A June of Ordinary Murders (24 page)

Fitzpatrick drew back in surprise. ‘Found in the canal? Good God, I've heard nothing about this. Why do you believe that this … young woman … may have anything to do with this house?'

‘We believe she was called Sarah, Sir. Do you have a servant by that name employed here?'

Swallow thought he saw Fitzpatrick stiffen a little at the question.

‘There's a housemaid here called Sarah, yes. A rather slow-witted girl. But how do you know it's the same person?' he asked testily. ‘Don't you think you should be sure of your facts before you start calling at people's private houses? And more so, I'd suggest, at the house of an Alderman.'

Swallow's irritation began to stir again at Fitzpatrick's crude invocation of his rank.

‘I'm sorry if I haven't made myself clear, Alderman Fitzpatrick. We're investigating what appears to be a case of murder. As I've said, the victim may have been a member of your household staff.'

Fitzpatrick grimaced. ‘You're talking about murder? That would be dreadful … a very serious matter. But if there's some connection to my staff it would be best to have your superiors communicate with my solicitors. Mr Smith Berry at Dublin Castle knows who they are.'

Swallow saw a smirk flicker across McDonald's face.

He drew his notebook from his inner pocket. Slowly and officiously he poised his pencil over the open page.

‘Mr Fitzpatrick, I'm sure my superiors know who your solicitors are. But this isn't a matter for solicitors. It's police business, a criminal inquiry. There's a general requirement at law for a citizen to assist a police officer investigating any serious crime. I'd have thought that a gentleman of your position would particularly want to help the police.'

He paused for effect.

‘So I am now noting the date and time of my visit in connection with my inquiries and I'm noting your response. I may be obliged to seek a warrant from a magistrate's court, to enable me to search this house or parts of it. I will also want to question members of this household, including yourself, about these matters. I'm confident that I can have that warrant this afternoon.'

For a long moment there was silence in the hall. The shout of a young child at play came faintly from the square.

Thomas Fitzpatrick shrugged. ‘That would be a waste of effort and of everyone's time, Mr Swallow.' He turned to the butler. ‘McDonald, tell the sergeant what you said to me earlier about the housemaid not being available for work this morning.'

If there was a smirk it had now vanished. ‘I'm sorry, Sir,' McDonald said hesitatingly. ‘Like I told you, all I know is that she's no' been at work. She's no' in her quarters. None of the other servants have seen her. She's gone.'

Fitzpatrick turned his eyes towards the ceiling as if weary. ‘Well that may be the very point of what Sergeant Swallow and his colleague have come here for. You say she's gone. They say they may have found her in the damned canal. Is there anything more you can tell the officers?'

McDonald glowered at Swallow and Feore.

‘It's Sarah, the housemaid. She left here last night and didn't come back. She a bit slow, as Mr Fitzpatrick has told you. But she can read the clock. She was due for cleanin' the dining room and the staircases this mornin'. I had to get one of the others to do her work.'

Swallow felt himself relax a little as the challenge to his authority appeared to ebb. He flicked the notebook open. ‘Now we're getting somewhere, it seems. First, I'll have your name.'

‘James McDonald.'

Swallow repeated the name. He wrote it down slowly while seeking to give the impression that he was reflecting on some dubious connection that had come to mind.

‘What's her full name – Sarah's?'

McDonald hesitated. ‘Tell the officer what he needs to know,' Fitzpatrick said.

‘Hannin. Sarah Hannin.'

‘And her age?'

‘I think she'd be 24 – perhaps 25 years.'

‘Native of … where?

‘I don't know. These girls come from anywhere. You're no' told. She was a country girl. She wasn't one for talking much.'

‘Have you any knowledge of her family, next of kin? Is there anybody who will need to be notified?'

‘No. I don't think she had any family. And as I told you, I don't know where she came from.'

‘She had accommodation in the house?'

‘She slept in the servants' rooms at the top. She shared a bedroom wi' the day maid, Joan.'

