When Shadows Fall (41 page)

Adam took the train back to Dublin once dismissed by Tom Barry. His absence from Bowen & Associates had run much longer than Duncan had grudgingly agreed to, and he wasn’t expecting an amicable reception upon his return.

There was guilt at that. Duncan genuinely wanted him to have a place in the firm, to grow and prosper within it. Yet it would be unfair to them both to continue the charade for much longer. Adam was no lawyer. He loathed the work. He was looking for a fresh start, a breakaway from the shackles of the years, the trenches, the war here at home. Once England no longer cast her shadow over his every path, he would be free to live his life the way he wanted. He fancied the countryside, the clean air. A craft of some sorts. Maybe even a plot of land to farm.

And until a week ago, he would have married Tara. Of that he was certain. Now, however, he wasn’t so sure. He would still ask her, but only after she knew everything. He would hide from the truth no more.

In that spirit, he resolved to have a frank discussion with Duncan as soon as possible. He would thank him for his good faith but explain that he was finished with the firm. All the family would be outraged, of course, except for Allister, who would be glad to see him gone. That incident at Merrion Street would only strain their relations all the more, in any case. And as for his mother, he could already see those glacial eyes upon him, voicing alone what words could never express.

Outside King’s Bridge Station he took a tram to the office on Lower Baggot Street. It was ten o’clock. Duncan would have half a day’s work done by now, the tiresome enthusiast that he was.

The morning sky looked villainous. He reached the building before the clouds opened, brushed off his coat, and let himself inside. Lydia was at the reception desk. Her mouth opened in surprise. “Mr. Bowen! It’s—why, we weren’t expecting you.” Her hand went instinctively to her hair and she blushed.

“The sight of your pretty face makes all my struggles worthwhile, Lydia.” Adam winked at her. “Yes, I’ve been on the road a bit. Sorry for taking so long. Where are those two hardworking brothers of mine?”

“Allister went to see a client in Stillorgan, sir.” Lydia was permitted to use Christian names when distinguishing one Mister Bowen from another. “And Duncan is upstairs. There’s somebody with him, though.”

“I’ll wait in my office. I must speak with him.”

“Of course, sir. Would you like some tea or coffee?”

“No, thank you. I won’t be staying long.”

He eased into his old dungeon and screwed up his nose at the smell of must. There were files on his desk, most of them untouched since he’d left. Duncan’s muffled voice could be heard through the gypsum wall. Another male voice answered him. Adam put his ear closer to listen.

“Have no fears on that score,” Duncan was saying. “Confidentiality is a cornerstone of any legal firm worth its salt.”

Adam couldn’t follow the client’s softer voice. But he heard something about “potential embarrassment” and “powerful antagonists.” Duncan then said, “You’d be surprised, sir, by how common a dispute of this nature is. Be assured, I have settled far more complex ones in my time. Yours will not present a problem.”

“Good, excellent.” Adam could decipher the man’s words better now. “Thank you, Mr. Bowen. I feel a little more relaxed now. I must say I’m glad you were recommended to me. A stroke of good fortune.”

Duncan chuckled. “Well, I’m glad of that, too. You met him on a train, you said?”

“Yes. On the way to Cork. He was quite adamant that I should come to see you and explain my predicament.”

“Delighted to hear it. Adam has not been with us long, but this kind of enthusiasm I love to see.”

“A very bright young man. He’ll make your company proud yet, Mr. Bowen.”

“Thank you, Mr. Duffy.”

Behind the wall, Adam’s legs had turned mutinous.

Duffy.

He’d forgotten all about that name. The man on the train, the banker going after the IRA funds. He’d sent him to Duncan himself, and sheer bloody coincidence now had the very man sitting in the next room. With everything that had happened in the meantime, Adam had never relayed the information to Collins.

He heard the sounds of chairs scraping as both men stood up. Quickly he nudged his door shut. Duncan shook hands with Duffy and escorted him downstairs. They said their good-byes at the front door. Then Adam heard Lydia’s voice.

“What?” Duncan thundered. “He’s upstairs? What the—”

He stormed up the steps and pulled Adam’s door open. “Where in Saint Bernard’s backside have you been?”

Adam was rapidly trying to gather his next move. The appearance of Duffy had confused everything. “Duncan, I told you I’d be back.”

“Did you now? I could have been fooled! I gave you four weeks off. That was nearly two months ago. What have you been doing?”

“I’m sorry. Things took a little longer than planned.”

Duncan’s chest had started to wheeze. He took out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. “Unprofessional, Adam. Damned unprofessional! Your files were left unattended, I’ve had concerned clients calling about delays, and I’ve had to finish half your work myself. A bloody awful show.”

“I’m out of line.”

“And I’ve every mind to sack you.”

It would have been easy to finish it right there. Let Duncan sack him. Walk out for good, just as he’d wanted to.

And yet he knew he couldn’t let Duffy and his plans slip away again. So he nodded contritely. “You’re absolutely right, Duncan. I apologise. I’ll not take my position for granted again.”

“Oh, you intend to stay, do you?”

“Of course. I’m proud to work here. I value my place in the firm.”

Duncan huffed and grunted but then began to relent. “I suppose we got through without you. But don’t ever leave me in the lurch like that again. It’s a disgrace! Still,” he finally allowed himself the hint of a smile, “I know you didn’t forget about us entirely. That client who just left . . . ”

“Oh?” Adam enquired innocently.

“Duffy was his name. Clinton Duffy. You should remember him, Adam. He said you were most helpful in discussing a legal matter with him and that you referred him to me personally.”

