A June of Ordinary Murders (46 page)

He raised his glass to his lips. The spirit showed amber against the evening light from the windows giving onto Harcourt Street.

He was tired. The strain of the day's events and the knowledge that he had brought them unwittingly into danger bore in on him.

‘I'm truly sorry for putting Lily and Maria in harm's way,' he said. ‘I'll acknowledge that the idea of impersonating an education inspector was taking a chance. But I never imagined that there'd be an attempt to injure or kill anyone.'

Lafeyre shrugged. ‘I went along with the impersonation idea. I can't say I approved of it, but it was relatively harmless. I wouldn't have anticipated what we encountered either.'

‘It's a detective's job, or part of it, to anticipate the unanticipated,' Swallow said quietly.

‘There isn't any point in flagellating yourself,' Lafeyre said. ‘The issue is what happens next.'

‘I want to isolate McDaniel the butler and question him,' Swallow replied after a pause.

‘All the threads of this business lead back to Merrion Square. Mallon has marked my cards that Fitzpatrick will be away from the house tomorrow afternoon. That would be the time to go in. Mind you, he didn't offer to give me a warrant. He won't take that risk.'

‘You see this butler fellow as the key to this?'

‘He's an army deserter who's wanted for a murder more than 20 years ago. He's vulnerable. And I think he knows a lot.'

Lafeyre smiled. ‘It sounds as if Mallon wants it both ways. But there's a route around the warrant problem, if you really wanted it. It mightn't be wise but it would be legal.'

‘What have you in mind?'

‘I'm a Justice of the Peace, remember,' Lafeyre said. ‘I have most of the powers of a magistrate. What's relevant in this case is that I can issue a search warrant on information sworn before me by a police officer.'

Swallow realised that Lafeyre was technically right. The medical examiner had been appointed as a Justice of the Peace to facilitate searches for evidence when he was working on criminal cases with the police. The authority was rarely invoked, but Swallow knew there had been instances where it had.

He shrugged.

‘Well, my career prospects wouldn't be described as great at the moment anyway. So it probably doesn't make much difference whether I'm wise or foolish at this point.'

‘How would Mallon react, do you think? He's the only one you need to worry about,' Lafeyre said. ‘From what you say he'd have to express disapproval officially, whatever his real sentiments.'

Swallow smiled. ‘I think he'd be happy to pull a fast one over the crowd in the Upper Yard. If you're prepared to sign the warrant, Harry, I'm willing to go into the firing line.'

Lafeyre nodded. ‘Then it's best done sooner rather than later.'

‘I agree.'

‘So what's the sequence from here?'

‘I'll start with questioning McDaniel. Then I'll want to search for possible murder weapons and seize any personal effects belonging to Sarah Hannin that might give us some clues or evidence.'

‘What you want from me is a warrant to enter and search in the belief that you may secure evidence concerning a felony, specifically murder?'

Swallow knew that Lafeyre would be punctilious in the drafting of the warrant.

‘Yes,' Swallow nodded. ‘Fitzpatrick is to depart from Merrion Square at 12 noon.'

‘I'll draw up the warrant in the morning,' Lafeyre said. ‘It'll be dated for June 26th if you're sure you want to do this tomorrow.'

‘I'm sure,' Swallow said. ‘If anyone raises the alarm it will take the crowd in the Upper Yard that bit longer to respond and pull me out. Because that's exactly what they'll do, at gunpoint if necessary.'

‘How will you get your manpower together without raising suspicions in Exchange Court?' Lafeyre asked. ‘You won't want word of your plans to get to Boyle or Mallon.'

‘I'll be able to muster a few men,' Swallow replied. ‘I'll get Pat Mossop and Mick Feore, maybe young Shanahan and Collins. I think I can probably get Swift too. And Stephen Doolan should be able to round up a few uniformed lads for me.'

Lafeyre looked doubtful. ‘Not an overwhelming show of force, I'd say.'

‘It'll have to do. All of those G-men are good even if some of them are a bit inexperienced. And I'd always count on Stephen Doolan where there's work to be done. I'll assemble them at the morgue at 11 o'clock tomorrow morning. I'll formally apply to you for the warrant and we'll aim to be at the Fitzpatrick house for 12.30.'

