Long Time Coming (26 page)

‘What I’m about to say mustn’t go any further, Cygnet. I’m deadly serious. These are state secrets. I’m breaking the Official Secrets Act just by discussing them with you. But if we’re to stop Henchy making trouble, I can’t very well keep you in the dark about the sort of trouble that might be. I must have your assurance you won’t breathe a word of this to anyone else.’

‘You are going to tell me the truth this time, aren’t you, Linley?’

Linley cast him a rueful sidelong glance. ‘I appear to have no alternative.’

‘Then you can rest assured I’ll keep it to myself.’

‘Good.’

Linley warmed up for his explanation with a swig from a hip flask, which he then offered to Swan. The taste of fine cognac came as a pleasant surprise, though perhaps it should not have. Linley had never been one to stint himself.

‘This is how it is. De Valéra knows that if Germany overruns England, as he believes they will, Éire, neutral or not, won’t be far behind. So, he’s planning ahead, considering what kind of accommodation he can come to with Hitler. Is he to be a Pétain or a de Gaulle or something in between? And can he somehow achieve Irish unification in exchange for an acceptance of German over-lordship? We think this so-called spy the Germans parachuted in, Heider, may be more in the way of a negotiator, you see, proposing a deal acceptable to both Dev and his former friends in the IRA.
The failure of the police to capture Heider in that recent house raid had a put-up look about it to us, as if they didn’t really want to catch him at all. The pressing question is: what does Heider have to offer? Guarantees of Irish unity and autonomy in exchange for opening a back door for a German invasion of England? It’s possible. And it’s very worrying. You don’t need me to tell you how narrow the thread is the old country’s hanging by at the moment. It could be all up for us if Dev strikes terms with Berlin.

‘What does this have to do with thirty-one Merrion Street? Well, it’s quite simple, really. The flat overlooks the entrance to Government Buildings, where Dev has his office. It enables us to monitor all comings and goings. It means we know who calls on him and for how long. The identity of those visitors and the duration of their visits may provide clues to his intentions. Early warning is what London requires above all else. It may become necessary to launch a pre-emptive invasion of Éire from the North if it appears Dev is willing and likely to stab us in the back. I was charged with finding a suitable spot from which to carry out such surveillance. Henchy’s flat was one of several that fitted the bill. Enquiries suggested he’d be the tenant most easily induced to move out – an impecunious solitary with no visible means of support; someone unlikely to cause us any problems.’

‘You got that rather dramatically wrong.’

Linley sighed heavily. ‘So it appears.’ They had turned the corner now and were traversing the southern side of the Green. ‘Anyway, winkling Henchy out of the flat was one thing. I was also required to arrange a tenancy that couldn’t be traced to the British Legation. I needn’t spell out for you how disastrous it would be if the Irish found out what we’re doing. I was still wrestling with how to accomplish that when I heard you’d been picked up by Special Branch.’

‘And you calculated you could turn my gratitude for being bailed out to your advantage?’

‘It’s not as bad as you make it sound. I was doing my patriotic duty. I just didn’t tell you that you were doing yours.’

Patriotic duty. It was an argument Swan could not easily defeat.
If the situation was as critical as Linley had described, it was impossible to condemn him for what he had done. ‘You might have levelled with me,’ Swan nevertheless complained. ‘I’d hardly have refused to help out with so much riding on it.’

‘For God’s sake, Cygnet, it was a top-secret assignment. I had no authorization to let someone like you in on it.’

‘What do you mean – someone like me?’

‘A civilian who’d come over from England to visit an IRA internee. A man Irish Special Branch are highly suspicious of. Frankly, you’re the last person we’d want to involve.’

‘But you
are
involving me.’

‘Because I have to. If Henchy’s found out what we’re up to and reports it to the authorities, our goose is cooked. He has to be stopped.’

‘Pay him, then.’

‘And then what? Blackmailers always come back for more. No. It’s not as simple as stuffing Henchy’s mouth with gold, I’m afraid.’

‘I doubt he would come back for more. This is all about his daughter, actually.’

‘What daughter?’

‘She lives with her mother in Cork. He showed me her photograph. He’s quite sentimental about her and wants to see she has a good education.’

