A June of Ordinary Murders (36 page)

He reckoned he was standing more or less in the line of sight described earlier by James O'Donnell. Certainly he would have had a perfect view of any visitors coming to or from the house.

He kept his vigil for perhaps an hour until the light had quite faded and the square was dark save for the pools of yellow under the lamp standards.

The hour yielded little by way of intelligence or information. Merrion Square remained silent. Once or twice a woman's form could be seen fleetingly passing the windows on the first floor of Number 106. Shortly afterwards, somebody closed the drapes on two of the windows on the floor above, presumably a bedroom. Then a faint light glowed behind the drapes.

The light from the basement rooms grew a little stronger. Swallow surmised that the servants had gathered in the kitchen to talk or perhaps play cards at the end of the day. Occasional shadows flickered across the railings outside the house as figures moved about downstairs.

He checked his pocket-watch. It showed 11 o'clock. He had made up his mind to abandon his surveillance and to set out for Thomas Street and Maria Walsh's when he saw a closed brougham carriage draw into the square from the direction of Merrion Street. Two oil lamps flared on the sides, so Swallow could see that the blinds of the vehicle were fully down.

At the same moment he became aware that two men had joined him in the shadows. So silent had been their arrival – one on either side of him – that he felt rather than heard their presence. The carriage drew to a halt directly in front of where he stood, obscuring his view of the Fitzpatrick house. In spite of the warmth of the night, the driver's face was covered with a dark muffler.

His instinctive sense of danger urged Swallow to find his revolver in its shoulder-holster. The more rational part of his brain told him that it would be too slow.

‘Our chief wants to have a word with you, Mr Swallow.'

The accent was English. London. The tone was firm, just short of threatening. Swallow could scarcely make out the men's features in the gloom. They might have been twins, wearing similar dark suits and smart Derby hats. He had the impression of men younger than himself, well-built and lithe.

‘I'm a detective sergeant of the G Division on duty,' he answered curtly. ‘Maybe I don't want to have a word with him.'

‘We don't need any unpleasantness, Mr Swallow, now do we?' The second man's accent was identical to the first. ‘We know who you are. This is official business. Please step over.'

The door of the carriage opened, and a shaft of light spilled from its interior onto the street. One of the men moved forward and dropped the metal step. In the light, Swallow could see the bulk of a heavy revolver under his jacket. At the same moment, another smaller carriage drew in behind the brougham.

‘Please, Mr Swallow, now.' The second man's tone was imperative. Swallow was not being given a choice. He knew that he had made the correct judgment in not attempting to draw his gun. These were not men on a casual errand. He stepped forward to the carriage and climbed in.

The interior was illuminated by two lamps that gleamed across dark leather upholstery and heavy brocade that curtained the windows. The air in the carriage was heavy with oil fumes.

The sole occupant was a man of about Swallow's age, fair-haired with a trimmed moustache and beard, tall and dressed fashionably in a light-coloured suit. He sat well back in the leather upholstery, his hands joined across the top of an ebony cane. His mouth formed a smile, but as he sat opposite Swallow thought that the blue eyes made the moonlight seem warm.

‘Detective Sergeant Swallow, it's a pleasure to meet you. I know of your reputation.'

The accent was vestigially Irish but overlaid with an English inflexion. Swallow thought there was a hint of the north, maybe Belfast or County Antrim, in it.

‘Then you have the advantage of me. I don't know you, Sir.' Swallow was peremptory.

‘Indeed, you do not, Mr Swallow. For the purposes of our conversation you may call me Kelly – Major Kelly. You could say that I am an associate of Mr Smith Berry, whom I think you met recently at Dublin Castle. Now, I believe at this hour of the evening you would normally be on your way towards Thomas Street and to Mrs Walsh's licensed premises. Why don't you allow me to drive you there and we can talk as we travel.'

Without waiting for any response from Swallow, he tapped on the roof of the cab with his cane. The vehicle began to move forward.

Swallow sought to conceal his surprise with as much nonchalance as he could summon. He leaned back into the leather upholstery.

