A June of Ordinary Murders (50 page)

‘If you know about Cecilia and about the children, then you do know a lot, Sergeant Swallow. Is it wise for me to let this conversation go any further?'

‘Whether the conversation is to be taken further is a judgment you have to make for yourself,' Swallow said. ‘But I have my duty. And I must warn you that anything you say after this will be taken down by Detective Mossop and it may be used in evidence. Do you understand?'

Fitzpatrick gave a thin laugh. ‘You don't need to go on with that, Sergeant. I had hoped maybe…'

His voice trailed off. He drew a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped first his hands and then his face.

‘There's a bigger picture here that I don't think you'd understand, Sergeant. There are considerations that go beyond my personal affairs and beyond the concerns of the police.'

‘Please don't assume I'm incapable of grasping an issue outside of what you call the concerns of the police,' Swallow said sharply. ‘Tell me what you mean by a bigger picture. I'll do my best to get my mind around it.'

‘Let me make it clear, Sergeant, that I have had no part in the terrible events of the past week,' Fitzpatrick said emphatically. ‘I would never – could never – have allowed any harm to come to my own flesh and blood. And as for the unfortunate housemaid here, Sarah, why would I harm someone who I had treated with nothing but kindness since childhood?'

‘Then you might explain to us what Louise and the boy were doing in Dublin and why you ordered McDaniel to pick them up in your carriage at Chapelizod Gate,' Swallow said.

‘I gather from what you say that McDonald – or McDaniel as you have identified him – has told you what he knows,' Fitzpatrick said.

‘I'm sorry, Sir, but I won't reveal the sources of the information I have.'

Fitzpatrick looked slowly around the room as if seeking some reassurance in familiar surroundings.

‘I became … attached … to Cecilia Downes. It was a foolish, youthful mistake on my part. The differences of class and position could never be bridged. It was unjust to everyone, including Cecilia. So I ended it, under pressure from my late parents, and I … made all the necessary arrangements for the children. It had to be in secret. If it came out I would be denounced by the church and shunned in business. And I'd have been destroyed politically.'

He paused.

‘Cecilia was utterly wayward. I suppose that was part of the attraction for me. She didn't accept authority. She didn't accept her position as a servant. She didn't respect the laws of property or anything else. She was a born troublemaker and unfortunately a born criminal, as I'm sure a policeman knows better than anyone.'

He hesitated. Swallow wondered if he saw a glistening in Fitzpatrick's eye.

‘I never married. It wasn't because there weren't plenty of suitable young women around Dublin. I think it was because I had made such a terrible mistake. I made a whole series of mistakes. And I was afraid of making more.'

‘With respect, Mr Fitzpatrick, I don't need to hear about that aspect of your life,' Swallow interjected. ‘Could you confine yourself to recent events?'

‘No, of course you don't,' Fitzpatrick said sadly.

‘Cecilia and I made arrangements for the children. But we came from different social situations, different values. She was content to see Louise go to Liverpool and learn to work in service, first with the nuns at Wavertree and then with some of the city hospitals. Those were the horizons of her ambitions, I suppose.'

‘Did you know anything about your daughter's recent life in England, Mr Fitzpatrick?' Swallow asked. ‘Did you know that she was living in poor circumstances, that she had health problems, that her husband was dead?'

Fitzpatrick nodded. ‘I didn't have a lot of detail. But I was aware that her circumstances were … problematic.'

He raised a hand as if to ward off Swallow's disapproval.

‘Naturally, I wanted something better for my children. But my son was the only one within my influence. I arranged for him to be given a new identity. I had him enrolled in a good boarding school. Then he went on to Trinity College. At first, he thought I was just a benefactor. A few years ago, I thought it better to tell him who he was. But he decided that he wanted to continue with his new identity and to live his own life. I think that was probably for the best. It was his decision.'

‘So, you abandoned your daughter?' Mossop interjected. ‘You left her in the care of a woman you knew to be emotionally unstable … and a violent criminal.'

Fitzpatrick nodded slowly.

