Shamrock Green (14 page)

‘Who were these men? What were their names?'

‘I've no idea,' said Gowry. ‘I was told they were brothers going to a funeral.'

‘You have a brother, don't you, Mr McCulloch?' Vaizey said.

‘Several,' Gowry said.

So it was Charlie, was it? Charlie had finally dropped him into the mire. Anger frizzled within him. He straightened on the stool that Ames had placed before the desk. There was no window, only a grating high on the wall with an oblong of smoked glass behind it, the room shorn of all furniture except for a table, a chair and the stool. Ames leaned against the wall under a gas bracket that hissed and flamed erratically. Vaizey was seated at the table.

‘Name them,' Vaizey said.

‘Peter, Charlie and Forbes.'

‘Forbes?'

‘He lives in Glasgow. He's been there for years.'

‘What does he do in Glasgow?'

‘He's in shipping,' Gowry said.

‘Ah!' said Vaizey. ‘Yes, married to one of the Franklins. I have him now.'

Mention of his older brother's name only added to Gowry's apprehension.

He wondered if Forbes was involved somehow, if the surly pair he'd conveyed to Woodenbridge were emissaries from Forbes. He wouldn't put it past Forbes to be mixed up in shady dealings.

‘Charlie,' Vaizey said. ‘Tell me more about Charlie.'

‘There's nothing to tell. Him an' me don't rub along.'

‘He drinks at your house.'

‘It isn't my house. It's my wife's house.'

‘He drinks there with known criminals.'

‘Charlie isn't a criminal,' Gowry said. ‘He's a brewer.'

‘Was it not Charlie who asked you to drive those thugs to Woodenbridge?'

‘Of course it wasn't Charlie. Mr Flanagan assigned me. If you don't believe me, ask Mr Flanagan.'

‘We have,' Vaizey said.

‘Well, there you are,' said Gowry.

‘Mr Flanagan denies all knowledge…'

Gowry shot to his feet and would have lunged across the table if Ames hadn't grabbed him and flung him to the floor. He landed on his elbows and tailbone. His anger did not abate. He had been betrayed, betrayed by Flanagan, made Flanagan's scapegoat. He struggled to his knees.

‘Bad boy,' Ames said, shaking his head. ‘Bad, bad boy.'

Gowry sat back, propped on his hands. The detective towered above him like a part of the masonry. All he could see of the inspector was shoes, stockings, trouser legs and, separated by the plane of the table, a bland, almost uninterested face peering down at him.

Vaizey gave his moustache a little wipe with his forefinger. ‘It's not going to profit any of us if you go all redheaded. What did they look like, these men? Had you seen either of them before?'

‘No,' Gowry said. ‘They were strangers to me. One had a beard.'

‘Aw now, there's a tellin' detail, sir, is it not?' said Ames.

‘They were well dressed,' Gowry said. ‘They were about my age.'

‘What did they say to you?' Vaizey, still leaning over the table, asked.

‘Hardly a word,' said Gowry. ‘Told me to collect them at three o'clock at the gate of the Nugget Hotel where – where you – your boys were waiting for me.'

‘Were they staying at that hotel?'

‘I thought they were. I dropped them at the gate.'

‘When did you drop them?'

‘Yesterday afternoon, about three or half past.'

‘And then,' said Vaizey, ‘you returned to Dublin?'

Gowry hesitated. It was the first question he could not answer truthfully.

He said, ‘I did not come back to Dublin.'

‘Did not come back to Dublin?' Vaizey said. ‘Why not?'

‘I lodged out.'

‘How far is it from Woodenbridge to Dublin? About forty miles?'

‘Nearer fifty,' Gowry said, dry-mouthed.

‘In that machine, the German machine, how long would it take you to—'

‘I was told to lodge out,' Gowry said.

‘Told? By whom?'

‘Mr Roddeny.'

‘Not Mr Flanagan?'

‘Yes, by Mr Flanagan.'

‘Which is it?' the inspector said.

‘I was offered a bonus for—'

‘A bonus,' Vaizey put in, ‘for a forty – pardon – a fifty-mile drive? He's surely a very generous employer, your Mr Flanagan.'

‘It was Saturday.'

‘Do you not usually work on Saturday?'

‘I do, but…' Gowry paused once more. ‘I didn't want to do it.'

