise

# Here I stand with my

# Everlasting love... #

Did we wake you up?

# Come and be my pride

# Never be denied

# Everlasting love! #

What can I say? I don't think Gerry Hutch is into drugs.

The Brinks heist, yeah, probably,

-but drugs is not his scene.

-I've been tracking his movements.

I just need to source the drugs, the connection's easy. I need your help.

And I need you to stop coming to my office.

He's got the money.

We're talking about a fella with no visible source of income,

who paid tax on two million pounds last year.

Just laundered through the government's tax amnesty.

-He has too much money not to be in it.

-Your opinion.

You seized shipments from Cork, but it's coming from somewhere. Where?

We impounded drugs from Liverpool, Scotland, Amsterdam, Pakistan.

You're not the only one trying

and Gerry Hutch isn't alone with dirty money.

-Who else you got?

-I could name a dozen.

Here's the latest candidate, just in from Interpol.

John Gilligan. A year out of prison.

Can you tell me how this low life has £300,000

-to launder in an Amsterdam casino? You're the journalist.

-TELEPHONE RINGS

Certainly keeps a low profile. ..Yeah? Hi, Aengus. Can you hold?

-Can I?

-Go on, it's a copy.

-Great.

-Just go.

-I owe you lunch.

No. Run the Brinks story. Hold off on the drugs claim.

What for? This stuff you sent is great.

No, give me 24 hours. I got a tip. This could be big.

-I'm trusting you on this one.

-Oh, aren't you great?

Nice tan there, John.

Hope there's no hard feelings between us?

I'm not one to take a bullet through my window personally.

Get lost.

You wanna be careful when dealing with Gerry Hutch.

But you didn't tell me about a guy named Gilligan.

-Who?

-You provided him with a car when he got out of prison last year.

John Gilligan. Want me to spell it?

I run a bleedin' garage. I provide loads of cars.

I'm hardly going to remember every one, am I?

-Is that him there?

-Why should I give a shite?

No reason, just the fella behind looks a lot like you.

Now, there's a coincidence.

Where's his money from? Does he provide hash and heroin to Mitchell?

I can't help you. Don't know nothin' about him.

If I hear, I'll tell you. Molly!

You can keep the photo, it's a nice one of you. We got plenty.

-You sell horses, don't you, Mr Chapman?

-I do.

I sell them on to Germany.

Myself and Geraldine are planning to make this the largest and finest

equestrian centre in Ireland.

Well, I must say, the size is impressive.

Said the nun to the sailor. HE LAUGHS

How about an aperitif? Some champers? Caviar?

It's all imported. John and I have great plans for this place.

TELEPHONE RINGS Hang on.

Hello?

Hello? You're breaking up there. Hello?

'It's Traynor.'

Johnny.

Veronica Guerin got hold of a photo of us in Amsterdam.

John, I swear I had nothing to do with it.

I never mentioned your name,

but she was asking about ya.

Johnny, look, I've told you before, if she so much as mentions my name,

you pay.

Fucking eejits! Fuck 'em!

Happy Christmas!

How you doing? Happy Christmas.

-Now, isn't this great?

-When's Mum coming here?

Soon. You'll want something stronger than that.

TELEPHONE RINGS

Yeah? Ma, how are ya?

-Happy Christmas.

-Happy Christmas.

-You look great.

-Where's your mum?

-You know her, she's always going for the gold.

All right.

KNOCK ON DOOR Look, there's someone at the door.

My phone will be on all night. Call me later.

Yeah. I love you, too. OK, bye. Bye!

KNOCK AGAIN

LOUDER KNOCKING Yeah, all right, all right.

SHE SCREAMS

GUN CLICKS

SHE SCREAMS

SHE GROANS

POUNDING MUSIC

SHE MOANS

TELEPHONE BEEPS

Oh, oh, God, no.

TYRES SCREECH, CLICKING AND CHATTERING

-Hi.

-How are you?

-Ah, you look gorgeous.

-Hey, Aengus.

-Look at you, for God's sake.

-Hi, Willy.

-Hiya, darlin'.

-Can't find any sport, can you believe it?

-TV:

-'..Conducted investigations into organised crime in Dublin

-'and has interviewed...'

-Why do they always use that brutal picture?

'..was a serious incident. Veronica Guerin is a talented journalist.'

'An attack like this could be seen as an attempt to muzzle her

'because of certain publications or articles she wrote.'

'This would be connected with last month's robbery?'

We know who pulled that one, don't we?

-He threatened me, you know?

-Veronica, please, stop this.

Write about fashion, football, anything.