‘I'm not proud of it now. But it seemed an easier solution to have the girl taken care of by her mother and the boy by his father. It happens, you know.'

‘I'm not judging your actions, Mr Fitzpatrick,' Swallow said, throwing a silencing glance at Mossop. ‘I'd prefer if you resumed your narrative of what happened last week.'

Fitzpatrick nodded again.

‘Cecilia knew that she was dying. She wanted to ensure that Louise got whatever she could leave her. And we had agreed that I'd make a settlement on the girl as well.'

‘So Ces – Cecilia – wrote to her daughter – your daughter – Louise Thomas, asking her to come to Dublin?' Swallow asked.

‘I don't have any direct knowledge of that. But I imagine so, yes.'

Mossop looked up from his murder book. ‘Why was all the secrecy required? Why did she have to disguise herself as a man?'

Fitzpatrick looked at Mossop as if he was addressing a child.

‘You're a policeman. Are you saying that you couldn't see the dangers she faced coming back to Dublin? Any of the gangsters around Cecilia would kill her daughter without a moment's hesitation.'

‘I suppose so,' Mossop acknowledged. ‘But in the end, the disguise didn't protect her or the child.'

‘Did Louise get her inheritance, if I can call it that, from her mother before she died?' Swallow asked.

‘Cecilia sent me a message to say that she was going to give Louise the money she had put away,' Fitzpatrick said. ‘I don't know how much there was. She said she wanted me to give Louise whatever I had provided for them as well. She said that they were going to go to make new lives in America or Canada as soon as they could.'

Fitzpatrick hesitated. ‘If they were planning to make a fresh start in the new world I felt it would be a final discharge of my duty to provide them with something to establish themselves.

‘Cecilia said that Louise was afraid to travel on the tram back into the city. She believed someone was following her. She said I should have them collected at the Chapelizod Gate of the Phoenix Park at 9 o'clock on Thursday evening. I was puzzled at the location, but I realise now they must have been staying somewhere nearby.'

He hesitated. ‘I didn't want to meet them here at the house, you understand. I had a bank draft as well – a thousand pounds – ready for them. So I sent McDonald – McDaniel – in the clarence. When he got there, he found them shot, just inside the gate, among the trees.'

There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of Mossop's pencil filling the pages of the murder book.

‘We know that Louise and the boy had come to this house on the previous evening, the Wednesday, to meet Sarah Hannin.' Swallow said. ‘Can you tell us why?'

‘I don't know why you persist in trying to link all these matters,' Fitzpatrick snapped. ‘Louise and Sarah were in the orphanage. I arranged for Sarah to have a position here in this house. But whatever happened to Sarah Hannin has nothing to do with the deaths of my daughter and grandson.'

Swallow grimaced. ‘It seems a very extraordinary coincidence to have three murders linked back to this house, Mr Fitzpatrick. When did you last see Sarah Hannin?'

‘I believe it was on Sunday afternoon. I came out of my study and saw her going down the hall to the basement. It was perhaps about 6 o'clock.'

‘Do you have any idea who might have wished to do her harm? You can't really believe there's no connection between her death and what happened to your daughter and grandson.'

Fitzpatrick's expression became agitated. He sighed again.

‘I would hope that you recognise I'm being very frank with you, Sergeant. I've told you things here this evening that I never believed I would discuss with a living soul. But I tell you, as God is my judge, I know nothing of what befell Sarah Hannin. I'm as much at a loss about what happened to her as you seem to be.'

Swallow stood. He walked to one of the windows overlooking the square. Then he turned to face Fitzpatrick.

‘I have to tell you that I'm going to charge you with misprision or concealment of felony. That relates to withholding information concerning the deaths of Louise and Richard Thomas. And I may additionally put charges to you relating to concealment of the birth of Cecilia Downes's child and the death of that child in this house. Do you understand?'

Fitzpatrick was silent for a moment.

‘I know what the offences mean,' he said eventually. ‘But this doesn't have to come out immediately, does it?'

Swallow shook his head.

