DRIMNAGH MURDER TRIAL:When Pawel Kalite clashed with a group of teenagers at a chip shop, it triggered events leading to his death and the death of his friend
FOR DAVID Curran, February 23rd, 2008, began as an ordinary day in Drimnagh, south Dublin.
In trouble from a young age, Curran, then 17, the eldest of five children, had been expelled from school at 15.
Known as “Schillaci”, he had been in a community detox programme. On this Saturday he was nursing a stab wound he’d received earlier in the week.
He visited an off-licence with his friend Seán Keogh, then 19, at 10am and bought vodka and a few cans. They went down to the canal with friends. They shared the purchases. They smoked cannabis and took benzodiazepine tablets. They went for a swim then moved on to a field at St Michael’s estate. They bought alcopops.
At about 5pm, Curran went back to the canal with another youth. They came across a parked moped. They took it back to the field and harvested it of two bottles of wine and a screwdriver.
They couldn’t get it started so they burned it out. Then they went to a nearby factory. Curran wanted to use the screwdriver to break into it and steal whatever he could find.
Not long after 6pm, Polish mechanic Pawel Kalite (28) walked down to his local chip shop on Benbulben Road, 70 metres from his home. He shared the house with his friend Marius Szwajkos (27), who was also a mechanic, and sister and brother Kamila and Radek Szeremeta.
The two mechanics had been at work that day at Ace Autobody and Mr Kalite was hungry. He bought himself some chips.
Outside the chip shop he was bumped into by one of a group of youths. There was a brawl and Mr Kalite ended up on the ground being kicked and punched.
Curran’s father, who happened to be passing in his car, had waded into the row when he recognised the youth involved.
The local butcher and his landlord came out of the butcher’s shop when they heard the noise. The landlord, Rory O’Connor, lifted Mr Kalite off the ground and told them “he’s had enough”.
The attackers backed off, Mr Kalite picked up his chips and walked away. As he passed two girls who had been involved in the row, one of them hit him over the head with a bottle. He walked on.
Mr O’Connor got into his car and followed him to offer him a lift home; he knew there was going to be trouble, but by the time he caught up with Mr Kalite, he was already at his house.
One of the girls involved called Curran at about 6.30pm to tell him about the row at the chip shop. He had had about 20 tablets, a good deal of alcohol and seven cannabis joints by then. He raced to the chip shop with his friends, including Keogh.
Curran was angry and shouting “was it youse?” He kicked out at a car and slammed its door closed on one of the occupant’s feet.
Curran ran up toward the home of Mr Kalite on Benbulben Road with three girls, Keogh and another teenage boy. He was shouting as he approached the house and he had the screwdriver in his hand. In the front garden, Kamila and Radek Szeremeta saw them across the road.
Mr Kalite and Mr Szwajkos were also in the garden. There was shouting and someone said “all Polish people are f***ers”. Ms Szeremeta asked “why?” Then Curran went for them with the screwdriver. Ms Szeremeta ducked, but Mr Kalite was struck.
The screwdriver penetrated his skull. He fell down, bringing Ms Szeremeta with him. Keogh kicked him in the head. Swiftly, Curran attacked again, fatally wounding Mr Szwajkos in the head. Onlookers heard his head crack as he hit the ground. It was all over within seconds. One of the teenagers shouted “run Schillaci, they’re dead” and Curran ran.
Gardaí and the emergency services were on the scene in a matter of minutes, but it was too late for both of the men.
At home, Curran had his dinner, a curry, and then got sick. That night, he sent text messages to one of the girls involved. She texted him “Ha, I just read what it says on the news. Ha Shit xxxx”. He replied “Ha, Ha. You’re mad.” Then between them, they tried to set up alibis for the evening.
Mr Keogh sent the same girl a text, telling her how he’d burned his new runners. “No way,” she replied. “Swear to God, we’re f***ed!” he said.
