A June of Ordinary Murders (35 page)

O'Donnell attempted a grin. He nodded. ‘I'll deliver on Horan.'

Swallow pulled the cell door open. O'Donnell levered himself up from the bunk and stepped uncertainly into the corridor. Swallow led him up the stairway to the duty desk. After the gloom of the basement cells, the day room was bright, and Swallow saw that it hurt O'Donnell's eyes.

He checked him through the discharge procedures. O'Donnell signed his undertaking to be of good behaviour. The duty officer restored his possessions: a cotton handkerchief, a comb, a half-metal pen with a broken nib, a pipe and a tobacco pouch, a small leather wallet with a sixpence, a handful of pennies and a few half pennies.

Swallow brought him to the steps of the detective office. O'Donnell looked around him in the bright sunlight, checking up and down the narrow court before stepping out. He walked, a little unsteadily at first but then with a firm step, towards Dame Street. At the end of the street, a paperboy waved copies of the
Evening Telegraph.

The boy was shouting.

‘SEE THE DEAD WOMAN FROM THE PHOENIX PARK…'

‘THE PICTURE OF THE MURDER VICTIM…'

Swallow could see that the boy had opened the newspaper to display the main inside news page. There, across two columns, was the improvised face of ‘Chapelizod Gate Woman.'

He saw O'Donnell stop to look, then he fumbled in his pocket for a penny and snatched the newspaper from the boy's hand. He started to run back to the door of the detective office. Swallow waited until he reached the steps.

‘By God, you're in a hurry O'Donnell. What is it?'

O'Donnell jabbed at the open page. ‘There's something here you'll want to know about.' He glanced nervously up and down the street.

‘Could we … go inside … Mr Swallow? You'd never know who's watching.'

Swallow chuckled silently. It had not taken long for James O'Donnell to adopt the cautious, ever-watchful ways of the informer.

He led him up the stairs to the crime sergeants' office. ‘Sit down. You seem shocked. D'you want a drink of water?'

‘I wouldn't say no, Mr Swallow.' O'Donnell allowed himself a nervous laugh. ‘A drop of brandy or even some of that Tipperary Colleen would be nicer.'

‘Not the right place and not the right time for brandy, James, not even for the Tipperary Colleen,' Swallow replied. ‘Now, what has you so excited?'

He poured a glass of tepid water from a jug on the desk. ‘You're like a cat with pepper in its milk. Have you something interesting to tell me?'

‘You'll be the judge of that, Mr Swallow,' O'Donnell replied, spreading the newspaper out on the desk. ‘I think you'll be interested … maybe more than interested. I need a few bob for a couple of drinks. You might give me, say, a pound?'

Lafeyre's “Chapelizod Gate Woman” stared from the etching on the sheet of newsprint. He placed it on the table, facing towards Swallow.

‘You're supposed to be investigating these killings by the Chapelizod Gate, aren't you? And here's one of your victims, the woman.' He smoothed the paper with trembling fingers.

Swallow read the headlines and the report.

‘SEE THE DEAD WOMAN FROM THE PHOENIX PARK…'

‘ONLY IN THE
EVENING TELEGRAPH
…'

‘SEE THE DEAD WOMAN FROM THE

CHAPELIZOD GATE…'

The degeneration of the photographic image in the etching process had, if anything, served to give it an added degree of authenticity. Swallow was looking at what might have been the picture of a living woman. Only the glassy stare of the artificial eyes implanted by Lily Grant would suggest anything otherwise.

Simon Sweeney's report was printed underneath.

FACE OF PARK VICTIM REVEALED

Dr Lafeyre Uses New Method

The Dublin City Medical Examiner, Dr Henry Lafeyre, has used a new scientific method from Germany to reconstruct the features of the woman who was found murdered along with a young boy of 8-10 years near the Chapelizod Gate on Friday morning.

The results are shown above, exclusively in this special edition of the
Evening Telegraph
. Readers will agree that this is a remarkabl development and Dr Lafeyre is to be congratulated on it success.

