The Judas Gate (15 page)

‘Because he’s too good to be true.’ A photo came up of Talbot receiving his Military Cross from the Queen, a dazzling smile on his face.

‘You can’t argue with his service record,’ Roper pointed out. ‘Both Gulf Wars, Bosnia and Kosovo, two tours in Afghanistan, badly wounded and decorated during the second.’

Dillon said, ‘No Irish time, what do you make of that?’

‘Could be he opted out of service there.’

‘But it was still a matter of choice,’ Dillon told him. ‘Somehow it doesn’t fit the hero image. I bet if you started digging online, as only you can, you’d probably turn something up.’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

A picture of Jean Talbot and Justin appeared on the screen and Holley said, ‘Now there’s a nice-looking lady.’

‘Jean Talbot, his mother.’ Roper’s fingers moved. ‘Here’s her background.’

‘Clever lady,’ Holley said. ‘Oxford and the Slade.’

‘And look at the results,’ Dillon pointed out. ‘She won the Hollyfield Award for her portrait of the Queen Mother. Visiting Professor in Fine Art at London University.’ He shook his head. ‘I didn’t think Colonel Henry had it in him to produce someone like that.’

‘I’d say her mother had more effect than he did,’ Roper said. ‘Ah, here we are. Twenty-first of July, Nineteen sixty-four, delivered of a son named Justin Talbot. No entry for name of father.’

‘Her privilege,’ Holley said. ‘Not to name the father. Could be all sorts of reasons.’

‘I wonder how Colonel Henry took it?’ Dillon said. ‘At least he got an heir bearing his name.’

‘Here we go: there’s more,’ Roper said. ‘She bought a house in Marley Court, Mayfair, on the thirteenth of August, that year.’ He nodded. ‘So she was raising her son in London, not Ulster.’

‘Probably didn’t want her beloved father anywhere near the boy,’ Dillon said. ‘We’ll leave you to it and indulge in a workout in the gym, followed by a sauna. Don’t forget to turn over Talbot’s dubious past.’

Information of the type that Roper sought was impossible for most people to obtain, but Roper wasn’t most people.
Two hours of patient probing finally produced a result, and it was a treasure trove. He was sitting there when they returned.

‘You seem deep in thought,’ Dillon said.

‘I’ve a lot to think about.’

‘Justin Talbot?’

‘I’ve printed it out. You can read it, but I wonder whether I should put a match to it.’

‘As bad as that?’ Dillon said.

Roper pressed his buzzer for Doyle. ‘A first-rate soldier just doing what they told him to do, I suppose.’ Doyle appeared and he said, ‘Toilet, Tony, shower, clean everything, shirt and track suit.’

‘Right, sir, let’s go,’ Doyle said.

‘It’s the jobs he handled on his own that I find astonishing,’ Roper said to Dillon. ‘A one-man killing machine. But you’ll see for yourself.’

He switched on his wheelchair and cruised out, Doyle walking beside him.

Dillon read it, then poured himself a whisky while Holley worked through it. ‘What do you think?’ Dillon asked.

Holley handed the report back. ‘You and I have done as much. We’re not soldiers of virtue, Sean, we are soldiers of fortune. A bad thing happened to me a long time ago and my response changed me forever, and made me what I am. I don’t do it for money, I have money.’ He shrugged. ‘As long as it’s bad people I’m up against, I don’t care. I’m
certainly not going to condemn Justin Talbot for what he’s done. Every IRA member I’ve known told me he was fighting a war. That’s exactly what Talbot was doing, only it was for the other side.’

Dillon smiled reluctantly. ‘You’re right, damn you.’

An Ulster Television news flash appeared on one of the screens, and a reporter in a dark suit read, ‘The death of Colonel Henry Talbot at his home in County Down last night may seem by many to symbolize the end of an era of extreme politics for which there is no longer a place in Northern Ireland.’

‘Well, that’s telling them,’ Dillon said.

The reporter continued, ‘The funeral will be for family and friends only and followed by cremation.’

The news moved on and Dillon said, ‘No Orange Order, no marching bands?’ He shook his head. ‘Just like the poet said, Daniel.
This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper.’

‘Maybe the family didn’t like all that kind of thing in the first place. Maybe Justin’s just trying to make a fresh start. You noticed they didn’t give a where or when for the funeral.’

‘You’re right,’ Dillon said. ‘But I know where I can find out.’

‘And where would that be?’ Holley asked.

