Shamrock Green (15 page)

‘Yes.'

‘Whose reputation you intend to protect at all costs?' Vaizey said.

‘I won't tell you her name, if that's what you mean,' Gowry said.

‘Aye well, you might swing for the sake of this woman,' said Ames. ‘I think he's lyin', boss, don't you?'

‘I'm not so sure,' Vaizey said. ‘Frankly, I'm not so sure at all.'

*   *   *

‘I wonder,' Sylvie said, as casually as possible, ‘where your daddy is right now?'

‘If he was picking the clients up at three he should be back any minute,' Maeve said, ‘unless they sent him on somewhere.'

‘Sent him on?' said Sylvie. ‘On a Sunday night?'

‘You never know what Mr Flanagan will do,' said Maeve. ‘Do you know Mr Flanagan, Fran?'

‘We've met once or twice,' Fran said.

‘Where would that be now?' said Maeve.

‘Here and there.'

‘No, I mean,' Maeve insisted, ‘where?'

‘Don't be impertinent,' said Sylvie. ‘Let Fran enjoy his supper.'

Maeve lifted her pork chop and gnawed at it, snipping away the meat that adhered to the bone. Sylvie watched, too nervous and preoccupied to chide her daughter for her manners. From the tub room behind the larder came the sound of crockery being thrown about, for Jansis had said that she would eat her supper later and had begun washing up. Mr Dolan had gone to bed, Mr Pettu to chapel and Mr Rice – she wasn't sure where Mr Rice had got to.

‘What time
is
it?' Sylvie heard herself say.

Fran wiped his fingers on his handkerchief and extracted a watch from his pocket, a watch she had never seen before, not cheap nickel, but heavy silver. He flipped open the case. ‘Twenty minutes to eight o'clock.'

‘That's a nice thing,' said Maeve. ‘Did it cost a lot of money?'

‘Maeve…'

Sylvie's reprimand tailed off. She could not look at him now, or at Maeve, the pair of them so cosy, so casual, as if they were hell-bent on stretching her nerves to breaking point. She should tell him to leave. Should insist. Should make it clear that while she loved him she didn't want to see her husband hurt.

She watched Fran swing the watch on its chain in front of Maeve, like one of the Mesmerists she'd seen on the stage of the Tivoli. She heard his voice, languid and creamy, telling Maeve that the watch had been a gift, a token of appreciation from friends in America. Heard Maeve say she longed to visit America. Heard Fran promise that he would take her there one day.

She got to her feet, pushing back her chair. ‘For God's sake,' she snapped, ‘where is he? What's happened to my husband?'

Fran continued to hold the watch in front Maeve's eyes, spinning, spinning, pausing and reversing, spinning again, but neither he nor the girl were looking at it now. Sylvie felt his hand upon her wrist. His fingers, slight and slippery, slid around her wrist and pulled her back down beside him.

‘Believe me, he'll be fine,' Fran said. ‘I promise you, Sylvie, he'll be fine.'

‘How do
you
know?' Sylvie said.

‘I just do,' Fran Hagarty said.

*   *   *

There were no more questions about the female in Tipperary or the men he had dropped off at the Nugget, and not one word about Charlie or his father.

‘How well do you know Francis Hagarty?' said Vaizey.

‘I've never met the man,' Gowry answered.

‘But you do know who he is?'

‘He's a journalist of sorts, I think.'

‘He spends a lot of time at your house?'

‘He's acquainted with my brother, I believe.'

‘Do you know that he's at your house right now?' Vaizey said.

‘I – I would be surprised at that.'

‘Do you know he spent last night in your house?'

‘Well,' said Gowry, carefully, ‘it is a boarding-house, after all.'

‘Are you blind, man,' Ames said, ‘or just stupid?'

‘That's enough, Boris,' Vaizey said. ‘Have the guns turned up yet?'

‘Wally has them next door.'

Vaizey stood up. He was shorter than Gowry had imagined, less intimidating.

‘Come with me, Mr McCulloch,' he said.

Gowry followed the inspector out of the bleak office and along a tiled corridor to another bleak office next door.

The building seemed extraordinarily quiet, even for a Sunday evening. There were three coppers in the room, however, including the cohort, Rogers. Only one of the officers wore uniform. In the centre of the room was a long trestle table and on the table were two rifles, identical to those he had stored in Maggie's loft. In a porcelain pie dish beside the rifles were twenty or thirty empty cartridge cases.

