A June of Ordinary Murders (49 page)

Mossop nodded towards the narrow strip of ground that ran to the coach house. ‘If McDaniel is telling the truth about the dead baby it's over there somewhere. And God knows what else there might be. There'll be a fair bit of digging by the time we're finished.'

They resumed their seats at the pine table with McDaniel.

‘What you've given us so far is background,' Swallow said. ‘We still need to know what transpired here between Louise Thomas and Sarah Hannin. Did anything happen that could explain Sarah's murder?'

‘I've told you. Nobody here harmed Sarah. And nobody here harmed Louise and the boy. I swear it.'

Mossop was exasperated

‘How can you be sure one of the servants didn't kill Sarah Hannin for some reason? Or Mr Fitzpatrick himself might have done it for all you know. Or was there a man keeping company with her, for example?'

McDaniel looked beseechingly at Swallow.

‘I told you there wasn't to be any holding back on me,' Swallow said sharply. ‘If you want me to keep my side of the bargain you'll need to do better than just repeating yourself and telling us you know nothing.'

Perspiration broke out again on McDaniel's forehead.

‘I can't tell you wha' I don't know. But I know that nobody from this house had anythin' to do with wha' happened at the Chapelizod Gate.'

He paused to wipe the rivulets from his forehead.

‘I know that because I saw … Louise Thomas … and the boy dead in the park before they were found.'

Swallow felt as if something hard had hit him in the chest. Mossop's mouth opened in shock. The only sound in the airless room was McDaniel's breathing.

‘Would you repeat that please?' Swallow said eventually.

‘I've told you, I was at the Chapelizod Gate on Thursday night and I saw them dead.'

‘Why were you at the Chapelizod Gate on Thursday night?' Swallow asked quietly.

‘Mr Fitzpatrick told me Louise and the boy were in Dublin and he wanted me to take the clarence to the Chapelizod Gate to collect them.'

McDaniel licked at dry lips. Mossop poured more water into his tumbler. He drank quickly.

‘I can still handle a carriage. I was to bring them to a hotel on Rutland Square. He was goin' to see them there. I was told they'd be at the Chapelizod Gate at 9 o'clock. When the clarence was ready, I drove up there and I waited on the grass just inside the gate.

‘When they hadn't appeared by around 10 o'clock or so, I had to go to answer a call of nature in the trees. Then I saw the two bodies … lyin' there. I thought they were sleepin' or somethin' and then I went over and saw the blood. I didn't realise who they were because … you know … she was wearin' men's clothes. But then I knew it had to be Louise and the boy.'

‘So, what did you do?' Mossop asked. ‘Why did you not call the police?'

McDaniel jerked his head.

‘For God's sake, how could I? I'd be done for. I drove as fast as I could to the hotel at Rutland Square and I saw Mr Fitzpatrick. He didn't believe me. He was in shock himself. I didn't blame him because I was in a terrible state. When I told him what had happened and when he realised I hadn't gone mad or somethin' we came straight back to the house here.'

‘So why didn't Mr Fitzpatrick notify the police at that stage?' Swallow asked.

‘He was out of his mind wi' upset. It was his daughter, even though he had kept his distance from her. And the boy was his grandson. But if he got involved, if he'd admitted to knowin' anything, it would all have come out into the open, about Cecilia, the children, the dead child in the house here, all of that. He said we'd have to let things take their course.'

‘A bloody cold decision in all the circumstances,' Mossop said. ‘For Jesus's sake, this was his own flesh and blood. Didn't he want to know who had done this, or why?'

McDaniel shrugged. ‘That's not for me to say.'

‘What happened? Who killed them?' Swallow interjected. ‘Who does Mr Fitzpatrick think killed them? Surely to God there'd be no other question in his mind, or in yours.'

McDaniel stammered. ‘I … think you'd n … need to ask him what he believes.'

‘Unfortunately he's not here,' Swallow said angrily. ‘At least he's not here yet. But you are. And you're supposed to be answering my questions. Now if you don't do that our deal is off and you're going back to York.'

