A June of Ordinary Murders (19 page)

He waved the pencil again, pointing to Swann and to Mossop who had been sitting quietly, his murder book on his lap, on a low filing cabinet near the windows.

The whole unit knew that Boyle would want to do the job himself at the Viceregal Lodge on the off chance that he might ingratiate himself with some minor official. In taking along two experienced officers – Swann and Mossop – he would minimise the risk of being exposed in the event of encountering any problem.

‘I've told you that I've got a crime conference here,' Swallow said, ‘and Pat Mossop is the Book Man on the murders, so I can't release him to work with Collins on the assaults.'

Duck Boyle stood stock still.

‘Don't cut across me, Swalla', he hissed. ‘Ye can get somewan else for Book Man. I'm the man who decides th'orders o' the day.'

There was silence across the detective office.

‘I'm not contesting that, Inspector,' Swallow was precise and respectful. ‘But Chief Superintendent Mallon agreed to have Mossop with me on this case.'

Boyle's eyes darted around. He passed his hand nervously across his eyes. He had to find a way out of this without loss of face. He turned to Mossop who was still seated on the filing cabinet, attempting to appear unconcerned as his two immediate superiors battled it out for his services for the day.

‘It's your loss, Mossop. I'm givin' you the chance to do some real detective work o'yer own makin'. But if the chief says yer to carry the book for Swalla' I can't argue. I'm sorry, Son.'

He shook his head with feigned sympathy and then glared at Swallow. ‘And who else, if ye don't mind, do ye intend to take off me roster today?'

‘I'll need Swift or Feore. They led the search teams on house-to-house at Chapelizod Gate and around the area by the river. We have to collate what information we have after those inquiries.'

‘Jesus Christ!' Boyle threw his hands towards the ceiling in a gesture of despair. ‘Mossop
and
Swift or Feore? How am I expected to do this bloody job?'

He resumed the task of handing out the incident forms, shaking his head and muttering as if he had been the recipient of deeply tragic news.

He pointed a finger at Eddie Shanahan, another newly minted detective, who was sitting near Mossop. ‘Shanahan, you'll do the assaults inquiry with Collins.'

Shanahan stood. He took the incident forms from Boyle's sweaty hands and distributed them to his colleagues. They only needed a few moments in which their eyes ran over the details.

The youthful Collins looked up from the forms. ‘Sure, it's as plain as the nose on my face, Inspector. The Cussen and Moore gangs have started their war already.'

Shanahan concurred. ‘That's how it looks to me too. Swann knows most of these fellows better than any of us. He should be doing this job … see if he can knock some sense into them before it hots up.'

‘Don't even think of arguin' about it,' Boyle growled. ‘I've tried to do me best here. Detective Sergeant Swalla' has his orders from higher authority. So you can best please me now be' gettin' on wid your duty.'

Shanahan shrugged his shoulders. He folded the incident forms and put them in his pocket.

‘Now,' Boyle raised his voice, ‘Every wan o' ye otherwise is on observation and inquiries for the Jubilee tomorrow and for Ces Downes's funeral today. I have a list of special posts that I'm givin' out now. I want every detail recorded. Every suspicious man, woman or child that moves in an' around the city is to be questioned and their movements noted.'

He distributed another set of sheets from one of the folders under his arm. He drew himself to his full height to deliver a parting oration to the shift.

‘There's Fenians and Land Leaguers and God knows who else that wants to disrupt the celebrations tomorra'. And there's a lot o' smart lads that'll be out to tear down flags and decorations that're put up be people over their shops and offices. They're to be stopped. Restrain them. Use the baton if you have to. If they're arrested, let the uniforms take them to the Bridewell. As G-men, yez have to stay on the street.'

The G-men gave no indication of being inspired by Boyle's exhortations. It would be a long day in the heat of the city streets. Some of the group began to move towards the door, anxious to be out of the tension and the bad air of the detective office.

‘Not so fast. Not so fast,' Boyle moved to block the exit. ‘We'll present accoutrements an' firearms first, please.'

There was a collective groan. Regulations required the completion of the ceremony before each shift went on duty, but no inspector apart from Duck Boyle ever insisted on it.