‘I don't think concealing information on a double murder is something that can be kept under wraps. You'll be charged and remanded in custody. You'll probably want to convey a message to the authorities, Mr Fitzpatrick, in order to explain that you can't be available for public events next week. If you would like a little while to compose a letter to whomever you think appropriate along those lines I'll ensure its early delivery.'

Fitzpatrick shrugged in resignation.

‘It's a great pity. It would be good for Dublin to be seen to be warm in its welcome for the Queen's grandson. This city needs all the trade and business it can attract. They mean employment for a lot of people. When I said that there were issues here that were broader than the concerns of the police, that's what I meant.'

Swallow nodded. ‘Mr Fitzpatrick, I don't deal in such matters. I understand what you're saying. But as a police officer I can't be influenced by it.'

Fitzpatrick smiled. ‘There's one other thing, Sergeant. It concerns the child that's out there in the garden. Ces wasn't in her right mind. When the child died, when she … ended its life … she wasn't well. I would never have allowed any harm to come to it. But when it was done, it seemed the most sensible thing to just … dispose of it.'

‘In due course you'll need to show us where you put the child, Mr Fitzpatrick,' Swallow said. ‘And you understand that we'll have to do whatever is possible to recover any remains – however slight.'

Swallow felt tired. He resumed his seat opposite Fitzpatrick.

‘Mr Fitzpatrick. To be frank, you haven't told me a great deal that we hadn't already pieced together. But you've yet to tell us about the one subject we need to hear you on. You need to tell us about your son.'

‘You want to hear about my son?'

‘Yes, Mr Fitzpatrick, your son, John Michael.'

Fitzpatrick closed his eyes as in physical pain.

‘Perhaps having listened to me, you can understand why I went to such lengths to protect him. And you'll understand that I never could have expected that he would go to such extremes of violence to eliminate a threat to himself, as he saw it. Or maybe it was to have his revenge on his mother and his sister or on me, I'm not sure.'

‘Please go on,' Swallow said.

Fitzpatrick opened his eyes. He smiled sadly.

‘John Michael didn't die. When I separated from Cecilia and the children were sent away I immersed myself in public life and in commerce. I tried to write Cecilia and the children out of my life as if they never existed.'

He paused for a moment.

‘Later, I realised that I couldn't turn my back on my own flesh and blood. I wanted to take them out of Greenhills and to bring them up here. But Cecilia was so bitter that she insisted on denying me that happiness, even if it meant that they would stay in the institution. Finally, we agreed that when the children reached the age at which they would be discharged I would take charge of the boy and arrange for him as I wanted.

‘I saw him set up in life as best I could with a new name. When he had advanced a bit in his schooling I told him who I was … that I was his father. He was very angry at first. But in time I think he realised that it was in his own best interests to accept his new circumstances and to go along with the arrangements.'

Mossop was incredulous.

‘You're saying he knew you had thrown him into an orphanage as an infant but he was willing, in spite of all that, to have cordial relations with you as father and son?'

‘At first he accepted the situation as it was explained to him. But it wasn't easy. He was often very angry and bitter in conversation with me. Who could blame him? But increasingly that anger and resentment came to dominate his personality. It seems that there is much of his mother's violent instinct in him. And it seems that those instincts have led to tragedy.'

‘What are you telling us, Mr Fitzpatrick?' Swallow asked. ‘You'd be best to speak plainly because I believe I know the answer to my question already, if that makes it easier for you.'

Fitzpatrick shook his head sadly.

‘I think I underestimated you, Mr Swallow. My son was the only other person I told that McDaniel was to meet Louise at the Chapelizod Gate. The implication is obvious, is it not?'

‘I'm afraid so, Sir,' Swallow said.

‘Where can we find your son, Mr Fitzpatrick?' Mossop asked gently.

‘He's a fine young man in many ways, and I'm proud of his accomplishments as any father would be. He works as a journalist, quite a successful one too. Now he writes and works under a
nom de plume.
'

‘Can you give us that name please?' Swallow asked.