‘My uncle on my mother’s side, Mickeen Oge Flynn, lives at Collyban. I grew up there after my mother passed on, until my father took me to live in London when I was twelve. Mickeen is close to eighty now, but still runs a small garage with one mechanic who’s been with him for years, a man named Paddy O’Rourke.’

‘They sound like something out of an old Abbey Theatre play in Dublin.’

‘Don’t mock. I’m off to the library for some peace and quiet where I can have a word with him.’

Flynn’s Garage was on the edge of Collyban, and with its ancient pumps and concourse of cracked cement, it was probably as ancient as Mickeen Oge himself, a small, tough old man in a tweed suit and cap. He was badly needing a shave, but there was nothing new in that. The doors were up and the garage was surprisingly large, with four different old motor cars inside. Mickeen was seated at a desk in his old glass office, trying to sort a few bills, when his phone went.

‘I don’t know who it is, but I’m on my own at the moment and can’t do a thing.’

‘Would you listen, you silly old bugger? It’s your only nephew.’

‘Jesus, Sean, can it be true? Where are you calling from?’

‘London.’

‘Are you coming to see me?’

‘Not at the moment, but I’m hoping you can help me.’

At that moment, the old recovery truck drove in, Paddy O’Rourke at the wheel. Mickeen said, ‘A wee minute, Sean.’ He called, ‘Get on with the new tyres for the front wheels on Father Grady’s car.’ He returned, ‘Sorry, Sean, in what way?’

‘Colonel Henry Talbot’s just died.’

‘I know. Last night it was.’

‘Ulster Television has just said that the Talbots are going to have a very private cremation ceremony for the family and friends, but they didn’t say where and when.’

‘They’ve been doing that since nine-thirty to get the public used to the idea that the family don’t want a fuss. Kilmartin’s behind them. The Talbots’ housekeeper is wife to Jack Kelly, the old IRA chief. Half the villagers work the estate and they know they’re all on a damn good thing.’

‘Justin Talbot and the family must be glad of the support, being Protestants.’

‘Christ, you know nothing, Sean. Justin Talbot’s a good Catholic. It’s emerged that his mother had him baptized for his dying father’s sake, and kept it from Colonel Henry. The wrong side of the blanket, that one.’

Dillon was astonished. ‘I would think that piece of news would have been enough to send old Henry flying into the next world. But you still haven’t told me where and when. Do you know?’

‘Of course I do. I slipped down to the pub for a quick one half an hour ago. Ould Henry will be into the oven at three-thirty over at Castlerea. Nobody would ever expect it so fast, so it’ll be over and done with before they know it.’

‘But somebody’s leaked it,’ Dillon said.

‘Only the locals, and nobody’s going to go ringing up a newspaper or anything.’

‘I’m sure some people will turn up. Would you be thinking of going yourself?’

‘Well, now that you mention it, I could take a quick spin that way.’

‘Why don’t you do just that and let me know what it was like.’

‘I’ll be in touch, so I will. God bless you, Seaneen. I’d love to come over to London and see you, but I’m too old for the travelling, so there it is.’

He put the old phone back and went to check on how O’Rourke, another old man, was getting on. He had the priest’s car jacked up and had already replaced the first tyre.

‘Was that Sean you were talking to?’ O’Rourke said.

‘It was indeed, all the way from London.’

‘Is he coming to see you or what?’

‘And why would he be coming back to Collyban, the arse end of the world?’ Mickeen shrugged. ‘Just checking I’m still alive.’

‘Well, to get down to business, there’s a problem with the exhaust on Father O’Grady’s car. Do I take it into Newry and get a replacement?’

‘He’ll scream blue murder about the price. He’s away at the moment, so there’s no rush. Leave it up on the jack when you’ve finished the wheels and I’ll have a look at it later. I’ve decided to go for a wee drive and see what’s happening with the Talbot funeral at the Castlerea crematorium.

‘I didn’t have my lunch,’ O’Rourke said.

‘So you’ll have a late one. They keep the Irish stew simmering all day long down at the Green Man. Just finish the tyres like I tell you while I search the cottage for a tie. You can’t go to a funeral without a tie,’ and he walked out and left O’Rourke there.

* * *

At Talbot Place, Justin waited in the study for his mother to join him. He wore not only a black suit but the tie to go with it, presenting a more sombre picture than he cared for, but this was Ireland and it was expected.

He was about to get himself a drink when the Preacher phoned him. ‘I was wondering when I was going to hear from you,’ Talbot said as he opened a French window and went out on to the terrace.

‘I won’t offer my condolences,’ Hassan Shah said. ‘I doubt they’d be appreciated.’

