The Blood Upon the Rose (30 page)

‘Dick! Good to see you, my boy! Have a chair, have a chair. Have you got much time?’

‘An hour or so.’

‘Good. That’s great. We should be through by then.’ He sat down, and looked at Davis intently. As always, Davis felt overawed by the sheer energy and ebullience of the man; but at the same time vastly reassured, to feel that the affairs of the revolution were in such hugely capable hands.

‘You look worried, Dick.’ Collins grinned. ‘Is the crime wave wearing you down?’

‘Hardly. The police are becoming very efficient these past days. You saw that in Brendan Road, didn't you?’

Collins frowned. ‘I know. Because of your new boss, Radford. I’ve read the reports you send us. The man’s too damned efficient for his own good.’ He paused. Davis met Daly’s eyes and knew what was coming. Collins said: ‘We’re going to get rid of him.’

‘How?’ Davis felt a surge of excitement, almost sexual in its intensity. It was for this, as much as for his political beliefs, that he did this work. The sense of power that enabled him to look at his colleagues, and know almost for certain that this day would be their last on earth. And that he, Dick Davis, had a hand in it.

‘That’s what we need you for,’ said Collins. ‘Where does the man live?’

‘In the Standard Hotel, in Harcourt Street. I think he’s going to move into the Castle soon, but they haven’t found him a room yet. Everyone wants one.’

‘We’ll save them the trouble. What time does he usually go to the hotel?’

‘It varies. Six, seven in the evening, maybe, for dinner. He’s not that regular.’

‘Do you go with him?’

‘Sometimes. More often he goes with his friend, Kee.’

‘I don't want Kee yet,’ Collins said. ‘With luck he’ll go back to Belfast when his master’s dead. But our problem is, we’re not absolutely sure what Radford looks like. The last thing I want is to shoot the wrong man.’

Davis began to describe him, but Daly interrupted.

‘That’s no good. You can never be sure from what someone says. Look, we want you to point him out to us. Sometime tomorrow if you can. Where are you likely to be with him?’

Davis thought. ‘In HQ in Brunswick Street, I suppose.’

‘All right.’ Daly nodded. ‘Well, at some time during the day, I want you to come out of the front door with him. We’ll be watching it. If you come out together with Radford, do something - take your hat off, fiddle around with the lining or something. If you’re with anyone else, keep your hat on.’

Davis considered the idea. ‘Are you going to shoot him there and then? I'd have to try and defend him, you know.’

Daly shook his head. ‘No, no. We just want to get a good look at him, so we don’t make a mistake later.’

‘All right.’ It didn’t sound too good to Davis, but he couldn’t think of anything else. ‘There’s one other thing you ought to know,’ he said.

‘What's that?’

‘He wears body armour. Some kind of bullet-proof vest. I’ve seen him put it on. It makes him look stouter than he is.’

Daly smiled. ‘He’s worried already, then. We’ll get him, Dick, don’t you worry.’

Collins stood up. ‘We could go out and have a pint together, Dick, but I don’t think it would do your reputation any good.’

‘To be seen with you? No.’ Davis left. As he walked along the street outside he took off his hat and looked at it curiously. One touch of this, and I sign a man's death warrant, he thought.

The sense of power coursed through him. Then, unbidden, the voice of his old school chaplain came into his mind, saying:
‘And Judas Iscariot betrayed our Lord with a kiss.’

Davis cursed, jammed the hat back on his head, and put the thought resolutely out of his mind. That was nothing like it, quite different entirely. That was religion, this was a matter of real life, politics, freeing the nation from oppression.

He strode on briskly down the street, until he came to a pub called Rafferty's, near the tram stop for his journey home. He went inside, bought a large double gin, and drank Michael Collins’ health, all alone at the bar.

Sean awoke, sweating. For a moment he was disoriented. The clean, white walls, flowery chintz curtains, the crucifix at the foot of the bed, the painting of the Sacred Heart - where was he? There were people moving around downstairs, talking quietly, laughing. No shouts or brawls or stench; in fact, a tempting smell of frying bacon drifted in. Then one of the voices spoke more clearly - a woman's voice - and he remembered. He was in Mrs O’Hagan’s, the new lodging house Paddy Daly had found for him.