Lafeyre refilled the whiskey glasses. He added water to his Tullamore and pushed the jug to Swallow.

‘What are the priorities once you get into the house?'

‘We'll have Doolan's men do the searches. The G-men will secure the house and the staff. I'll take Pat Mossop with me and we'll question McDaniel. He's the first target as I see it.'

Lafeyre sipped at his Tullamore, turning the plan over in his head.

‘After that, we'll just have to see who else will come into the net,' Swallow said.

He drained his whiskey.

‘That was welcome,' he nodded at Lafeyre. ‘Now I've to go and visit my squad members to tell them they won't be paying their usual Sunday morning respects to the Lord. I don't expect I'll be very popular in some houses tonight.'

Detective Pat Mossop rented rooms over a poulterer's shop on Aungier Street. He answered Swallow's knock on the side door in his shirt sleeves, holding a handful of playing cards. A small, brown dog came up behind him, wagging its tail. In the background Swallow could hear the squeals and calls of the young Mossops.

Mossop invited him to come through for a cup of tea or a glass of lemonade. There was a card game underway in the cooler outdoors of the poulterer's yard behind the shop. He would be welcome, Mossop insisted, but he declined. There would be a poor reception from Mrs Mossop, he reckoned, when it emerged that he wanted her husband on duty at 11 o'clock on his supposed rest day.

‘Were there any new developments, Boss?' Mossop asked. ‘Did anything come in during the day?'

‘Nothing you weren't aware of, Pat,' Swallow told him. The less the Book Man knew about events at Greenhills and on the Heath the better. ‘Go on with your game now.' He laughed. ‘Just don't let yourself be beggared by those young card-sharps out there.'

Mick Feore, a single man, lived in a half-board lodging house not far away in Digges Lane. Swallow knew that his landlady was a constable's widow who was accustomed to police messengers calling at unexpected hours. She had no idea where her lodger might be, she told him. But she would deliver the message. He would be at the City Morgue in the morning.

He retraced his steps to Kevin Street where he could send a telegraph message to Kilmainham, instructing a beat man to deliver a duty order to Stephen Doolan's house at Mount Brown.

His last call for the evening was at Exchange Court.

Eddie Shanahan and Martin Collins were ‘live-in' men. Newly appointed G-men were required to billet in the detective building for at least a year, sleeping in the dormitory on the top floor. ‘Live-in' men could not be off the premises any later than 11 p.m. without special permission or unless they were on outdoor duty.

What some might consider a restrictive regime was, in fact, usually welcomed by young officers. The accommodation and messing was good value at seven shillings a week deducted from pay at source.

Shanahan was out with permission, but Collins was already lying in his cubicle in the top-floor dormitory, smoking a cheroot and reading a newspaper. He jumped from the bed when Swallow appeared.

‘Eleven o'clock in the morning at the City Morgue? I'll be there, Sergeant. And I'll have Eddie Shanahan with me.' Swallow surmised that Collins was still smarting from the fiasco of ‘Tiger' McKnight's supposed dying declaration. He seemed anxious to please.

Grant's was in darkness by the time Swallow reached Thomas Street, but a light on the first floor told him that Maria was not in bed. He climbed the stairs and found her seated in the parlour. She had just finished counting the day's takings.

She looked drained. Her forehead was furrowed. Worry lines had formed along her cheeks. He saw something between anger and hurt in her eyes.

‘You must be very tired,' he said. ‘It's been a long day.'

She nodded and raised her hand to her forehead, kneading her brow between thumb and forefinger.

‘I'm sorry I couldn't get in earlier,' he said awkwardly. ‘I had to make arrangements for tomorrow.'

She shook her said. ‘Don't apologise. It's your work, I know. I'm sure that after what happened today you have to take action quickly. Did you…'

She gave a little sigh, as if reluctantly releasing her emotions. He moved forward to where she sat, extending his arms. She raised a hand to stop him where he was.

‘I'll be fine in a moment. I'm probably a bit in shock after today. I can't get out of my mind what happened … what nearly happened. My sister might have been killed or injured, or it could have been you, or Harry.'

