Echoland (30 page)

‘I never saw him,’ Duggan grunted and swung into Bachelor’s Walk to face the setting sun.

‘I saw him. A lanky fucker. He matches the landlord’s description. And he lives in a basement in Dartmouth Square.’

‘Where’s that?’

Gifford told him. ‘So I went for a look see.’

‘You called on him?’

‘No, no, I went to spy on him. Loiter with intent. And as luck would have it my loitering and my intent were rewarded. O’Brien turned up and went in with a loaf of bread.’

‘Could Bradley be there?’

‘Could be. But I couldn’t stay, had to get back to Hansi for our
afternoon walkabout. So I called in the posse. Told the bosses about O’Brien. Turns out that he’s not on anyone’s lists. They’ve set up some surveillance on him.’

‘Did you tell them about Bradley?’

‘No, just that O’Brien appeared to be a friend of Billy’s. According to information received.’

They reached the Bridewell and Gifford hopped off the bar and rubbed his backside. They went in and Duggan sat at the table in the interview room while Gifford went to get Ward.

‘Volunteer William Ward,’ Gifford announced as he walked in behind Ward. Duggan waved at the chair opposite him and tossed him his cigarettes. Ward sat down, took a cigarette and lit it.

‘You wanted to talk to us,’ Duggan said.

‘I’ll do a deal.’

‘Ah, Billy, Billy,’ Gifford interrupted with a world-weary air. ‘Do I have to spell this out for you again? You’re facing a hanging one way or the other. A neat one in Mountjoy if Bradley dies. Or a messy one in the Curragh when your friends find out what you’ve landed them in. The only uncertainty will be who gets to hang you first.’

‘The best we can do is leave you out of it all,’ Duggan offered.

‘You won’t let me go?’

‘Can’t do that.’

‘We’ll let you go off to Tintown without having to worry about what might happen to you there,’ Gifford offered. ‘Or having to worry about the government demanding the death penalty for you. You’ll be able to relax. Three meals a day. Irish lessons every morning. Learn a trade. Read improving books. Dig tunnels. Build castles in the air.’

It sounded so attractive Duggan almost laughed.

Ward closed his eyes and opened them and took a drag. ‘There’s a place near Leeson Street.’ He took another drag. ‘Dartmouth Square.’

‘What number?’ Duggan asked.

Ward hesitated again and then told him.

‘And that’s where Bradley is?’

Ward nodded.

‘Tommy O’Brien’s place,’ Gifford said casually.

Ward’s head jerked towards him as if someone had struck him on the other side. ‘No names,’ he said. ‘I’m not giving you any names.’

‘Okay,’ Duggan soothed him. ‘Just tell us how many people are there. Guarding him?’

Ward lowered his head and shook it.

‘We don’t want anyone to get hurt,’ Duggan said. ‘None of your fellows or our fellows. There’s less chance of any shooting if we know what to expect. If there’s no surprises.’

‘There’s not to be any shooting,’ Ward said, his head still down.

‘Not if we can help it,’ Duggan glanced at Gifford who nodded. ‘We won’t start it. You have our word on that.’

Ward said something.

‘What?’ Duggan said. ‘I didn’t hear that.’

‘Two.’ Ward raised his head and avoided Duggan’s eyes as he took a deep drag.

‘Only two?’ Duggan’s hopes rose. This might all be manageable yet, without involving anyone else and without bloodshed.

Ward nodded as he concentrated on stabbing out his butt.

‘Anything else we should know that would help us make sure no one gets hurt.’

Ward took his time. ‘He’s in the bedroom at the back. In the
basement
. Down the hall on the left.’

‘Is there a back door?’ Gifford asked.

‘It’s boarded up.’

‘From the inside or the outside.’

‘It’s locked,’ Ward shrugged. ‘Bolted on the inside. We don’t have a key.’

‘The windows?’

‘There’s bars on all of them,’ Ward still avoided their eyes.

‘So the only way in or out is through the front door?’

Ward nodded.

‘What would be the best time to … call?’ Duggan asked.

Ward shrugged. ‘There’s nothing more I can tell you.’

‘Any hot-headed lads likely to be there?’ Gifford came back in. ‘The kind who shoot before they think?’

Ward’s hesitation provided the answer they didn’t want to hear. Duggan’s initial optimism slipped another few notches. This had all the makings of, at best, a siege and, at worst, a bloody shoot-out. Or both.

