The Children's CourtCarl O'Brien
Tears streamed down the 17-year-old's cheeks as the judge rustled through a bundle of dog-eared charge sheets.
"There's no way I'm letting this man out," Judge Geoffrey Browne said, his voice suffused with disbelief and anger. "I can't let him loose in the community."
The paperwork detailed the boy's previous convictions. There were joyriding offences, theft charges, bench warrants. In all there were 34 previous convictions, most related to stolen vehicles.
As the judge speedily read through them, his voice grew increasingly agitated.
"It's not fair to citizens that he should be allowed on the loose. Where will the owner of the stolen car get the money to repair it?" the judge asked, his voice rising.
The boy had come into the courtroom with wide and hopeful eyes, but now they were red and glassy.
As the judge continued to speak, he sank his shaved head into his hands, realising a custodial sentence awaited.
His sister, who was clutching a floral-patterned mobile phone, began to sob softly at the back of the courtroom. His father, dressed in a denim jacket, placed his hand to his mouth.
Earlier, Garda Damien Kirwan had quietly explained the circumstances of the latest charge relating to a stolen vehicle.
In total there were around 15 car theft offences which the boy allegedly committed over a four-month period this year.
The boy's solicitor, Mr John Quinn, tried to provide some insight into his client's troubled past.
"The situation is that he had a major drugs problem that was the source of many of his problems. He is now clean, and is asking the court to allow him one last chance."
The boy, who had sat with his head bowed for most of the hearing, looked up to gauge the judge's mood.
His solicitor handed the judge a report from a local community centre, offering what appeared to be a positive assessment of the boy.
Judge Browne glanced dismissively at the sheet, holding it by the edge, almost like an unwanted piece of tissue.
"We're getting this now, it was written yesterday," the judge said, incredulously. "What about January, February or March? There are around 20 sheets here, mostly for Section 112s [road traffic offences]."
When the judge asked for a list of previous convictions, he began to shake his head to himself.
He flipped though the charge sheets with the impatient expression of a tourist trying to find the right page on a map.
The boy's eyes darted nervously towards his family who sat just a few feet away.
The frustration left the judge's voice as he robotically repeated the charge numbers and sentences for each offence. Nine months' detention for the first set of charges. Another nine months for the second set.
The boy would also be banned from the road for five years.
His sister's staggered breaths broke the silence in the court, while her quiet father looked lost and confused.
Two gardaí approached the boy, who covered his eyes with his hands, to take him to St Patrick's Institution.
His tearful sister, still holding her brightly coloured phone, whispered in distress towards him.
As he was led down to the cells, the boy looked grimly towards his family one more time. Hope seemed to have drained from his eyes.
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