Detectives of the G Division, under Sergeant Swallow, are continuing their inquiries and are hopeful that the publication of Dr Lafeyre's reconstructed image may lead to the early identification of the woman and child.

Dr Lafeyre is at the forefront of medical jurisprudence in the United Kingdom and has studied under the renowned Prof Taylor at the University of Edinburgh.

He was assisted in the reconstruction by Miss Lily Grant, to whom he is engaged to be married. Miss Grant is a gifted teacher of art at Miss Jellicoe's Alexandra College.

‘Now, Mr Swallow,' he said, taking a gulp of the water, ‘it says you're looking for information about this woman and her child. It says you're “hopeful.” I know enough about police language to know that means you're stuck. You haven't a bloody clue about this, have you? Well I can tell you where that woman went the night before herself and the child were murdered.'

‘Go on,' Swallow said doubtfully.

‘I saw her. I'm trying to tell you that I saw her. I'd swear it's the same woman, big eyes, sort of bulging almost, high forehead … a bit strange looking.'

Swallow raised a hand. ‘Easy, will you start at the beginning please?'

‘I told you that the Brothers had been watching that bastard Fitzpatrick for a long time. We put a lot of time and a lot of effort into watching his comings and goings. We wanted to see who his cronies were and who he was in contact with. Do you recall that, Mr Swallow?'

‘That's what you told me,' Swallow said.

‘We had someone for a while working in the house, but she got let go from the staff there, so we had to find other ways of gathering information.'

He slurped another mouthful of water.

‘One of our fellows got a job as a gardener and handyman in Merrion Square, just across from Fitzpatrick's house. That way we got good descriptions of visitors, sometimes names too. Last week he was sick for a couple of days and I told the foreman I was his brother. I said he was afraid of being let go and that I'd do the job for him.'

Swallow tried not to look surprised. He was impressed by the extent to which the Brothers had organised their espionage. It would have done justice to the G Division, he thought quietly.

‘And what do you think I saw, Mr Swallow, last Wednesday evening as I was locking up the gates of the square?'

O'Donnell drew breath sharply. ‘I saw the same woman that's there in the newspaper, along with her child, going into the house through the basement doorway, just after … maybe about 7 o'clock in the evening.'

‘You're sure of the date? It was Wednesday evening of last week?'

‘I'm sure. I worked in the gardens Tuesday and Wednesday.'

He tapped the newspaper with his finger. ‘This Doctor … Lafeyre … he knows his business I can tell you, because this is a very good … very accurate … picture of the person I saw. And you couldn't mistake the eyes.'

Swallow's brain raced to make sense of O'Donnell's information. If it was accurate, some link between the murders was much more likely.

‘Are you sure about this?' he asked, deliberately striking a sceptical tone. ‘It could have been any woman and a boy. It could have been anybody visiting a relative or a friend in the servants' quarters.'

O'Donnell looked offended. ‘Well, it might have been. But I can only tell you what I saw.'

‘How was she dressed?'

‘I recall that it was a sort of dark blue … it was a dark dress with a blue and white hat. The boy was wearing a sort of brown corduroy jacket and trousers.'

That tallied, Swallow realised, with the clothing found on the dead boy.

‘This could be important,' he conceded. ‘Can you say how the woman and child arrived at the house? How long did they stay there?'

O'Donnell shrugged. ‘I don't know.'

Swallow felt a surge of frustration.

‘Jesus, O'Donnell! I've done a hell of a lot for you and your friend Horan. If it wasn't for me you'd still be in the cells downstairs. I've told you this could be important. I need to know everything you can recall about it.'

O'Donnell leaned conspiratorially across the table.

‘If I knew more I'd tell you more. I can only tell you I saw the woman and child walking along the square … and going down the steps into the basement. Then I closed the gates of the gardens and finished up. I've no idea how long they stayed. Now, am I going to get that money you mentioned?'

He looked hopefully at Swallow. ‘I'd say that what I told you is worth a fiver.'

‘You're aware that a servant at the Fitzpatrick house, a girl called Sarah Hannin, was murdered and taken from the canal on Monday last?' Swallow asked.