You don't have to do it any more.

I don't see myself covering catwalks or doing a gardening column.

-You've always wanted to write about politics.

-Ah, come off it, I am.

-Drugs are political.

-What if I told you

-I wouldn't publish your stuff?

-You never would, would you?

-For Christ's sake, there's no sport.

-We're gonna have to go.

What kind of hospital is this? Is this why we pay health insurance?

-Where's Cathal?

-He's with your mum. Don't worry.

-Oh, I'm not worried.

Thanks. Right, we've got you 24-hour police protection.

OK?

What a way to spend Christmas Eve. Looking at a poxy box.

Mary Poppins, Gone With The Wind...

Next thing you know it'll be A Wonderful Fuckin' Life.

-The doctor says it missed the artery and the bone.

-Point-blank range

with a .45 and this is all they could do. How's Cathal? How is he?

-He's fine.

-Where is he?

-Oh, that's right. He's with Mum.

-Yeah, he keeps askin' for ya.

Yeah?

-TV:

-'..But Miss Guerin's...

-..Shooting happened...

-'..Investigations for the Sunday...

-..Warning from a crime gang...'

You gonna stop this now?

HUMMING

Nan, look! It's mum.

-Gimme the keys.

-I know what I'm doing.

-Why do you think they shot me? I'm on the right track.

-Gimme the keys.

-Thank you.

-Would you gimme the keys?

No. Look at the state of ya.

Do you think I want to do this, do ya?

I don't want to do it, I have to do it.

You're a journalist. You write. You let the guards look after this.

The guards can't do anything. They always get away with it.

-14 shootings...

-I know, you're one of them.

-I know who the guys are. Would you just give me the keys?

-No.

Tough shit. Come on inside, please?

They're not gettin' away with it. I'll catch a cab then.

-Oh, for God's sake.

-TELEPHONE BEEPS

Yeah, hi. It's Veronica Guerin, I'd like a...

Thank you. Come on, get in.

-Who's driving?

-You can't drive with two legs,

-I hardly think I'm gonna let you drive with one.

-That's low, that is.

-You drive like an old granny.

-Come on, Hopalong, get in.

Where's she going? She only got out the hospital a couple of days ago.

Yeah, I know.

Here, let me do it.

Look, Veronica Guerin! Come here, have a look.

Tommy Mullen?

-Fatso Mitchell?

-Yeah?

This is for you.

Get the fuck out of it. Here!

-Your column's upsetting my mother.

-Ah, you poor fella.

You think I'm a drug dealer, don't ya? Well, I'm no drug dealer.

I've seen family and friends dying, week in, week out, because of them.

All right... Why did you shoot me?

I had nothing to do with shooting you. I wouldn't have missed.

-I'm telling ya, he isn't here.

-SNIFFS:

-And I have to go. I'm busy.

-How old are you?

-None of your business!

Look, please, just give this to Traynor.

-Are you gonna be OK, I mean, your leg and all?

-Yeah, I'm grand.

Are you gonna be all right?

TV: 'I thought, I mean, I've always believed...

LAUGHING '..nobody shoots the messenger.

'I mean, a journalist doesn't get shot.

-'If the bullet had hit an artery, you could have died.

-Yeah.

'So, why do you do it? Why take the risks?'

I'll give her this,

takes some balls to shoot yourself in the leg for publicity.

-Yeah, she should've shot herself in the balls.

-Bigger target!

-Shall we?

-Never liked this place anyway.

She can always use the insurance money for a course in journalism.

CHEERING

Here, come here and check this out.

'..Bring it to the attention of the public, generally,

'a culture that exists in our society that nobody knows anything about.'

-Lookin' very fuckin' healthy, isn't she?

-Too bad the moron you hired

shot her in the leg. Now the whole country's watching her.

Yeah, she's a real martyr, thanks to you, Coach.

Saint Veronica of the Sunday Independent.

Ah, relax, will ya? She's convinced it was Gerry Hutch that done it.

You better pray she stays that way.

Come on.

Champagne, now.

'These letters that you delivered, what did you say in them?

'There was one simple question on each of the letters and it was,

' "Were you responsible for my attack?" '

-Er, Mr Gregory?

-What are you doing in here?

How did you get past security?

-You can't just barge in here.

-Sorry. Do you mind if I sit down?

A young woman on a crutch. You have me at a disadvantage. Take a seat.

I've come to apologise, if I've got it all wrong.

All of you journalists have got it wrong.

You call these guys The Viper, The Monk, The General, you glorify them.

-They're not movie stars.

-With respect, I've no option.