‘I'm tellin' you what I know,' McDaniel pleaded. ‘Mr Fitzpatrick knows more. I don't want to say anythin' to you that I can't stand over. There isn't any point in my tellin' you what I don't know, is there? I'm no' goin' back on what I promised.'

Swallow decided to change tack. ‘Now that you've told us about Louise and the boy, don't you think you should tell us what you know about the death of Sarah Hannin?'

‘I know nothin' about what happened to her. I saw her here on Sunday evening and that was all. She went out just the same as she often did.'

‘For the love of God, come on McDaniel,' Mossop raised his voice. ‘Louise and her son are murdered at the Chapelizod Gate and 48 hours later her friend Sarah is found dead in the canal. Are you seriously saying these are unconnected, random events?'

‘I don't know, I tell you.' McDaniel's voice was pleading again. ‘I've asked Mr Fitzpatrick about it and he doesn't understand it either. I swear I don't know anythin' beyond what I've told you.'

‘So you talked about it with Mr Fitzpatrick?' Mossop shot back.

‘Of course I talked abou' it. Every one of the servants here is upset and terrified. But Mr Fitzpatrick doesn't want to hear about it. He has public duties to perform and he doesn't want anythin' to cut across those duties. He told me that he'd given all the help he could to the people at Dublin Castle and that they were doin' what they could to get to the bottom of it.'

‘I need to talk privately to Detective Mossop again,' Swallow said.

They withdrew to the outer kitchen.

‘What do you think?' Swallow asked once they were out of earshot. ‘Did he just come on the scene as he says, or was he involved in the killings?'

‘I'm not sure, Boss,' Mossop answered. ‘But he's in terror that we'll send him back to the army. He knows we can do that. In a way I'm inclined to believe him.'

‘I think so too, but at very least he's a significant witness and he's keeping information back. He's pointing us to Fitzpatrick, but he won't tell us what Fitzpatrick knows. The next step has to be to hold Fitzpatrick for questioning when he arrives home.'

Mossop shrugged. ‘Jesus, that'd be putting our heads into the tiger's jaws, wouldn't it? If we grab Fitzpatrick, the Upper Yard will see it as a declaration of war.'

He forced a grin. ‘But you're the boss. Give the order and I'll follow where you go, within reason of course.'

‘Then let's get McDaniel across to Exchange Court and we'll wait for Fitzpatrick. The regatta ends at 6 o'clock.'

‘I'll have a couple of Doolan's men take McDaniel to the Castle,' Mossop said. ‘But if we're not handing him over to the military do we have a charge to hold him on?'

‘We said we'd keep the Provost Marshal out of it if he was fully honest with us,' Swallow said coldly. ‘He hasn't done that. So I don't feel any obligation.'

Mossop looked taken aback.

‘He's given us a lot, Boss. You can understand if he doesn't want to drop his employer in the manure heap, betray him, as he'd see it?'

Swallow shook his head sadly.

‘Jesus, but you're very soft, Pat. Lock him up on a charge of obstruction then. And when we're done with this business you can let the old bastard go.'

FORTY-TWO

The draining heat of the warmest day in Dublin's records was starting to abate when Alderman Thomas Fitzpatrick returned home.

Swallow and Mossop had waited for more than three hours after they finished questioning McDaniel. Swallow had spent some of the time admiring the paintings, fine furniture and
objects d'art
that filled the reception rooms of the house.

In the library he found a variety of fine paintings: two Osbornes; a small Vermeer; an early Constable landscape and any number of lesser products of the English, French and Irish schools.

The drawing room was dominated by portraits in baroque, gilt frames. An engraved plate at the foot of one told Swallow that it depicted Thomas Fitzpatrick Senior and his wife. In the sharp eyes, strong jawline and heavy build, Swallow recognised the resemblances between father and son.

Rich carpets ran from wall to wall. Four classical busts, emperors or gods that he could not identify, stood one in each corner. In the dining room, a pair of Jacobean sideboards displayed an array of fine English and French china. The house bespoke the wealth that the Fitzpatrick family had accumulated over generations.

Hunger drove Mossop downstairs to the kitchen. He procured two plates of bread and cold beef along with two mugs of milk. They were glad of their sustenance as the hours ticked by.