‘Who saw her last and when?'

‘I don't know. I saw her myself in the kitchen last night after supper. She was plannin' to go to visit someone.'

‘Do you know who she planned to visit or where?'

‘No, of course not, it's no' my business to keep track of the staff when they're on their time off.'

Feore interjected. ‘Would it be usual to have servants – female servants in particular – still out of the house after 9 o'clock?'

‘It's no' dark these evenin's until after 10.'

‘Can you describe what she was wearing?'

‘A dress and a bonnet of some sort … I can't remember.'

‘What colour was the dress? Would you recognise it if you saw it again?'

‘It was red, I think. I don't know tha' I could say wi' certainty.'

‘Is there anything else you can tell me about her? Had she any friends among the servants who might know where she was going? Was she keeping company with a man? Have you any reason to believe she might have been in danger?'

Fitzpatrick stepped forward.

‘Mr Swallow, it's a busy household here. If this young woman has had a mishap then that's very, very regrettable but it doesn't have anything to do with this house. I won't have my staff interrogated by you or by anyone else. Mr McDonald has told you that this girl is gone missing without permission. It's already caused enough disruption. Now, I insist that you leave.'

Swallow had to make a strategic decision.

He had an identity for the dead woman, but he needed to establish her movements from Sunday evening until she met her death. If she left the Fitzpatrick house, where did she go? Whom did she meet?

The next steps in an investigation would be to question the rest of the servants and anyone else who had contact with her. He would need to see her quarters and to examine her effects. If she had any papers he would have to scrutinise them to see if any family or relations might be traced. There would probably have to be a search of the house. On the basis of Harry Lafeyre's preliminary report there had to be a murder weapon somewhere.

But if he pressed these points now he knew with certainty that he would be obstructed. A tactical retreat might be best. He had made some progress in a difficult situation. Better to allow things to cool before pressing on. He closed the notebook.

‘I'll require someone to come to the City Morgue at Marlborough Street to formally identify the body.'

‘I can't spare Mr McDonald until later this afternoon, but I'll release him for an hour. I wouldn't want it suggested that I didn't co-operate fully with the authorities,' Fitzpatrick said.

‘What about burial arrangements?' Feore asked. ‘If the body is formally identified as that of Miss Hannin we'll have to try to find some family contact, even if it's remote, in order to arrange things.'

‘As Mr McDonald has said, we don't have any knowledge of the girl's family. But if there are expenses to be incurred in her burial, I'll be willing to meet those, within reason, of course, since she was my employee.'

Swallow thought it prudent to strike what he hoped would be a conciliatory tone.

‘It's rare enough to find that there's no family at all, even distant cousins. So in the circumstances that's a kind gesture, Sir. The Coroner will probably make those arrangements in the absence of any next of kin. I believe that if there are any costs they will be very moderate.'

‘Be at the Morgue at Marlborough Street at 4 o'clock,' he told McDonald. ‘Tell the attendant that you're to meet Detective Sergeant Swallow.'

He turned towards the door. ‘Thank you for your co-operation, Mr Fitzpatrick,' he nodded. ‘And I'm glad that you didn't come to any harm last evening at the Academy.'

Fitzpatrick did not reply. He turned on his heel and walked back into the room from which he had emerged.

The two detectives stepped to the front door. McDonald closed it quickly behind them. They stood in the half shade of the Georgian doorcase for a moment.

‘An unlikely bloody story,' Feore said quietly. ‘Housemaids don't get taken into service in Merrion Square houses without references from someone. These are plum jobs. Servants don't just walk in here off the street. You can be sure they know where she came from. There's a phrase in Latin, “
scio nihil
” – I know nothing. It was always meant ironically, of course.'

Swallow glared at him. Feore had a tendency to let the schoolteacher in him break through at intervals.

‘You'd best go back to Exchange Court and make a start on the paperwork,' he told Feore. ‘Send a short report over to Chief Mallon and meet me down at the morgue at 4 o'clock.'