The libel laws won't let me name them.

Journalists are going to jail for doing that.

You know Liz Allen? She's facing prison for exposing these murderers.

I can't get involved in personal vendettas.

-I'm not here because I was shot.

-Now I know what you're not here for.

I've been writing quite extensively -

in a balanced way - for the past 18 months.

You must have missed some of my articles.

On June 11th - I want to clarify this -

I suggested extending detention periods for drug offenders.

On July 16th I wrote about tax officialdom, and this is ridiculous,

saying they're paid only to record declared income,

not to worry whether it comes from drugs. Then on July 23rd,

I wrote how the Gardai can seize drug proceeds

but can't hold them. How frustrating is that?

I don't need to be told the fight against drugs has been crippled

-by the laws we have at the moment.

-Yeah.

-We're on the same side, Mr Gregory.

-We're on the same side.

-I do not like your methods and I do not like your paper.

-Yeah.

It's a rag. But it's a popular rag.

Use it, get your message out.

Use me. You've got to change these laws that favour the criminals.

OK, so, when do we get to the part where you're going to use me?

Well, I'm looking into a guy called Gilligan.

Just take my phone calls.

Gilligan, did you say?

Friend of mine said he rents these containers out. You seen him about?

-Slightly overweight, like? Bald guy?

-Mm-hm.

We've never seen him here.

-Thanks for the smoke.

-Yeah.

Gwyneth, find out how long Tony Gregory'll be in his office.

Grand, thanks. Hiya.

No offence but they're not gonna talk to me with the cops hanging about.

-All right?

-Right.

-Thanks. It's not working.

Gilligan's listed here as living in a council flat on the dole?

That's just a mailing address.

Those lads go to meetings with probation officers

in BMWs and Mercedes.

Having money isn't a probation violation.

It is if the assets are illegal.

I'd like to see a register of ownership

for the following properties under this corporation,

with a copy of the shareholders reports.

And the same for these others run by a John Gilligan.

'I told you. This office is closed for lunch.'

Unless you're with the government, it's closed to you.

Absolutely, not a problem.

I've a friend here who'd like to talk to you. Do you know Tony Gregory?

Oh, you're an angel.

-I'm just finishing off.

-You're a bad liar.

-Oh, God, you make the worst coffee.

-Ouch!

I'll put Cathal to bed.

-Hey, he's been asleep for an hour.

-Oh, course.

Don't you ever just want to... keep him in the house?

-Not let him out, ever?

-Yeah.

But mostly I feel that way about you.

I've got him, Graham. I've got his name.

I'll get this Gilligan bastard.

I am so close, you know? I'm this close.

Do you trust me, hm? Right?

-Don't worry.

-Easy for you to say.

How are ya? Do you know where I might find Mr Gilligan?

-Sorry, don't know.

-Right.

DOORBELL RINGS

DOORBELL RINGS

Mr Gilligan? I'm Veronica Guerin

from the Sunday Independent.

I've come to ask you about your property,

including this lovely equestrian centre you've got here.

You could start by telling me where you get the money.

Cunt! Cunt!

Cunt!

Cunt! Cunt!

SHE MOANS

-Are you wearing a wire?

-CLOTHES TEARING: No! No! No!

-HORN HONKS

-Get off my property, you cunt!

DOOR OPENS

Jesus! Jesus! What happened to you?

What happened to you, darling? God!

-God! What happened to you?

-VERONICA SOBS

Oh, my darling. Oh, my darling.

-Can you see it all?

-Mm-hm.

Right.

-Are you ready to go home?

-Yeah.

-You want to try a drop of that?

-Oh, thanks.

Look, it's up to you, Ronnie, but if you do press charges,

writing the story might prejudice the case.

-I know you, you just want to steal it.

-Of course I do, I'm a reporter.

What's it to be? Do you want a story or do you want to press charges?

TELEPHONE RINGS

SHE SIGHS

Yeah?

'This is John Gilligan.

'If you do one thing on me...'

..if you go to the Gardai or write about me,

I'm going to kidnap your son...

and I'm gonna ride him.

'I'm gonna shoot you.

'Do you understand what I'm saying to ya?

'I'm gonna fuckin' kidnap your son and I'm gonna ride him

'and then I'm gonna shoot you.'

I'm gonna fuckin' kill ya.

DIALLING TONE

SHE GASPS

SHE RETCHES

-Veronica?

-Where's Cathal?

-What's wrong?

-Where's Cathal?

-In the country with your sister.

-He's safe.

-Jesus!

-It was him.

-What?

I should never have gone there.