They all fell silent until Gifford stirred himself from the door. ‘Okay, we’re done here.’

Ward and Duggan stood up and Ward looked at him. ‘You gave me your word no one’ll get hurt.’

‘Not if we can help it,’ Duggan held out his hand and Ward gave it a peremptory shake. ‘And we’ll leave you out of it. You won’t be mentioned in anything in connection with this.’

‘Enjoy your holidays,’ Gifford said to Ward as he opened the door for him and followed him out. Duggan went outside and waited for Gifford to deliver Ward back to the cells.

‘What now?’ he asked when Gifford joined him.

‘Back on the bike?’ Gifford suggested. ‘Go and see what’s
happening
in Dartmouth Square.’

‘We should report it,’ Duggan said as he cycled back up the quays. The evening still had an unnatural brightness and the tide was ebbing, uncovering the grey slime of the riverbed and releasing a
little
of its foul fumes.

‘Tell all?’ Gifford asked. ‘All about your freelance activities?’

Duggan grunted in affirmation.

‘You and Billy,’ Gifford shook his head in sorrow. ‘Same dilemma.’

‘And caused by the same person.’

‘Maybe we can do a deal to keep you out of it too.’

‘Don’t see how.’

‘You could shine my shoes for five years.’ Gifford laughed as they went up a near deserted Grafton Street apart from the people
beginning
to emerge from the cinema.

‘Still wouldn’t help us get Bradley out of there by ourselves. Besides,’ Duggan tried to avoid any hint of accusation, ‘your fellows are there already. We can’t send them away while we move in.’

Gifford pointed straight up, alongside Stephen’s Green and Duggan followed his directions as he continued. ‘How could we get in and release Bradley without a shoot-out? You heard Billy. Only one way in.’

‘They have to sleep sometime.’

‘Not at the same time.’

‘Hmm,’ Gifford put his hand out to the left and Duggan swung into the next side of Stephen’s Green, past the Russell Hotel and Newman House. ‘Suppose we grabbed O’Brien next time he goes out for bread and get him to open the door for us. Surprise the other one. Free Bradley. And go home for our tea.’

‘That’s a plan,’ Duggan said, not sure whether Gifford was serious or not.

‘Only one problem. How long does a loaf of bread last? When will he have to go shopping again?’

‘And what do we tell the other Branch men?’

‘We’ll disarm them and tie them up,’ Gifford said, pointing straight ahead. ‘Simple.’

‘Shouldn’t we wear masks so they don’t recognise us?’

‘Good thinking, Tonto.’

Duggan gave a short laugh as they went up Leeson Street and fell
silent. There was no way they could do it without reporting it, he thought. But if it got Bradley released unharmed that’d be something. That might mitigate whatever they’d decide to do about his solo run.

‘Don’t worry,’ Gifford said as if he could read Duggan’s thoughts. ‘We can keep you out of this if we have to. I can take all the glory. Get promoted. Have medals pinned on my chest. For your sake, of course. Claim credit for finding Bradley.’

‘Won’t they want to know how you knew?’ Duggan pushed
harder
against the hump of the canal bridge.

‘Confidential information,’ Gifford said as they freewheeled down the other side.

‘Won’t they want to know from who?’

‘From Billy.’

‘But we promised to keep him out of it.’

‘Oh, we did, didn’t we,’ Gifford put his hand out to the right. ‘Forgot that for a minute. Actually, I overheard two fellows talking in a pub.’

‘They won’t believe that.’ Duggan took the turn into Dartmouth Road.

‘Why wouldn’t they? You wouldn’t believe how much intelligence is overheard in pubs.’

Duggan remained sceptical as Gifford signalled to him to slow down and stop just before the corner of the eastern side of the square. They got off and Gifford stretched himself while Duggan propped the bicycle against a wall and locked it. They walked around the
corner
into the square and stopped. Down at the far corner there were a couple of cars blocking the road and two uniformed guards stood between them.

‘Fuck me,’ Gifford breathed.

It’s all over, Duggan thought. They’ve found Bradley. All my
problems
are solved.

They walked quickly down the square and one of the guards took a step forward to stop them as they approached the cars. Gifford took out his warrant card and the guard nodded them through. They stepped between the angled cars and around into the other side of the square. There were more unmarked cars parked there at random angles, a van among them.

They went in an open wicket gate and towards the entrance to the ground floor at the side of the steps up to the main door. Light came from the open door and a naked bulb in a sparse kitchen inside the barred window. A burly man in plain clothes came out, lighting a cigarette.