Each man dug in his pockets and produced notebooks, baton and handcuffs and placed them on the trestle table. Then the heavy Webley Bulldog revolvers came out of the shoulder-holsters and were placed along side the ‘accoutrements.'

Boyle walked along the table counting the notebooks, sets of handcuffs, the batons and the Bulldogs, telling each item off against the men scattered around the room with a pudgy finger. He then drew himself to his full, corpulent height and assumed a sorrowful expression. It was intended to indicate he was anything but satisfied with his unit's preparedness to confront and put down crime and disorder wherever they might find it across the city of Dublin.

FOURTEEN

Before his 11 o'clock briefing with the inquiry team on the Chapelizod Gate murders, Swallow equipped himself with a set of photographs from the scene and presented himself to the clerk at Mallon's office.

‘He's expecting me to bring him up to date on the murders in the park,' he told the clerk, who had standing instructions not to have the Chief Superintendent disturbed while he read through the morning's divisional reports.

‘He is, it seems,' the clerk acknowledged grudgingly.

He rose and knocked on the door connecting to Mallon's private office. On the call of ‘enter' he stepped in. Swallow could hear muffled voices. The clerk came out and jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

‘G'wan, Sergeant. He'll see you. He'll want to hear about what happened down at the Royal Hibernian Academy last night. He's just finished the report … And just to mark your own cards, there's somebody with him.'

Swallow was not surprised to learn that Mallon would want a firsthand account of the incident at the Academy. At the best of times, anything with a hint of politics was a matter of the gravest consequence to John Mallon. On the eve of the Queen's Jubilee and with a royal visit just a week away any possible threat to the safety of a senior Castle official would be very close to the top of his list of priorities.

He could give Mallon a full account of what had happened after Horan, O'Donnell and their friends had attacked the platform, but he hoped that his sharp-minded boss would not press him too hard on other details of what happened and why he was there. It was essential to keep Harriet out of the narrative.

Mallon sat behind his oak desk, the sash window behind his head wide open in the vain hope that some current of cool air might blow in from the Yard. Seated beside the Chief Superintendent was the Assistant Under-Secretary for Security, Howard Smith Berry.

Swallow tried to conceal his surprise but reckoned he was not wholly successful. It was rare for any of the grandees of the Upper Yard to descend to the buildings in the Lower Yard. It could indicate a catastrophe or it could be intended as a compliment. Swallow simply did not have sufficient experience to decide which this was.

Mallon gestured towards Swallow. ‘Mr Smith Berry, may I introduce Detective Sergeant Swallow. You probably didn't have the opportunity of a formal introduction when last you met.'

Smith Berry stood, leaned across the desk and extended his hand. He smiled, much as a gentleman might smile at a helpful shop assistant or a particularly efficient waiter, Swallow thought.

‘You did damned good work at the Royal Hibernian Academy last night, Swallow. It's noted. And I considered it appropriate that I should tell you so myself in the presence of the Chief Superintendent.'

Swallow thought he saw a slightly uncomfortable look in Mallon's eyes. The chief nodded, gesturing to a chair and indicating that Swallow should sit.

‘I think you know, Sergeant, that we've done well to get through the week leading up to the Jubilee without any major incidents in the city,' Mallon said. ‘There's been trouble in a few places around the country, but this business at the Academy could have been very serious, very serious indeed.'

He gestured to a selection of the morning's newspapers on the desk.

Swallow strained to read the upside-down headlines.

SHOTS FIRED AT ACADEMY OUTRAGE AGAINST ALDERMAN FITZPATRICK AND MR SMITH BERRY

With mild relief he read a line of type below.

POLICE FOIL AN ATTACK. A GUN IS SEIZED.

Then he saw another set of headlines on the opposite page.

POLICE MISTAKE IN MURDERS INQUIRY THE DEAD ‘MAN' IS A WOMAN HOW A SHOCKING CASE IS MISHANDLED TERRIBLE BLUNDER BY G DIVISION IN PARK MURDERS

He cursed silently. He had hoped that the daily newspapers might have moved on, leaving the story to their counterparts that published on Sundays.

