IT WAS perfect timing: the news broke at breakfast and dominated for the rest of the day, writes MIRIAM LORD
The constabulary had felt somebody’s collar. No big deal in itself except this one was different. For it was a very white collar, probably attached to matching white cuffs and a crisp shirt in contrasting stripes.
And most important of all, it belonged to Sean FitzPatrick, fallen angel of the boom.
In time-honoured fashion, gardaí “swooped” on his beautiful seaside home just before dawn – 6.30am to be precise, thanks to a press release issued by the Garda in time for the 9am news.
Minister for Finance Brian Lenihan then swooped with a statement of his own, in time for the bulletin an hour later.
A major media scramble got under way. Journalists and photographers, loath to be left out, swooped on Bray courthouse in Wicklow. Two columns detached and one headed for the FitzPatrick residence in Greystones and the other to Bray Garda station where the former boss of Anglo-Irish Bank was being interviewed.
After the initial wave of information the well ran dry. For the rest of the day, conflicting reports swirled around about what might, or might not, happen to the disgraced banker.
While many of our once preening swashbucklers have squandered vast amounts of their own and other people’s money, it is Sean FitzPatrick who is most associated in the public eye with that breed of self-regarding, financially deluded businessmen, who lost the run of themselves with catastrophic results.
The taxpayer has already been hit with a bill of €4 billion to shore up his rotten bank, and figure could climb by up to €10 billion in the near future.
So there was more than a passing interest in the news of his arrest. There was talk that he might be brought to court and charged with something.
But as the morning wore on, and as the first flotsam from the St Patrick’s Day festivities washed up in the courthouse, there was no word of Seanie and nothing coming from the direction of the authorities.
There were indications that FitzPatrick would appear in the afternoon. This was fevered speculation, borne of a desire by a lot of people to see a New York style “perp-walk” imported to Ireland, with Seanie Fitz in the starring role – even though he wasn’t being charged with anything.
The local gardaí couldn’t help. “It’s the Dublin boys who are handling this,” shrugged one, indicating he couldn’t find anything out, even if he wanted to, which he didn’t.
The usual District Court parade passed before the bench.
One defendant (unauthorised taking of a vehicle and acting the bowsie) was asked if he needed legal aid. He said he did. “Are you working?” Judge Connellan asked him. “Yes, doing a bit of labouring.” “And what are you earning?” “Just the labour . . .”
Among this collection of tracksuit and denim an expectant media waited in hope for the arrival of a distinguished looking, silver-haired, well-preserved man in a good suit and fine leather shoes.
It never happened.
The court broke for lunch. Over at the police station, camera crews and photographers climbed on step ladders to record the moment when detectives carried boxes of papers into the station.
It was to be the highlight of a long afternoon. FitzPatrick’s first period of detention passed and was extended. 6.30pm was now the deadline. Any man entering Bray station wearing a pin-striped suit was photographed. Cameras were positioned at three points around the building to cover the entrances.
TV satellite vans rolled into position.
It was exciting , for a little while. “I can’t talk now, I’m on a stakeout,” roared a photographer into his phone, sounding a little too pleased with himself. Each passing Mercedes caused a brief frisson, and when a large and shiny new Lexus purred down Convent Avenue towards the station, mild hysteria broke out.
Word came from the courthouse that proceedings had finished for the day.
By 6.30pm, there was still no sign. Then word came through that his detention had been extended for another 12 hours.
At this stage, local people were turning up to photograph the photographers, journalists and camera crews.
It was apt, in a way. Because after such a dramatic start, a feeling that the press corps were nothing more than props in a big show for the public was hard to escape.
Still, at least it gave everyone a rest from the cardinal for a day.