-Oh, Jesus. I'm so scared, Graham.

-It's OK. I know.

-I'm really scared.

-I know, I know.

It's gonna be all right.

-I want you to promise me something.

-What?

-Don't tell anyone I was like this.

-What?

All right?

-I don't want them to have it.

-All right.

-It's what they want and I don't want them to have it.

-I promise you.

-All right?

-You were never afraid.

-All right.

-Oh, Jesus!

-Never afraid.

Jesus, Veronica, look at ya.

I'll live.

How are you, John?

It's, um...been a while.

I'm grand. Get you a drink?

No, thanks. I'm not thirsty.

So, what do you want to talk about?

-I've a message for you from John Gilligan.

-The man you don't know?

Soon as I heard, I went to see him. I told him he'd got it all wrong.

He's a small man with a chip.

You know? He's got a temper. He just lost his head.

Anyway, he wants you to know that he's sorry for what he done

and for what he said about your kid and the family.

He'd never do those things.

He wishes he could take it back.

Gilligan got you to feed me that shite about Hutch.

Yeah. He murdered Cahill, stepped back

-and let the IRA take credit.

-I don't know what you're talking about.

I'm here because he wants this to end

-before things get any worse.

-How can it get any worse?

Things can always get worse, Veronica.

Now, if you don't press charges...

..you'll be £100,000 richer within an hour.

It's not enough. I want 300.

CLEARS THROAT

-I think I could get you that.

-Right.

Now you tell Gilligan that he's not gonna buy me off.

Nobody's buying you off. The man just wants to be fair, that's all.

If convicted, all he'll get is six months.

Well, if he's not worried, why is he prepared to pay so much?

You know, why did he bother sending a...messenger?

You're not The Coach at all, are you, Johnny?

You're the ball boy.

What are you doing, talking to her like this?

-After what you did.

-What the fuck are you doing here? Get out.

-He sent that man to shoot you.

-That's bollocks.

Don't listen to this slag.

-It's true. He was supposed to shoot you in the head.

-Shut up.

-He was supposed to kill you...

-Shut the fuck up! Veronica!

TV: 'I've decided to make a formal complaint

'against the guy who beat me.

'I mean, I would...

'I would lose a lot,

'if I gave in to these thugs.

'I'm not going to be doing that because it'd be worse for me

'and for journalism, if I or any journalist was to be intimidated.

'That means they've won.

'And they're not going to win.'

Yeah, fuck off, ya...!

"The house shuddered and collapsed.

"And then the little people discovered

"that they were disappearing into a swirl of leaves."

DOOR OPENS

-He's fast asleep.

-Thanks for watching him, Ma.

What should a girl wear to court? Maybe the navy.

-This one looks grand.

-Oh, look.

Ah, look at that.

Look at you, always trying to be better than the boys.

That reminds me, you know, of a day...

You were out in the street playing football

and the ball went over the wall to old man Clancy, remember him?

He was a very dangerous man and very violent. The boys did nothing.

But you, bold as brass,

marched up those steps and knocked on his door.

-He scared the bejesus out of me.

-You didn't show it.

That's your thing, isn't it? You don't show your fear.

You know, sometimes it's wiser to let the crazy old man keep the ball.

It is. And sometimes it's braver to just walk away.

(Yeah.) Well, I got the ball back, didn't I?

You know exactly what I mean.

THUNDERING

In response to a defence motion,

I'm granting an extension

until June 30th.

-This hearing is adjourned.

-Ah, I'm sorry.

Hey, you haven't seen the last of us, missus.

-He just sits there and...

-Cheers.

You all right?

I've got a speeding issue to deal with.

You haven't bought off any judges, have you?

-Who is it?

-Ballaugh.

-Can't help you.

I hope you didn't take what that junkie slag said seriously.

Her brain burned out months ago.

And you didn't call me here to talk about a speeding ticket.

-Changed your mind about Gilligan's offer?

-Er, I'm writing a story.

Wanted to clear some things up. You're my man.

What do you want to know?

How you guys launder all the money you're making from the drug deals.

-Is it the Amsterdam casinos?

-Are you saying I'm a dealer?

Talk straight to me. The two car franchises, the yacht,

are you telling me that comes from the brothels?

Don't they ask where the money comes from?

Do you think I threatened those tax fellas?

I was with my accountant and the taxman was very fair. No, I'm legit.

-They can't touch me.

-Who shot me, John?

You know as well as I do, Veronica.

-I'd like to hear it from you.

-Gerry Hutch.

-Ah.

-I'm one of the only people in Dublin

who knows who did 90% of the hits last year.