‘So, Major Kelly, you obviously know a little about me. What about yourself? What exactly is it that you're a major of?'

‘Ah, you don't waste time getting to the point, Mr Swallow. Let me put it this way. Like you, I represent the civil authorities, but at a different level. Should I suggest … a higher level of authority?'

Swallow nodded thoughtfully.

‘I know a good bit about the civil authorities, Major Kelly. But I never heard of you.'

‘Indeed, that is as it should be, Mr Swallow. My work isn't done in the public eye. My duties are of a, well, more clandestine nature.'

The carriage tilted slightly as it rounded the junction of Merrion Square and Clare Street. The curtain shifted for a moment and Swallow could see that the second vehicle had fallen into line behind the brougham. Kelly waved a hand.

‘As you'll have guessed, those are my escort, Mr Swallow. I would ask you to ignore them. They're an unfortunate necessity in my line of work.' He leaned forward in his seat and stared hard into Swallow's eyes.

‘Mr Swallow, I want to give you some information and I want to explain certain facts to you. This will be a relatively short journey so it will be very much in your better interests if you listen carefully to me and do as I say.'

Swallow stared back. He had developed his own technique over many years of detective work. Now his eyes bored back into Kelly's.

‘Major Kelly, I'm a sworn police officer and a detective sergeant of the G Division. I take orders in regard to what I do from nobody except for my proper superiors.'

Kelly grimaced in what passed for a smile.

‘Very right too, Mr Swallow. I like that kind of loyalty. And I like a clear understanding of command and obedience. Nonetheless, you will hear what I have to say.'

‘As long as you understand my position in what I have told you,' Swallow said firmly.

‘Mr Swallow, initially you were the officer investigating the death of a young woman by the name of Sarah Hannin whose body was taken from the Grand Canal some days ago.'

‘You have time to read the newspapers then, Major Kelly? You must have a soft job.'

Kelly ignored the provocation.

‘Yesterday you were advised by your superiors that the death of Miss Hannin is to be investigated not by the G Division but by special CID operating directly under the control of the Assistant Under-Secretary for Security, were you not?'

Swallow shrugged. ‘I won't discuss my superiors' instructions with you. Detective duties are confidential.'

‘Yet you have persisted in these inquiries. Certain evidence, a lady's bag I believe, was recovered by the police at College Street and delivered to you in error at Exchange Court. You did not forward it, as you should have, to the Security Secretary's office. You have challenged your inspector's authority. And I gather that you went so far as to threaten Alderman Fitzpatrick that if you were not given access to his house, you would have a warrant for his arrest too.'

‘You must consider yourself very well informed, Sir,' Swallow rejoined coolly.

Kelly laid the ebony cane across his knees. ‘I do, Mr Swallow. I do indeed.'

He raised his voice. ‘I'm damned well informed. I know that you're trying to maintain what was once perhaps a reasonable reputation as a detective officer. But you won't do it against the orders of your superiors or where you're compromising the safety of the realm. Do you understand me?'

He dropped his voice again.

‘The death of this girl is regrettable. It was a brutal and criminal act. Nobody can be other than saddened by it. My colleagues of the special CID at the Assistant Under-Secretary's office have several lines of inquiry. The culprit or culprits will be identified and will be brought to justice. But you, Mr Swallow, will do what you have been ordered. You will have nothing to do with the case. Do I make myself clear?'

Swallow affected a yawn.

‘Major Kelly, I don't know who you are. I don't know what authority you claim to have. I'm sure that you think you have very good reasons to interfere in the course of justice. But I am an officer of the Metropolitan Police, bound by oath to preserve the Queen's peace and to prevent and detect crime. I know that Sarah Hannin was murdered, possibly in the Fitzpatrick house, and I know that there's no investigation worth talking about into that murder. I also know that Alderman Fitzpatrick is being shielded by powerful people – probably including yourself – because you need him to perform in some sort of a political pantomime next week.'

He parted the curtain to ascertain where they were. He could see the curtilage wall of Christ Church Cathedral.