‘My heart bleeds.’ Linley pulled up and rounded on Swan. Now he was the one, it seemed, who was suppressing anger. ‘Listen to me, Cygnet. This is not some kind of operetta. This is the survival of our country. Henchy and his daughter in Cork can go to blazes for all I care. When MacDonald came over last week he as good as offered Dev the North on a plate if Dev would only bring Éire into the war. We’re that desperate.’

‘How does Craigavon feel about that?’ It struck Swan as inconceivable, in point of fact, that Northern Ireland’s notoriously intransigent Prime Minister should have consented to such a proposal. And he was right.

‘Craigavon doesn’t know anything about it. If he did, he’d be
spitting blood. You see? There are people far more important than you we haven’t … levelled with.’

‘How did de Valéra respond when MacDonald offered him what he’s always wanted?’

‘He said he’d think about it. And he’s still thinking. A great deal hinges on the eventual answer. Which way will he jump? The surveillance operation may give us a clue. Hence its vital importance.’

‘All right, all right. You’ve made your point. I can see you had little alternative but to string me along.’

‘So, my apology’s been accepted, has it?’

‘Yes. Of course.’ They shook hands then, like the two English gentlemen they wished to be thought, and walked on round the Green.

‘When did Henchy say he’d contact you?’ Linley asked.

‘Seven o’clock tomorrow evening.’

‘Very well. I’ll alert my boss tonight. He’ll confer with
his
bosses in London tomorrow. You and I had better meet at six so that I can tell you what to say to Henchy.’ He fell silent for a moment, then said musingly, ‘A thousand pounds. Well, well, well. The fellow has more nerve than I gave him credit for. It’s a dismal insight into human nature, even so. If he was a loyal Irishman, he’d have gone straight to the authorities. Instead, he seizes an opportunity to enrich himself.’

Now hardly seemed the moment to mention the share Swan had been promised of Henchy’s pay-off. Instead he asked mildly, ‘Do you intend to ask me to deliver the money to Henchy?’

‘If we decide to pay up, yes. You’re not going to object, are you?’

‘No, no. As you say, we all have to do our bit. And Henchy’s insistent on dealing only with me. But what about Moynihan’s mob? It could get sticky if they were on my tail when I meet him.’

‘I’ve seen no sign of them this evening.’

‘Nor me. They seem to have laid off today.’ That was only partly true. In fact, Swan had gone to some lengths to lose the fellow he had believed to be following him earlier by a hazardous last-minute race for a train leaving Westland Row station. He had got off at the
next stop and walked from there to the Quilligan house. Naturally, he had no intention of recounting any of that to Linley. ‘I fear they won’t lay off for good, though.’

‘There are various reliable techniques for shedding unwanted company in emergencies. I’ll run over some of them if you like.’

‘I think you’d better.’

Linley laughed for the first time that evening. ‘We’re making quite the undercover operative of you, aren’t we, Cygnet?’

‘Apparently so.’

‘It’s on my conscience that I’ve placed you in an invidious position. It had to be done, but I don’t want you to think I did it without a qualm. As the new tenant at thirty-one Merrion Street, you’d find yourself in hot water with the authorities if they discovered what the flat was being used for. We’d have a full-scale diplomatic incident on our hands, but you’d certainly have grave difficulties of your own. Deportation would be the least of it, I should say.’

‘That thought had already occurred to me.’

‘I’m relieved to hear it.’ Linley shot Swan a knowing grin. ‘For a moment, I was beginning to believe you were doing all this just for King and country.’

The picture-postcard charms of Bruges were nowhere apparent at the Palace of Justice. Rachel and I were driven there in separate cars, our last words exchanged before we knew it in our room at the Hesperis. I was left in a windowless holding cell while they questioned Rachel. Shock and confusion were no friends to clear thinking. I knew what they’d said had happened and how bad it looked for us, but how much I should reveal when my turn came I couldn’t decide, not least because I had no way of knowing what Rachel had already revealed.

I assumed they’d brought in Cardale as well, though I hadn’t seen him as we were bustled out of the hotel. As for Eldritch, had Rachel mentioned him? Did he even know where we were? There again, I was clueless. In the end, all I could trust was my own instinct. Rachel would tell them the truth, but not quite the whole truth. She’d leave Eldritch out of it. And since Cardale didn’t know the old man had travelled to Ostend in the first place, he’d be in the clear – to help us as best he could, or was willing to. Thirty-six years in prison had doubtless left him with a well-founded dread of the police. Whatever he did for us he’d do at arm’s length.