O'Donnell shook his head. ‘It's the first I heard of that. You'll recall that I was out of circulation, so to speak, from Sunday. Is there some connection? Is that what you think?'

‘I don't know yet,' Swallow answered. ‘In all your watching at the Fitzpatrick house, did you ever come across Sarah Hannin?'

O'Donnell shrugged again. ‘I saw lots of servants come and go at different times. That name means nothing to me.'

Swallow stood.

‘You might be useful to the G Division all right. I suppose you've earned your drinking money.'

He took two 10-shilling notes from his wallet and put them on the table, then he reached into the drawer and drew out a police receipt form. He dipped a pen into the inkwell on the table and handed it to O'Donnell.

‘Here, sign on the line to confirm that you've got your pound. It's probably a fair bargain. Remember, you're “Mr Brown” – without an “e”.'

O'Donnell hastily scribbled his new signature and thrust the money into his jacket pocket. He stood up and made for the door without a word.

Swallow guessed that precious little of the money would get any distance beyond the public houses in the vicinity of the Castle.

TWENTY-EIGHT

The light was weakening when Swallow left Exchange Court. There was no moon, but the sky was beginning to show the early stars as points of light over the Bedford Tower and the Upper Yard.

He had tried to imagine how the Sarah Hannin investigation might be advancing now that it had been given over to the special detectives working directly from the Under-Secretary's office. He doubted that it would have progressed very far. The effectiveness of the special CID was limited because their accents gave them away. They seemed to have no knowledge of the city's geography. The chances of their making any progress on the case, even if they wanted to, would be slim.

He turned O'Donnell's information over in his head. It was possible that his new informant had simply spotted a way of touching him for an easy pound. Yet he had the feeling that he was telling what he believed to be the truth. If the Chapelizod Gate victims had visited the Fitzpatrick house, then there had to be some connection between their deaths and the murder of Sarah Hannin.

He decided that his homeward progress would be via Merrion Square. It would be a lengthy diversion from his usual route to Thomas Street, but visiting and revisiting crime scenes and locations related to crimes had always been a part of Swallow's investigative approach.

Sometimes he would stand for an hour and watch a house or a street or a stretch of land, mentally rehearsing the movements of those who were players in the drama of the moment. And it had often proven to be profitable. Tonight he felt that he wanted to look at the Fitzpatrick house for a while. If James O'Donnell's information was correct, it was a common location linking the three murder victims of the past week.

He walked to College Green and paused on the pavement opposite Trinity College to allow a tram go by towards Nassau Street. On an impulse he decided to step aboard as it slowed. He would disembark at the corner of Merrion Square.

A man hurried along the pavement behind him, nimbly hauling himself onto the tram as it moved off. He was perhaps 30 years of age, well-built with a trimmed, dark moustache. Oddly, given the warm evening weather, he was wearing a woollen overcoat.

When Swallow stepped from the tram at Merrion Square, the man stayed in his own seat, his face turned to the window and away from Swallow's line of sight.

By now it was close to 10 o'clock, and the lamplighters were making their rounds, moving from post to post, opening the gas-jets and lighting the lemon-white mantles. There was still some brightness in the sky, but the gas light accentuated the darkness descending on the houses on the southern side of the square.

When he reached the end of the railings that abutted the square he had sight of the house. He was not sure what he had expected to see there. Perhaps he had anticipated some of the official traffic that inevitably attends a scene being investigated in connection with a serious crime – uniformed officers on duty, police vehicles, senior officers' transport …

There was none of this at Number 106. If there was anything akin to a crime investigation under way there, no external signs of it were visible. The house was silent with dim lights burning in what Swallow reckoned would be the drawing room, giving out on the square at the first level above the street. Another faint hint of incandescence showed from the windows of the basement.

He moved along the square, easing himself into the shadows where glossy laurel branches overhung the pavement. When he was opposite the house he backed in against one of the garden's entrance gates. He had a perfect view of Fitzpatrick's, but hidden as he was by the branches and the shadows, it would have been impossible for anyone in the house to see him.