‘You got Bradley?’ Gifford said to him.

The man stopped, a lighted match half way to his cigarette. ‘Who’s Bradley?’

‘I mean, what’s his name,’ Gifford recovered quickly. ‘O’Brien.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ the man said, lighting the cigarette and tossing the match on the lawn. ‘The main thing is we got Carey.’

‘Who’s Carey?’ Duggan asked without thinking, feeling the weight descending on his shoulders again.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ the man demanded.

‘G2, sarge,’ Gifford said quickly.

‘What’s G2 doing here?’ the sergeant demanded of Gifford.

‘Just curious,’ Gifford said. ‘We’re on another job and happened to be passing.’

‘Curiosity will get you into trouble if your big mouth doesn’t,’ the sergeant said, still addressing Gifford and ignoring Duggan, but then relented. ‘We’ve been looking for Carey for a long time, especially since he got away in that shooting in Islandbridge.’

‘Anyone else in there?’

‘That O’Brien fellow you mentioned. And another nonentity. Coyle, Doyle. Something like that.’

‘Can we have a look?’

‘What do you want to have a look for?’ the sergeant gave Duggan a suspicious glance.

Gifford shrugged.

‘See how these fellows live?’ the sergeant nodded. ‘Pigsty in there. But wait’ll they bring them out.’

The sergeant left and Duggan muttered ‘fuck’ under his breath and asked Gifford who Carey was. ‘A real hard man,’ Gifford said
quietly
. ‘They had him surrounded in a house in Islandbridge a couple of weeks ago. Shot his way out. Wounded one of our lads.’

They stepped off the path and onto the lawn as a line of men emerged from the basement doorway, three of them handcuffed. The first was the oldest, a blank look of resignation on his face. Surprise and then calculation flitted across the face of the tallest one, O’Brien, when he saw Duggan. He thinks it was Ward who tipped us off, Duggan thought. Ward was in for a hard time. The third was no more than seventeen and appeared terrified.

The last Special Branch man in the line clapped Gifford on the shoulder and said ‘good tip’ as they went by.

Gifford led the way into the flat and they looked in the kitchen. Half a loaf of bread sat surrounded by crumbs on a table by the wall, a breadknife and an open packet of butter beside it. In the living room there were a couple of broken-down armchairs and a sagging couch with a carpet worn down to cross-hatched treads on the centre of the floor. One detective was putting handguns and ammunition in a bag, calling out each item to another who was taking a note of them. Empty Guinness bottles lay on the floor where they had rolled against walls and stood on the windowsill and the table.

The wallpaper was peeling off the hallway. They glanced into the main bedroom where a thin double mattress lay on the floor beside a metal bed frame with a sagging wire base. The back bedroom was
much smaller and dark. Gifford clicked on the light switch and Duggan saw a single mattress on the floor at one side and a metal bucket at the end of it. The shutters were nailed shut and there was a dark stain at one side of the window where the wallpaper had peeled off from a leak. Patches on the walls showed where pictures had once been and the fireplace had a scattering of twigs from a nest in the chimney. The room was cold and damp, the air slightly fetid. Duggan shivered.

On their way out of the flat Gifford stopped to talk to another detective who was coming back in and asked him what had
happened
.

‘We were watching the place after your tip when Carey appeared. We nabbed him and brought him to the door and they opened it for him and we rushed in. Went like clockwork. The fellows inside weren’t up to much.’

‘Back to square one,’ Gifford said outside as they went back to Duggan’s bicycle.

‘Fuck,’ Duggan said. ‘It looks like Bradley was there all right.’

‘They probably moved him after we picked up Ward. Afraid Billy would talk.’

‘He’s in trouble now.’

‘Aren’t we all,’ Gifford sighed. ‘The sergeant will remember me mentioning Bradley when we finally find him. Dead or alive. He’s not as thick as he looks.’

‘Fuck,’ Duggan repeated. They stopped at his bicycle and stood in silence for a moment in the dim light, still not quite night but no longer day either. A rumble of heavy aircraft in the distance caught their attention and they listened until the noise began to recede.

‘Okay,’ Gifford said. ‘I’ll tell them I think the British spy was being held there. Overheard in a pub etcetera etcetera. And I heard the
name Bradley and thought he was one of them. But it’ll turn out sooner or later that Bradley was the spy. So-called.’