Sir Miles Linley had arranged Ardal Quilligan’s murder. I didn’t have a doubt of that, dismissive though I’d been earlier of Eldritch’s claim that he was behind the break-ins. The choice of murder weapon clinched it, designed as it was to frame Rachel. The proof Quilligan had brought with him that his brother had
forged the Picassos was gone now. That too I didn’t doubt. And without it, all we could aim for was our own exoneration. Victory of the sort that had briefly been within reach was now unattainable.

But there had to be more driving Linley than fear of being caught up in a costly lawsuit. Murder – of his own brother-in-law – was too extreme a response. That more would explain everything, I felt certain. But what it might be Eldritch had kept to himself and the Belgian police weren’t going to be fobbed off with vague accusations. They’d need evidence. And the only evidence they had so far suggested Rachel Banner had killed Ardal Quilligan – with or without my assistance.

The interview room featured utilitarian furniture, blank grey walls and a barred window through which the medieval spires and belfries of Bruges could be distantly glimpsed. Leysen had handed over to a predatorily tall, stooped, grey-bearded man who introduced himself as Herman Bequaert,
onderzoeksrechter
– judge of investigation – for our cases, as he explained in fluent English. He was accompanied by a clerk and a uniformed officer was also in attendance, presumably in case I cut up rough. The truth was, though, that I felt as weak as a kitten. My hands were shaking, my heart palpitating. Two hours of solitude – as the clock on the wall revealed it had been – had left me with little grasp of anything except the seriousness of the situation. I wondered how close Rachel actually was to me within the starkly functional architecture of the building. I wished I could see her, or speak to her. I wished we could explain
together
how this had come about. But they wouldn’t allow that, I knew. We’d be kept rigorously apart, so that our separate accounts could be compared and contrasted.

I stumbled out a request to be allowed a phone call to a lawyer, ignorant though I was of whether I had any such right in Belgian law. Bequaert surprised me by the affability of his response. Would I choose the same one as Rachel – Oudermans of Antwerp? Yes, of course. Who else was there to turn to? Well, Oudermans had been contacted. Someone was on their way. But Bruges was a
ninety-kilometre drive from Antwerp. Besides, he explained, our legal representative wasn’t entitled to sit in on the interviews. So …

‘How do you know the firm of Oudermans, Mr Swan?’ Instantly, I was on treacherous ground. How had Rachel answered that question? I said she’d mentioned them in some context I couldn’t recall. ‘Were you and Miss Banner together the whole time you were in Ostend?’ This was my chance to distance myself from her, I realized: to assert that there’d been an opportunity for her to go down to the car park on her own and kill Quilligan. It wasn’t a chance I had any intention of taking.

But Bequaert didn’t drop the subject. ‘Mr Cardale says you visited him in his room last evening and Miss Banner wasn’t with you.’ Well, that was undeniable. But I’d only been there a few minutes. Still, it disproved my claim that Rachel and I hadn’t parted, even briefly. Already, the interview was going badly.

The break-in in London during which the murder weapon had supposedly been stolen: naturally, we’d reported it to the police, hadn’t we? No, we hadn’t. And would Rachel’s flatmate be able to confirm such a break-in had actually taken place? No, she wouldn’t. Bequaert looked at me wearily. I knew what he was thinking. Was this the best I could do? Did I seriously think this was good enough? No, I didn’t. But at least I didn’t have to say as much.

We came to the forgery story. That, his expression implied, was all it was: a
story
. The only luggage in Quilligan’s car was an overnight bag. It contained nothing remotely relevant. ‘Of course not,’ I said. ‘They stole it after killing him.’

‘And
they
are?’ enquired Bequaert. I didn’t hold back, any more than I guessed Rachel had. Linley, Linley, Linley. It was all down to him. ‘Sir Miles Linley,’ Bequaert carefully specified. ‘Retired diplomat. A man with … an impeccable reputation. Ardal Quilligan’s brother-in-law. He is the murderer? And the burglar?’

‘Not exactly. He must have … hired people to steal the knife and kill Quilligan.’ It sounded hollow even to me.