‘Do what?' said Vaizey.

‘Go to Woodenbridge. Make the run.'

‘Why not?'

‘I'd been on the road all week, up and down to the Tip – to Tipperary running recruits to the training camp.'

‘Tipperary,' Vaizey said. ‘Now that is a fair way to travel.'

‘It is.'

‘But Woodenbridge is not.'

‘I was told to stay over.'

‘Where,' Vaizey said, ‘did you lodge last night?'

‘In a boarding-house.'

The lie was out before he could stop it.

He suspected that the inspector might know where he had stayed but he would not be drawn into betraying Maggie Leonard no matter what they did to him. If they found the guns in the loft of the cottage in the Galtees then Maggie, and Maurice too, would be arrested. He could not allow that to happen.

‘In Woodenbridge?' Vaizey said.

‘No, in Arklow,' Gowry said.

He was gone now, patently gone. He had stepped into the pitfall he'd dug for himself all those weeks ago when he'd appropriated Charlie's guns and hidden them out of harm's way. He had done it with the best of intentions, but Vaizey would never swallow that tale. He was still on the floor, legs stuck out. He leaned back, swaying away from Ames, and cocked his head. He was no longer angry and his fear had lessened, leaving wiliness, a sensation of cleverness that might prove to be his undoing. He would have to play Vaizey's game now, however.

‘Do you recall the name of the guest-house?' Vaizey said.

‘No, sir, I do not.'

‘Oh, really! Were you drunk?'

‘All right,' Gowry said. ‘I'll tell you the truth: I slept in the back of the limousine.'

‘Slept in the limousine?' said Vaizey. ‘Do you often sleep in your vehicle?'

‘Not in the bus,' said Gowry. ‘The limousine's different.'

‘Why did you sleep—'

‘To save money,' Gowry interrupted. ‘The limousine's warm and comfortable and sleeping in it saved me one and sixpence. You want to know what I did last night; I'll tell you then. I drove back to Arklow and went into a pub and had a drink, then I ate fish and chips from a newspaper and walked on the strand for a bit and then I went back to the motor-car and fell asleep in the passenger compartment.'

‘You were drunk?'

‘I wasn't drunk,' Gowry said, ‘I was tired.'

‘I see,' said Vaizey. ‘Boris, will you help Mr McCulloch to his feet, please.'

Reluctantly the burly detective extended a hand.

Gowry ignored it. He lifted himself up with an agility that surprised him. He dusted his trousers with the flat of his hand and seated himself again on the little three-legged stool. He wasn't daft enough to suppose that the interrogation was over or that his tale of sleeping out in the Benz had cut any ice with the policeman. He had bought himself breathing space, though, and decided there and then to stick with the lie and brazen it out.

*   *   *

In a half-hour it would be dark. The bell of St Olave's sounded across the water, one sonorous note repeated again and again, as if to summon down the night. In the hallway of the Shamrock the grandmother clock
tocked.
In the bar the moon-faced clock seemed to whirr like mad as Sylvie dashed in and out of the kitchen, in and out of the bar, torn by a desire to keep Fran with her as long as possible and to be rid of him before Gowry came home.

Fran was settled in the bar reading the latest issue of
Irish Freedom,
drinking a glass of stout and showing no sign of wishing to leave.

They had made love in the night and billed and cooed throughout the morning whenever they could steal a moment. He had accompanied Maeve and she to church and was waiting for them when they came out. She had walked with him down Sperryhead Road without a shred of guilt, let the neighbours think what they like. Francis Hagarty was just as entitled to stay at the Shamrock as anyone else.

Maeve did not seem to mind. She skipped and chattered and strove to draw Fran's attention to herself, for which she could hardly be blamed. They ate lunch in the kitchen, walked again in the afternoon when Maeve had gone to Bible Class, then came back to drink tea in the parlour and, so Sylvie thought, say farewell. But Fran had idled away the hour between five and six when the guests were beginning to drift in – only three of them – and Gowry was presumably whizzing back up the road from Woodenbridge.

‘Is he not for goin' yet?' Jansis hissed.

‘I don't know,' Sylvie whispered.

‘He shouldn't be here at all at this hour.'

‘I know.'

‘The fur'll fly if—'

‘For God's sake, Jansis, that's enough!'

‘I'll tell him, if ye like. I'll even be polite about it.'