‘Now, Major Kelly or whatever you are, I can see that I'm almost at my destination. I'll thank you to stop your carriage so I can walk the rest of the way.'

Kelly was silent for a moment.

‘Sergeant Swallow, I'd very much prefer you to take my advice,' he said icily. ‘Let me put what may be a persuasive line of argument to you. Two vacancies arise within the next 12 months, as I understand it, for promotion within the G Division to the rank of detective inspector. I believe I can tell you that obedience and political discretion will be paramount in the allocation of those promotions. If you can display those qualities, I can tell you now that the rank is yours. Fail to do so and you will be lucky, I promise you, to hold any rank at all in the Metropolitan Police.'

He rapped with the ebony cane on the roof of the carriage, bringing it to an abrupt halt. The door on Swallow's side swung open. Kelly gave a wintry smile.

‘I'm sorry that our meeting should have taken place under somewhat tense circumstances, Mr Swallow. As I said earlier, I know of your reputation, notwithstanding that much of it is grounded in successes of quite some time ago. Will you consider what I have said about your promotional prospects?'

Swallow glared at him. ‘To hell with you and your promotional prospects. I couldn't give a damn about promotion.'

Kelly nodded with affected sadness.

‘I've heard that said too, Mr Swallow. I regret it, although I'm not sure it's as true as you would have people believe. But let me tell you two things further. One, if your plan is to retire and go into the licensed trade here with your close friend, Mrs Walsh,' he pointed in the direction of Thomas Street, ‘don't count on it.'

He stroked his trim beard, affecting an air of thoughtfulness.

‘You know, Mrs Walsh's licence could be revoked if any irregularities were found in the running of the business. Suppose, for example, it was found that she was employing a member of the police to help her operate the establishment. She could even be prosecuted and end up in jail. Not a pleasant place for a lady, you know, up there in Kilmainham or in Mountjoy.

‘Two, your dear sister will shortly qualify as a teacher. Any teaching post has to be approved by the education authorities and, as you doubtless know, the Chief Secretary has control over them. It wouldn't be difficult to find reasons to block any appointment that might go to someone whose connections were considered to be, shall we say, inimical to the Crown.'

Swallow's anger rose. He leaned forward from the leather seat until his face was just inches from Kelly's.

‘Now you hear me, so-called Major so-called Kelly. You and I have jobs to do. I have mine and I do it well. You have yours, whatever it may be and however despicable it may be. Sometimes we may have to come into contact and we may have to deal with each other, though I hope it's as infrequently as possible. But if you try to drag my sister Harriet or Maria Walsh into this, or threaten harm to either of them in any way, I swear to God I won't be responsible for what I do to you and your associates. Do I make myself clear?'

Kelly's bland face registered no reaction.

‘I don't think you're in a position to make any threats to me, Mr Swallow. Now, good night to you, I hope very sincerely that it won't be necessary for us to meet again.'

He waited until Swallow had stepped down from the carriage. One of the escort party was waiting on the street to close the door after he had dismounted. Swallow stood on the pavement and watched the vehicles as they turned across the street to start back towards the city centre.

The lights were burning in Grant's, and through the half-frosted glass he could see Maria moving purposefully among the customers by the long, mahogany counter. He needed a drink and he needed company. He walked into the bar out of the threatening night.

Thursday June 23rd, 1887

TWENTY-NINE

When Swallow arrived at Exchange Court shortly after 8 o'clock the next morning, the roster sheet showed him detailed as duty sergeant. It was a calculated affront by Duck Boyle; an unspoken charge that since he was not making progress on the murders he could do something useful by manning the desk.

Apart from a couple of men detailed to watch the remnants of the Downes gang in their extended grieving, virtually the full available strength of G Division was once again allocated to security duties.

Swallow found Boyle in the parade room.

‘I've got a crime conference on the Chapelizod Gate murders at 9 o'clock.'

‘I'm sure ye have,' Boyle retorted. ‘An' I'm sure it'll be just as productive as t'others you've been holdin' all week. Take yer conference and get it done with as quickly as ye can. Then yer on desk work here until the afternoon shift comes on.'