‘A time for rejoicing, as far as I’m concerned,’ Talbot told him. ‘The future beckons.’

‘There are infinite possibilities for us working together,’ Shah said.

‘There are infinite possibilities for Talbot International to expand in world markets.’

‘You have so much,’ Shah said, ‘and yet you want more.’

‘Nothing is enough,’ Talbot told him, and switched off.

He swallowed a large vodka, then went out into the Great Hall to find the Kellys and Tod Murphy. His mother, dressed completely in black including a hat, was just coming downstairs. Her make-up was perfect, but her face was an ivory mask. A wake was expected later, and several village girls supervised by Emily were setting up long tables at one end of the hall. Throwing convention to the winds, Justin Talbot had insisted the coffin would be waiting for them at the crematorium, but the funeral company had provided
a driver and a black Voltern which could accommodate them comfortably.

Emily said to Jean, ‘God bless you, my dear, everything will be ready by the time you return.’

‘Thank you,’ Jean said. ‘Do you think many will come?’

Emily was shocked. ‘But of course. They’ll abide by your wishes over the funeral, but they’ll want to pay their respects afterwards.’

A horn sounded outside. Justin Talbot said, ‘I’d say that’s for us.’ He gave his mother his arm. ‘All right, love, let’s get this over with.’

Paddy O’Rourke sat at the end of the bar, drinking his Guinness. Except for two old men playing dominoes in the corner, the pub was empty. Martin Curry, the landlord, entered and put a plate of Irish stew in front of him.

‘Get your head round that.’

Paddy started, glancing up at the bar clock. ‘Two-thirty. Only another hour to go and ould Colonel Henry burns in Hell.’

‘Good riddance to him,’ Curry said. ‘Where’s Mickeen? He was in early for a drink, but he hasn’t eaten.’

‘He decided to take a run over to Castlerea and see the Talbot funeral.’

‘Now why would he do that when everyone knows the family don’t want a fuss?’

‘I’m not sure. He was having a chat on the phone to his nephew Sean in London. From what I heard, they were discussing the funeral and so on.’

Martin Curry said, ‘By his nephew, Sean, you’re speaking of Sean Dillon?’

‘Well, Mickeen’s only got the one. Big for the Provos in his day, Sean.’

‘And big for the Brits now,’ Curry said. ‘What were they talking about?’ He poured another drink. ‘On the house.’

The chapel at Castlerea Crematorium was supposed to be open to any member of the public who wished to enter, but not that afternoon, not with a visible Provisional IRA presence arranged by Kelly, several large and intimidating men in dark suits making it plain to the public that they weren’t welcome.

There was a pleasant memorial park surrounding the chapel and other buildings and, here and there, individuals were visiting their loved ones or delivering flowers. Mickeen pretended to be such a person and was at least able to observe the hearse waiting by the chapel door. The Voltern appeared with the party from Talbot Place and everyone got out and waited.

Jack Kelly produced a mobile and answered it for a minute or so, glancing round, then put it in his pocket, moved to the men guarding the door and spoke to one of them. The man turned and was obviously searching the memorial park and Mickeen moved away. One look had been enough to tell him who they were and, for the first time, it occurred to him that he might have been foolish to come.

* * *

The service in the chapel, with the well-meaning vicar and the piped music, could not have been over too soon for Justin, who felt a certain release as they went out to find it raining.

Jean and Hannah were talking to the vicar and Kelly pulled Justin over. ‘Sean Dillon, the one who works for Ferguson, was born in Collyban. He left for London at twelve, but his uncle, Mickeen Oge Flynn, owns the garage there.’

‘So get on with it, Jack. Is there some problem?’

‘His garage mechanic says he overheard Mickeen having a telephone conversation from London with Dillon. From what he heard, they were discussing the funeral and the fact that you wanted to keep it private. Mickeen said he knew it was today and that he’d attend.’

‘And did he?’

‘As you can see, there are a few people in the memorial park.’

The two women had got into the car and sat waiting. Talbot said in a low, dangerous voice, ‘Can’t you give me a straight answer? Did he come?’

‘Yes, one of the men thinks he saw him.’

Talbot produced a silver hip flask, opened it and swallowed vodka. As he closed it, he said, ‘Charles Ferguson is a major problem in my life, and Sean Dillon seems to be his top enforcer, so when he phones a relative who lives only seven miles from my own home and the said relative turns up as he has done, I get highly suspicious. Tell my mother and Hannah to carry on. Say we’ll see them soon.’