-Cos you're Gilligan's partner, right?

-Look, I'm a fairly minor player.

You've seen Gilligan's house.

He has a three million fuckin' horse shed out the front,

I'm not in his league.

Why are you asking me all these questions? What's the story about?

-You.

-Me?

Yeah, I'm gonna say you're a dealer and I'm gonna quote you on Hutch.

-You can't do that, Veronica.

-I think I can.

-You do and I'm a fuckin' dead man.

-Ah, you poor fella.

I'm trying to fuckin' help you!

Now take Gilligan's offer.

You don't know how far he'll go to keep from going back to prison.

I came with a photographer. He's over there next to the police.

Smile.

CAMERA CLICKING

ENGINE STARTS

Let go of my door, John.

CLICKING

TELEPHONE BEEPS

TELEPHONE RINGING

-SHE LAUGHS:

-Yeah.

-Just a minute.

-John?

-Hello? Just a minute. Hello?

She'll be at the Naas Courthouse tomorrow morning.

ENGINE REVVING, SHOUTING

Pull a fuckin' wheelie!

LAUGHING

-Whoo!

-What the fuck?

LAUGHING CONTINUES

Have a fucking wheelie. Go on.

Come on here.

-GAVEL BANGS

-£100 fine.

Thank you.

Well done.

WEEPING, TELEPHONE RINGING

TELEPHONE BEEPS

She's out.

ENGINE STARTING

Mum, I'm driving. Can you believe it? They let me off.

They actually let me off. I love ya. Talk to ya.

SHE LAUGHS: Yeah, another repeat offender returned to decent society.

TELEPHONE RINGS

She's on her way.

I told him I was guilty as sin.

INAUDIBLE

SHE SCREAMS

GUNSHOTS

Veronica?

'Veronica?'

# By a lonely prison wall

# I heard a young man calling

# "Nothing matters, Mary when you're free

# "Against the Famine and the Crown

# "I rebelled, they shot us down

# "Now you must raise our child with dignity"

# Low lie the fields of Athenry

# Where once we watched the small free birds fly

# Our love was on the wing

# We had dreams and songs to sing

# It's so lonely round the fields of Athenry

# By a windswept harbour wall

# She watched the last star falling

# As the prison ship sailed out against the sky

# But she'll wait and hope and pray

# For her love in Botany Bay

# It's so lonely round the fields of Athenry

# Low lie the fields of Athenry

# Where once we watched the small free birds fly

# Our love was on the wing

# We had dreams and songs to sing

# It's so lonely round the fields of Athenry

# By a lonely prison wall

# I heard a young man calling

# "Nothing matters, Mary when you're free

# "Against the Famine and the Crown

# "I rebelled, they shot us down

# "Now you must raise our child with dignity"

# Low lie the fields of Athenry

# Where once we watched the small free birds fly

# Our love was on the wing

# We had dreams and songs to sing

# It's so lonely round the fields of Athenry. #

CHANTING, SHOUTING

'Veronica Guerin's writing turned the tide in the drug war.

'Her murder galvanised Ireland into action.

'Thousands took to the streets

'in weekly anti-drug marches, which drove the dealers out of Dublin

'and forced the drug barons underground.'

-Get your hands off me!

-Get out!

'Within a week of her death, during an emergency session of Parliament,

'the government altered the constitution of the Republic of Ireland

'to allow the High Court to freeze assets of suspected drug barons.'

-It's mine, I paid for that.

-'That same year,

'the Criminal Assets Bureau, CAB, was formed

'and given power to access and seize unexplained wealth

'from suspected criminals.'

Not my horse. No!

-No, not my horses.

-SHE SOBS

'Charles Bowden turned state's evidence

'and became the first person in Irish history

'to be entered into the witness protection programme.

'Brian Meehan was sentenced to life imprisonment

'for the murder of Veronica Guerin. His assets were seized by the CAB.

'Eugene Holland was sentenced to 20 years for drug trafficking.

'His assets were seized by CAB.

'John Traynor escaped to Portugal

'and continues to fight extradition to Ireland on charges of murder.

'His assets were seized by the CAB.

'After a long extradition battle,

'John Gilligan was brought back to Ireland from England

'and sentenced to 28 years in prison for drug trafficking.

'His assets were seized by CAB.

'By the following year, crime rates had dropped 15 percent.

'Everyone in the Republic of Ireland remembers where they were

'when they heard that Veronica Guerin had been murdered on the Naas Road.'

MUSIC "Funeral Song" by Sinead O'Connor

SHE SINGS IN IRISH