They stepped out into the hot sun of the day.

‘You can't beat a classical education,' he added sarcastically. ‘A few words of Latin make a nice touch when you're being put in your place by your betters.'

NINETEEN

Swallow needed food and something to cool his thirst. He had not eaten since his early breakfast at Maria Walsh's. He flanked the railings of Merrion Square, passing the Royal Dublin Society's premises at Leinster House and the pillared facade of Francis Fowke's National Gallery.

In less pressured circumstances he would sometimes take an hour to wander in the Gallery. He would marvel at the ability of John Constable or Franz Hals to capture a rural scene or an individual's mood, contrasting it with his own poor efforts to represent sunshine or rain on Dublin Bay. Most of all he liked the recent landscapes by Osborne, with shades of blue and green and dapples of white.

But that was not for today. In Fanning's public house on Lincoln Place he found an empty snug and ordered bread, cheese and a glass of light ale.

He sifted his thoughts in the quiet of the snug as the barmaid cut into a yellowed cheddar and carved slices of bread from a crusted batchloaf beside it.

He knew that he had been wrongfooted at the Fitzpatrick house. He was unsure what he should have expected. Policemen rarely get a warm welcome on official business, but he had not anticipated open hostility. Dublin's privileged classes might hold their police force in poor esteem, contempt even, but they generally lent their co-operation in the course of inquiries – if only to serve their own interests.

Perhaps his hostile reception at Merrion Square was the result of a misunderstanding. But he was puzzled by Fitzpatrick's lack of reaction when he was told that a body in the Marlborough Street morgue was probably a member of his household staff. There seemed to be little surprise – and no concern. Fitzpatrick had been swift to call in his rank as an Alderman in order to bring the G-men's questioning to a close. Yet when Swallow threatened a warrant and a search, he gave ground, agreeing to send the butler to Marlborough Street to identify the body.

He reasoned that Fitzpatrick understood the inevitability of the detectives taking further steps to advance their inquiries. He would know enough of official procedure to realise that they would want to examine the dead girl's belongings, to question other members of the staff and conduct a search. Even an Alderman could not demand that a murder investigation be halted because of domestic inconvenience. Swallow had the sense that he was seeing only fragments of an emerging picture, and that it boded nothing but trouble.

He finished his bread and cheese. He lingered over his ale for a few minutes and then set out across the river to the City Morgue.

The shortest walking route was through Trinity College. Lawns and cobbles shone green and black in the sunshine. There was a time when he would have found it difficult to be back in a place devoted to books and learning, but there were no longer any unmanageable pangs of regret for what might have been.

The Liffey tide was low as he crossed Carlisle Bridge, resulting in sulphurous vapours – and worse – floating upwards from the riverbed. But a faint breeze stirred from the direction of the bay offering some relief from the heat.

It was his second visit to the Morgue in as many days on murder inquiries. And that was unusual.

Lafeyre was already in the examination room on the first floor. It ran the length of the building with long windows set high in the wall in the manner of school classrooms everywhere. The pine flooring still showed staining from the ink-spillages of generations of scholars long gone.

The dead woman from the canal lay on the steel table nearest to Lafeyre. The tailor's scissors in his right hand indicated that he had just finished cutting away her clothing. Now dress, petticoat and cotton underwear lay in a sodden heap to one side of the table.

‘I'm just about to start.' He laid the scissors on the tray behind him and took up a medium-weight scalpel. ‘Have you made any progress with your identification?'

Swallow told him what had happened at the Fitzpatrick house.

‘In the end, Fitzpatrick agreed to send this fellow McDonald, the butler, down to make a formal identification,' he added. ‘I told him to be here at 4 o'clock.'

Lafeyre grimaced. ‘You've drawn the short straw for yourself, haven't you? The dogs in the street know that Fitzpatrick is viewed as a protected species by the Castle. The City Corporation won't give an official welcome to the Queen's grandson so he's being put up to make some sort of address instead. You're not in the healthiest position for a G-man.'