Ames steered him to the table. The officers, especially the one in uniform, seemed embarrassed to be there and did not meet his eye. Vaizey came up behind him and stood by his side.

He said, ‘Have you ever seen these guns before?'

‘No.'

‘Have you ever seen guns like them?'

‘No.'

‘Are they not identical to the guns you had in your possession at the end of the month of July, Mr McCulloch?'

‘I've never had guns in my possession.'

‘Where are the guns you hid away?'

‘I don't know what you mean,' Gowry said.

He expected more, much more: to be forced to his knees in front of the table, to have one of the Mausers thrust into his face. But there was none of that, no bullying. His denial seemed to be exactly what the detective expected.

‘Did you convey these weapons from Dublin to Woodenbridge?'

‘No, I did not.'

‘Very well, Mr McCulloch. Thank you. You are free to go.'

‘What?'

‘We need detain you no longer,' Vaizey said.

‘Am I not to be charged?' Gowry said.

‘What would we charge you with?' Vaizey said. ‘Sleeping with a woman who isn't your wife? Your morals aren't my concern. We've nothing against you, Mr McCulloch. You may go home now. In fact, I am going that way myself and I'll accompany you for a bit – if you've no objection.'

‘I – I…' Gowry was at a loss. ‘No, I've no objection.'

Five minutes later he was out in the lanes under a cloudy night sky, walking towards College Green with Vaizey at his side. He felt as if he had been away for months, as if he were coming back from a long voyage. Gradually he began to breathe more easily.

‘You'll be glad to be out of there, I expect,' Vaizey said.

‘I am,' said Gowry. ‘Of course I am. Are you really not goin' to charge me?'

‘No,' Vaizey said. ‘I believe your story – or most of it.'

‘In that case,' Gowry said, ‘I'd be obliged if you'd tell me what happened at Woodenbridge. Was Redmond murdered?'

‘No, no,' Vaizey said. ‘He made himself an easy target, however, and I imagine our parliamentary representative will have learned a valuable lesson from today's little incident. Nobody was hurt. It was a fireworks display, a show of force. Whoever fired the shots – there were two gunmen, by the way – they only intended to draw attention to the fact that they disapprove of Redmond's deal with the government. They fired over the heads of the crowd.'

‘A warning, in other words?' said Gowry.

‘That's it.'

‘How did you find out?'

‘We had advance notice,' said Vaizey.

‘Why didn't you stop it?'

‘Didn't have time,' said Vaizey.

‘You had time to pick me up at the Nugget,' Gowry said.

‘You were our best lead.'

‘You thought I was the gunman?'

‘Oh, no,' Vaizey said. ‘But we thought you might be the getaway.'

‘I see.' Night air had unfogged his brain. He was thinking clearly again. ‘Someone told you where I'd be, the place and the time?'

‘Yes,' Vaizey said. ‘Someone needed you to provide a distraction.'

‘And I suppose I did, didn't I?'

‘Not entirely,' Vaizey said.

‘Can't you tell me who has it in for me?'

‘Why? So you can take your revenge?'

‘I wouldn't know how to take revenge,' Gowry said.

‘You could tell us what you know about the brotherhoods.'

‘I suspect you know more about the brotherhoods than I do, Inspector.'

‘It isn't your father or your brother we'd like to lay by the heels.'

‘Who is it then?' said Gowry.

‘The man, Hagarty. Oliver Francis Hagarty.'

They had followed the tramcar lines down to the O'Connell Bridge. Gowry could smell the salty tang of the river on the swell of the tide. He could see the bridge lights scrolled on the surface of the water and thought how small the river looked tonight, how insignificant.

‘How far are you going with me, Inspector?' Gowry asked.

‘To the Shamrock.'

‘Why?'

‘To talk with your wife.'

‘My wife?' Gowry said. ‘Is she involved in this affair?'

‘I'm afraid she is,' said Vaizey.

‘With Hagarty, do you mean?'

‘Yes, with Hagarty,' the officer told him.

‘He's not just a scribbler, is he?'

‘Oh, no. He's a whole lot more than that.'