‘No.' Sylvie hesitated, biting her thumb. ‘No, I can't ask him to leave.'

‘Does he not know Mr McCulloch's due back? Does he not understand?'

‘Oh, yes, he understands,' said Sylvie, and it was Fran's understanding that worried her most of all.

*   *   *

‘Now, McCulloch,' the inspector said, ‘you may as well come clean. You didn't sleep in the motor-car at all, did you?'

‘Aye, I did.'

Ames was behind him now and he waited tensely for a blow to the back of his head. Surely it was only a matter of time before Vaizey gave the signal for the beatings to begin. He clenched his fists, poked them down between his knees, and tucked his chin to his breastbone.

‘Perhaps I did have too much to drink,' Gowry conceded.

‘Where did you have breakfast?'

‘I ate some bread.'

‘Where did you buy the bread?'

‘I had it with me.'

‘What did you do today?'

‘What d'you mean?'

‘How did you spend the morning? Did you walk on the strand again? Fish from the rocks? Ride a donkey?'

‘I walked on the strand.'

‘Where was the Benz?'

‘Where I left it.'

‘And where was that?' said Vaizey.

‘On a road by the shore.'

‘Good,' Vaizey said. ‘Someone's bound to have noticed it. In fact, unless I miss my guess, the presence of a German motor-car in Arklow will have drawn quite a crowd. It shouldn't be difficult to corroborate your story, if it's the truth.'

‘It isn't the truth,' said Ames. ‘He's lyin' in his face.'

‘Really, Boris?' said Vaizey. ‘What makes you so sure?'

‘The clocking device attached to the wheel o' the motorcar showed it had been driven a lot further than fifty miles,' Ames said. ‘One hundred an' seventy-one miles for to be exact.'

‘Perhaps,' said Vaizey, ‘the clocking device wasn't set properly when Mr McCulloch left Flanagan's garage?'

‘The clocking mechanism's always set at zero before a journey,' Ames said. ‘I checked that fact wi' Mr Flanagan.'

‘When?' Gowry heard himself say.

‘None o' your bloody business when,' Ames told him.

There was no point in arguing. He had been betrayed by Flanagan, set up by Flanagan. Someone had told the officers to check the clock – which meant someone knew about Maggie. He still had no notion of the nature of the crime of which he stood accused and could only assume that it had to do with the smuggled guns.

‘You're not a nationalist, Mr McCulloch, are you?' Vaizey asked.

‘I certainly am not.'

‘Not a member of the Brotherhood of Erin, say?'

‘No.'

‘Not associated with any subversive group?'

‘No, I'm not,' said Gowry.

‘So you had no reason to take part in a plot to murder John Redmond?'

Gowry opened his mouth but no sound came out. He gaped at Vaizey. Redmond at Woodenbridge, the parade this afternoon; his conversation with Maurice Leonard came rushing back. Shooting; an assassination. He could be hanged just for being involved. Was that what they thought he was doing in Woodenbridge at three o'clock this afternoon? Picking up the assassins? He closed his mouth and sat silent for four or five seconds while Vaizey gently stroked his moustache and waited patiently for an answer.

‘Do you expect me to believe that you didn't know Johnny Redmond would be inspecting the ranks at Woodenbridge this afternoon?' Vaizey said, at length.

‘I – I heard about it only this morning.'

‘This morning? From whom?'

‘Someone. I don't know.'

‘Where did you really spend the night?' Vaizey said.

‘In Tipperary,' Gowry said.

‘Is that where you've been keeping the guns?'

‘Guns? What guns? I don't know what you're talking about.'

‘Was it Charlie who asked you to hide the guns?' Vaizey said, picking up the pace of his questioning. ‘Was it Charlie or your father who persuaded you to hide the German Mausers safe out of Dublin? Was it Charlie or your father or Eamon Trotter you were supposed to pick up today at the gate of the Nugget Hotel right after the shots were fired?'

‘Was Redmond killed?' Gowry asked.

‘Answer my question, please.'

‘There's nothing to answer,' Gowry said. ‘I know nothing about guns and I had no idea Redmond was even going to be in Woodenbridge until this morning.'

‘What were you doing in Tipperary?'

‘I was with a woman,' Gowry said.

‘Ah!' said Vaizey. ‘I see. A married woman?'