Later, they positioned themselves in the morning room so that although they were in shadow they had a clear view of the street below.

Shortly after 7 o'clock Fitzpatrick's clarence came up the square, a police side-car with his plain-clothes escort perhaps 20 yards behind. Fitzpatrick dismounted and started up the steps. The escort driver momentarily reined in his horses to see his charge reach the safety of his house.

Swallow and Mossop heard the heavy door swing open and then bang shut. The escort car moved off and disappeared out of view.

They heard Fitzpatrick's voice from the hallway. ‘McDonald, where are you, man?'

Swallow opened the morning room door and stepped into the hall. Mossop was a pace behind.

Fitzpatrick's face was flushed from a combination of alcohol, the sea air and the strong sun of the day. His eyes registered puzzlement and then anger at the sight of the two G-men emerging from his morning room.

‘What the hell are you doing here? How dare you … how dare you enter my house … Sergeant…?' He sought to recall Swallow's name and failed.

Swallow took Lafeyre's warrant from his pocket and held it out.

‘It's Detective Sergeant Swallow, Sir. I have a warrant signed by a Justice of the Peace giving me authority to search this house and to detain and question any persons I find here in connection with my investigations into the deaths of Sarah Hannin, Louise Thomas and her son, Richard.'

Fitzpatrick sobered instantly. He scrutinised the warrant in Swallow's hand.

‘I don't recognise the signature on this … thing. I don't know who signed it. You might have signed it yourself for all I know. I don't have to talk to you … That damned paper isn't even legal. Now … get out of my house this instant!'

He shouted towards the stairway. ‘McDonald! Wherever the hell you are, get out here at once!'

‘I'm sorry to tell you that you're wrong, Sir,' Swallow said with exaggerated formality. ‘The warrant is legal and I'm authorised to enforce it. And Mr McDonald – or should I say Corporal McDaniel – is not here. He has been helping us with our inquiries and is now lodged in Dublin Castle.'

Swallow's articulation of McDaniel's name did not appear at first to register with Fitzpatrick.

‘I won't waste my time talking further with you here, Sergeant. I'm calling my coachman and I'm driving to the residence of the Assistant Under-Secretary. I was with him not half an hour ago. I'll have you dismissed from the police – and your colleague too.' He snorted angrily towards Mossop.

‘Your coachman will have been held as a possible witness by police officers at the back of the house, Mr Fitzpatrick,' Swallow said evenly. ‘I think it might be wiser if you were to agree to talk to me willingly.'

He gestured to the room. ‘Maybe if we can take a seat somewhere it would be best. There are a great many questions arising from our interview with Corporal McDaniel … questions concerning the deaths of your daughter and your grandson.'

This time Swallow's words penetrated. Apprehension flickered in Fitzpatrick's eyes. Then, without a word, he led the way into the morning room.

He took an armchair by the mantlepiece. Swallow took the facing chair. The room was warm with the retained heat of the day.

‘Mr Fitzpatrick, I know that the woman murdered at Chapelizod Gate in the Phoenix Park on Thursday evening or Friday morning of last week was Louise Thomas. I know that she was your daughter and that the boy found with her was your grandson.'

He paused. ‘I imagine that you're suffering the grief that any father or grandfather would suffer at a time like this. I'm sorry for your loss.'

Fitzpatrick shifted in the chair. Swallow saw perspiration glistening along his collar and on the backs of his hands.

‘I'm thankful … to you … for your sympathy,' he said flatly.

‘Will you tell us what you know about the circumstances of their deaths, please?' Swallow said.

After a few moments, Fitzpatrick placed his hands palms downward on his knees as if to steady himself.

‘I don't know if you or anybody else could understand … the grief that I have had to deal with for a very long time. There is a lot that you don't know.'

Swallow shook his head.

‘That's not altogether true. I know why and how Sarah Hannin came to work in this house, I know about your relationship with the late Cecilia Downes, about your children and about the infant that's buried just a few yards away from where we're sitting now.'

He paused. ‘And I also believe that I know – as you know – the identity of the person who killed your daughter and your grandson.'

Fitzpatrick sighed. Swallow could not estimate if it indicated relief, sorrow or both.