‘What? Chieftain? Arms dealer? I know: he's a paymaster. Am I right?'

Vaizey smiled, took Gowry's arm and led him on across the bridge.

‘Why do you suppose the guns were left behind?' he said.

‘To incriminate me?'

‘That's part of the reason.'

‘To draw attention away from themselves?'

‘That too,' said Vaizey. ‘And to provide Hagarty with an alibi.'

‘An alibi? How could I give him an alibi when I've never even met him?'

‘Not you,' Vaizey said. ‘Your wife.'

‘Is that,' Gowry said, ‘why you're going home with me now?'

‘It is,' Vaizey told him. ‘Alas, Mr McCulloch, it is.'

Chapter Eight

By eight o'clock, she could contain herself no longer. She opened the front door and peered out into the darkness. She looked towards O'Connell Street, hidden behind buildings, and along Sperryhead Road. They were visible beneath the gas lamps, walking side by side and chatting like old friends. She stepped back, back again, back into the hall, then, swivelling on her heel, rushed into the bar.

‘It's Vaizey,' she shouted. ‘The peelers are coming down the road, bringing Gowry home. Out the back way, Fran, before it's too late.'

His lids were heavy, his eyes amused. He sipped from the pint glass and licked the froth from his lip with the tip of his tongue. ‘Too late for what?' He sat back and stretched out his legs and when Sylvie tugged his arm, pushed her away, then, changing tack, snared her waist and dragged her on to his lap.

She struggled, wriggling, beating at him with her fists.

Fran held her tightly, though, locking her knees with his thighs and, as casually as you like, lifted the glass to his lips and sipped again.

Sylvie heard Maeve cry out, ‘Daddy, Daddy.'

And Gowry, with Vaizey behind him, came marching into the bar.

*   *   *

‘Go to your room, Maeve,' her mother told her but Jansis put a hand on her shoulder and held her steady. Her heart was beating hard like it did when she was late for class of a morning and Mr Whiteside made the late-comers line up and came down the line and smacked each of them on the hand with the pandy-bat, one stroke for girls, two for boys; that same hard pumping sensation filled her chest when Daddy and the policeman strode into the bar and found Mam seated on Fran's knee, an arm about her waist.

‘Here I am, Inspector,' Fran said. ‘Here I am and here I have been all weekend long, never out of sight of this darlin' lady for more than one hour. Church that was, the church at the corner. I would have accompanied her into the service if I hadn't feared that the roof would fall on my unholy head.'

He used the same tone of voice he used when he spoke to her. Fran's voice was always soft, never loud like Daddy's voice when he was piddling on about something he wanted you to understand. She always understood what Fran was talking about, for he could lull you into believing him without a slap or a kiss or a stroke from the pandy-bat or a sixpence or a length of red silk ribbon for a bribe. The policeman seemed smaller without the big men behind him. He looked the way her grandfather did when he was smarming up to Daddy.

‘Is this true, Mrs McCulloch?' the policeman said.

Mam's eyes filled with tears. They clung to her lashes like raindrops to a leaf. Maeve could not remember having seen her mam shed tears before. She could not understand why Mam was crying or why she didn't answer the policeman's question. Surely there was nothing wrong in Mr Hagarty spending the night. A lot of men spent the night in the Shamrock. Unless – unless it had to do with the hugging? Yes, Maeve thought, it might have to do with the hugging. She had been told never to let Mr Pettu hug her and remembered how odd it made her feel when Turk hugged her. Certain dark little mysteries that lurked on the edges of her experience and certain furtive conversations from the schoolyard came suddenly to mind and if it hadn't been for Jansis's hand on her shoulder she would have turned and fled from them right then and there.

‘Is it true, Sylvie?' Daddy said. ‘Tell the man the truth, damn you.'

Mam stiffened and gave a little shake of the head to cast off tears. Her eyes weren't blue now but colourless, like glass in a window.

‘Yes, it's true.'

‘All,' Daddy said, ‘all night?'

‘Never out of my sight,' Mam said.

The policeman laid a hand on Daddy's arm.

‘I'm sorry it had to come to this, McCulloch.'

‘Ah well, Inspector,' Fran said, ‘now you see what happens when you arrest an innocent man. If I wasn't a charitable fellow I'd be tempted to rub your nose in it and make you eat the dirt.'