She took her hand from her face.

‘I don't think I can be involved any more in all of this.'

‘It's not going to happen again,' he said gently. ‘It shouldn't have happened. I know I'm to blame. But I'll never again allow any situation like that to come about. I'd ask that you consider what I'm trying to deal with here. There are two women and an innocent child murdered.'

She sighed again.

‘It isn't just about what happened today.' Her tone had hardened. ‘It's the uncertainty of everything. I don't know what's to happen with our lives. I don't know why or how we got ourselves into this situation. But it's too difficult for me, just drifting along like this. I won't endure it and you can't expect me to. What happened today just … brought things to a head for me.'

He felt unable to respond. ‘I don't know … Maria … I have no idea what to say.'

Her eyes lit.

‘Well that's a great part of the problem, Joe. You don't know what to say. You don't know what to do. So if you can't make up your mind, I'll have to make up mine. I think perhaps it's time you considered making some new arrangements for your accommodation … and for your life.'

Sunday June 26th, 1887

THIRTY-EIGHT

Sunday was to see the peak of the heatwave. By the time Swallow's squad assembled at the Marlborough Street morgue the sun was already starting to bake the city pavements. All of Ireland was sweltering. Later in the day a record temperature of more than 33 degrees would be noted 50 miles inland at Kilkenny Castle.

Swallow absolved himself from any religious duties. Shortly after 10 o'clock he left Thomas Street and walked to the Castle. John Mallon's house was in the Lower Yard, facing the Chapel Royal and the Record Tower. When he rang the bell, Mallon himself opened the door.

The Chief Superintendent of the G Division was, as usual, impeccably dressed. Swallow reasoned that he had attended an early Mass in one of the churches close by the Castle. The aroma of a cooked breakfast wafted from the back of the house. Somewhere in the background Swallow heard the sounds of crockery being laid out and a woman's voice calling to a child. Mallon was in domestic mode. But it was not uncommon for his domestic tranquillity to be interrupted when important intelligence had come to hand.

‘I'm sorry to disturb you, Chief,' Swallow said. ‘Would it be convenient to brief you on something significant that has come up? It won't take long.'

Mallon led him into the parlour.

‘It's concerning the royal visit next week,' Swallow said when Mallon had gestured to him to take a chintz-covered chair by the empty fireplace.

‘I've received confidential information that there's to be some sort of incident or attack on the prince at Kingstown very shortly after he arrives on Monday.'

Mallon's brow creased. ‘Have you got details, Swallow, and a reliable source?'

‘I have some details. There's at least three involved, possibly more. Two are O'Reilly and Locke, members of Ces Downes's gang and involved in the Hibernian Brothers. They're young fellows, not yet 20 in either case. A third is James O'Donnell, the individual I arrested last Sunday at the Royal Hibernian Academy in connection with the attack on Alderman Fitzpatrick and Mr Smith Berry.'

Mallon drew a small notebook and pencil from his pocket. He was silent for a moment as he jotted down the details.

‘I don't think these two … Locke and O'Reilly … have come to prominent notice,' he tapped the notebook. ‘I know about O'Donnell of course. But how does it happen that he's out? Shouldn't he be in a cell at Kilmainham?'

‘He didn't actually have a gun at the Hibernian Academy. It was the other fellow, Horan. O'Donnell agreed to co-operate and act as an information source for us, so I let him out.'

Mallon grunted. ‘Well, if he's your informant on this business, it sounds as if you took the right decision. What else do we know?'

‘Thanks, Sir,' Swallow replied, choosing not to correct Mallon's assumption that O'Donnell was the source of his information.

‘I believe Locke and O'Reilly are in possession of two revolvers with ammunition. From what I know the weapons are probably Navy Colts. I understand they plan to travel to Kingstown on Monday and to be in the crowd when the prince steps ashore.'

Mallon whistled silently. ‘Navy Colts – a good handgun for an assassination. They've got accuracy over distance and a heavy punch. The Americans designed them for close-quarter use. They claimed a lot of lives in the Civil War.'

Swallow nodded. ‘Yes, Sir. They're hard to come by. But from what I know the suspects have got them and they've had instruction in how to use them.'