Adam frowned. “Really? Hmm . . . ah, hold on. Yes, now I have him placed. A fellow who works with the bank?”

“That’s him. He has a grievance over some land that he paid a deposit for in good faith, no doubt hoping to flog the lot in a few years to some industrial developer. The thing is, the seller can’t prove ownership, and an adjoining landowner is claiming adverse title, which threatens to spoil all the fun. Piddling, run-of-the-mill stuff really, but Duffy has good connections in Munster, so I’d like to serve him well. Well done to you. This is the kind of client I want to build relationships with.”

“Don’t mention it,” Adam said. “Tell me, did you learn much about him? Where he lives, what kind of work he does for the banks, that kind of thing? I’m just curious, really.”

“A few things. I must draft some notes on the meeting while my mind is fresh. I take it you’re staying with us today?”

“Of course. I’ll just ask Lydia to make me some coffee.”

He’d get those notes on Duffy, however he managed it.

Once again, he was back at war.

Larry Mulligan had been sitting inside his dank flat on Sackville Street for two days, smoking Woodbines and chewing his nails. When finally there was a knock on his door, on Tuesday evening, he was ready to throttle the person at the other side.

“You took your time, you bollox,” he snarled at the visitor. “You’d better have something useful for me.”

Young Billy McDonagh manned the reception desk at Vaughan’s Hotel on Parnell Square, in between his schooling. Vaughan’s was an unofficial, alternative headquarters for the Republican leadership. Michael Collins liked to drink there and used to stay the odd night until police surveillance made it too risky.

Billy stepped into Mulligan’s flat, deeply unhappy. “Look, I couldn’t find out much at all about Bowen. Most of the lads don’t know him very well yet. He reports directly to the big fellow, but Mick hasn’t been in for some time. And you told me to be discreet, so I didn’t ask too much.”

“Nothing at all?” Mulligan rolled his eyes. “You’re a shit-sack excuse for a volunteer, aren’t you?”

“Come on, Larry, don’t be like that. I know he’s a solicitor, that much I found out. Bowen and Associates—that’s his company. But he hasn’t been to Vaughan’s lately, that I can promise you. If he had been, I’d have come straight over to you.”

Mulligan grunted and went to sit on his bed. He lit another Woodbine, and through the whorls of smoke he warned Billy, “He’s going to show up sooner or later. And I want him for myself, Billy. You understand? Nobody else. You tell me where he is, and I’ll deal with him on my own.”

Billy shrugged. “What’s this man supposed to have done, Larry?”

“Never you mind, you fucking clerk. This is an IRA disciplinary matter, and I’m in charge. When Bowen shows, or if you find out where he lives, you tell me.”

“I promise, Larry.”

“Good.” Mulligan blew tobacco fumes into the ceiling. “Adam Bowen and his little traitor tart won’t be ahead of me for much longer.”

Adam’s first, reluctant day back at work stretched late into the evening. Duncan and Lydia had already left, while Allister had been out all day at consultations and their paths hadn’t crossed yet. Adam dawdled about his office and made a go of reading a ridiculously long engineer’s report on a piece of waste-ground near Rathmines that Dublin Corporation wished to run sewerage pipes through. The landowner was refusing to agree to the wayleave allowing the Corporation to lay pipes on his land, and so Adam’s task was to arrange a compulsory transaction.

Duncan’s parents-in-law were visiting him and Sarah to take dinner, hence his early departure. He’d been grumbling about it all day. “Her old fellow thinks I’m the son he never had, you know,” he complained to Adam. “Have you ever heard anything so ghastly? Plus he likes quoting scripture after dinner. Scripture, whilst I’m waiting on my dessert. Of all the black-hearted villains—”

Lydia left shortly after Duncan to catch a tram back home to her parents, and thus Adam now had the place alone. He turned out most of the lamps downstairs then went up to Duncan’s office. The largest room in the building, it smelled of leather upholstery and cigar smoke. Bookshelves strained under the weight of dusty old law reports, and there was a row of filing cabinets lining the wall. Adam tried the drawers, but they were locked. Not as easy as that, then.

The only key Duncan had given him was for the main door to the building. It wouldn’t fit these cabinets. There were a few papers scattered on Duncan’s desk, mostly receipts and acknowledgements and social invitations. The office was otherwise scrupulously tidy, which wasn’t like Duncan. For all his wizard-quick legal brain, he was mostly bumbling and messy at the best of times. Then again, it wouldn’t be Duncan who kept the office so spick and span.

Lydia,
Adam realised. Both Duncan and Allister depended on her for almost everything. Diligent, conscientious Lydia—could she be the one unwittingly frustrating his efforts?

He returned below and went to her desk. Her own drawers were locked fast, and he swore at her efficiency. The furniture was Victorian, the locks old. He recalled watching one of the privates in his platoon, when they were trying to break into a German granary, use the pin of a belt buckle to open the door’s lock. It had worked that time, and so he searched Lydia’s pristinely kept desk and picked up a paper clip. He worked it straight and then tried it inside the hole, manoeuvring it deftly, frowning in concentration. Eventually, after several minutes of application, he heard a click and the lock was released. Progress at last.

Next to a pile of notepads was a set of keys. He kissed them and hurried back up to Duncan’s office. With trial and error, he found the matching one for the cabinets. Hordes of paperwork stuffed the insides, but thankfully they were arranged in alphabetical order.

A, B, C, D—Davis, Dermot, Dillon, Downey—

Duffy.

He pulled out the sheaf. There was some brief correspondence and a set of notes written up by Duncan on Duffy’s particular case. Adam eased himself into Duncan’s chair to begin his reading.