‘This incident was potentially much more serious than the murders you're investigating, bad as they are,' Mallon said. ‘As Mr Smith Berry says, you did well at the scene. He or Alderman Fitzpatrick might have been injured or worse if you hadn't moved in so quickly.'

‘Thank you, Sir. But I wouldn't make too much of it.'

Mallon shot a reproving look at Swallow. ‘When any of the so-called patriots gets near an officer of the Crown with a loaded gun, I have to make much of it. My contacts at Scotland Yard have a score of them under surveillance in London just now.'

‘What I meant, Sir, was that I wouldn't make too much of my own part. I just did what any policeman should do when he encounters a threat to the peace. And, as Mr Smith Berry may have told you, I had some assistance from a young man, a journalist named Sweeney, working for the
Evening Telegraph.
'

Mallon raised an interrogative eyebrow. ‘I have the official report. Mr Sweeney's presence is mentioned but only very briefly. Tell me what happened.'

‘One of the gang was getting the better of me in the melee. Sweeney got stuck in and used his walking cane on him – to good effect.'

‘An unusual case of press and police co-operation, I would think,' Smith Berry laughed. ‘I know young Sweeney, of course. He was a few years behind me in Trinity but I knew him in the Officer Training Corps there. He's very close to Alderman Fitzpatrick. He supports his moderate political stance and he gives him good coverage in the
Evening Telegraph.
'

‘We have two prisoners in custody for the attack,' Mallon said. ‘I see the names here on the file – O'Donnell and Horan. Neither of them is familiar to me. Intelligence says they're linked to the Hibernian Brothers.'

‘Yes, Chief. They're in the cells. I spent quite a while last night assisting with the interviews. I'd say they're a pair of amateurs. We didn't get much, but it's early days yet.'

‘I'd like to stress the importance of what the Chief Superintendent has been saying,' Smith Berry interjected. ‘Amateurs they may be, but a shot fired by an amateur can be just as deadly as a shot from an experienced agitator.'

Smith Berry brought his hand down on Mallon's desk for emphasis.

‘Mr Balfour has made it absolutely clear that we mustn't have any signs of disaffection in the city during the royal visit. God knows it's bad enough to have the countryside in turmoil. There must be nothing to suggest that the capital city is other than safe and secure.'

Swallow reflected silently that the Smith Berrys and Fitzpatricks and the other
habitués
of the Upper Castle Yard, along with their hangers-on in Dublin society, would be on their toes. There would be the usual scramble for preferment and prominence. It was customary when the monarch or her representative paid a visit that there would be honours and sinecures, knighthoods even, and business deals, mainly government contracts, would be assured for the fortunate ones.

So far the murders at the Chapelizod Gate had hardly been mentioned, but he reckoned it was best to go with Smith Berry's agenda.

‘I understand that, Sir.'

As if he sensed Swallow's thinking, Mallon picked up the Chapelizod Gate investigation file from the desk.

‘I got your report from Mossop on Saturday evening. I hope there's been some progress. How in the name of God did you confuse a dead woman for a dead man? I'm sure Mr Smith Berry is as anxious as I am to get this business cleared up.'

‘I have a set of the photographs here with me, Sir. So you can see for yourself how a mistake might have been made. We were following best detective procedure in not interfering with the body at the scene. Even the doctor didn't realise the mistake until he got to work at Marlborough Street.'

Smith Berry uttered just one word. ‘Bizarre.'

Mallon took it calmly. ‘As you can see, our friends in the press are doing well out of this, Sergeant,' he said after a moment. ‘I'm not going to have an easy time explaining it to Commissioner Harrel. I already had to make excuses for the statements attributed to you in Saturday's editions.'

‘I know, Chief,' Swallow said quietly.

‘Let me see the photographs please,' Mallon extended a hand.

Swallow passed the photographs across the desk. Mallon studied them for a moment.

He allowed himself a weak grin.

‘I wonder if the Commissioner will be able to tell the difference when I show him these.' He passed the photographs to Smith Berry.

‘I take your point about not interfering with the body on the scene. And I can see from these photographs how the error might be made, Sergeant. It's just damned unfortunate.'