He got out of bed, stripped, and washed from the ewer and basin on the table in the corner. The water was ice-cold, and goose pimples rose along his skin. But he persisted, splashing himself all over with the flannel, trying to raise a lather with the small cake of soap, until his skin was red raw and his teeth were chattering uncontrollably. Still he went on, rinsing the soap off, dunking his head in the basin, even putting his feet in it one at a time to clean them. Every part of him must be clean, especially there, between the legs, and if it was cold and hurt, so much the better. The towel he found was not large, and it was soon sodden, but he rubbed himself hard with it, vigorously, until his skin became pink and warm. His feet ached on the cold wet floor.

He saw the crucifix on the wall and thought: Now I am clean of her, now I am free. I will confess it all later today and then I will be free of her completely. And now I am cleansed and pure to do whatever duty has to be done.

The breakfast room was small, with a crisp white tablecloth and gleaming cutlery. There were two other young men already sitting there; both were lodgers in the house, Sean knew, and part-time members of the Volunteers. But they had jobs to go to in the day, as Martin had once had, and both were already eating quickly, with one eye on the clock. They nodded to him. Mrs O’Hagan had had a paper delivered, and one boy had it propped on the table in front of him.

‘Look at that, boys!’ he said exultantly. ‘We must have won nearly every blasted seat in the country!’ He jabbed with his fork at the results of the local elections on the centre page. ‘A Sinn Fein council in every town in the land!
Now
whose country is it?’

‘Same as before,’ said the other lad morosely. ‘Voting won’t change a thing.’

Mrs O’Hagan came in smiling - a round cheerful woman in an apron, her grey hair covered under a white cap. She put a steaming plate of bacon, kidneys, fried egg, mushrooms, tomatoes, and fried potatoes in front of him, and stood back proudly. ‘There now.’

‘Mother of God!’ He looked up and caught the frown on her face. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs O'Hagan, I didn't mean to swear, but - do you eat like this every day?’

‘Of course we do. You boys are doing your bit for the country, and that’s my contribution - to send you out fit and strong as you can be. Now you eat it up - I don't want a bit left, mind - while I fetch you a fresh pot of tea. Come on, Seamus, now; your tram’ll be leaving in a quarter of an hour.'

The other two laughed at Sean's evident surprise. ‘You’ve fallen on your feet here, Sean,’ said Seamus, grinning, as he hurriedly forked the last of his bacon into his mouth.

‘I have that, too.’ And yesterday I woke up in a slum where I had to scavenge for every scrap like a dog, he thought. The others left and Sean began to eat. Daly arrived twenty minutes later while Sean was drinking his third cup of tea and munching toast, engrossed in the newspaper. He heard the front door open, and then a heavy hand slapped him in the back.

‘Well! And how do you like the life of O’Rahilly, then? Better than your last billet, eh, Sean boy?’

‘It is that, surely.’

Daly sat down, his genial face turning quickly serious. ‘Well, don't get too used to it. You’re on the run, the peelers could learn about this place any time. Enjoy it while you can.’

‘I know. What’s our job for today?’

‘Aren’t you the keen one? Nothing too strenuous this morning. I thought we’d stand in the street and watch a few policemen. Would that suit you ?’

Sean flushed, remembering what had happened outside the Lambert Hotel. ‘You know I’m not too good at that.’

‘I know, lad. That’s why I'll be there this time, to hold your hand. Anyway, that’s only part of it. Let me tell you now.’

He poured himself a cup of tea, and began to explain.

Sean had guessed that Davis was working for the Volunteers when he saw him with Collins in Brendan Road. He had not realized, until today, how close that cooperation was.

Daly said: ‘When he touches the man with his hat, walk up as close as you can. Don’t let him see you, but make sure the man’s face is stuck in your mind. We don’t want any mistakes later.’

The moment came around midday. They were loitering inside a friendly newsagent’s opposite the police headquarters in Brunswick Street. They had been there for most of the morning, examining each paper closely as though they might one day consider buying it. Quite suddenly, Davis came out of the front door. Behind him was another man, a little shorter, a rather stocky, genial figure, unusually broad in the chest. As soon as he was outside on the pavement, Davis snatched his hat from his head and began to fiddle ostentatiously with the rim. He held it almost at arm’s length, as though there was something inside it that offended him.

‘Steady on, now, no need to overdo it,’ Daly muttered. ‘The man’s making a bloody pantomime of it!’ He clutched Sean's arm to make sure he had seen too. There was only one man with Davis, so there was little chance of confusion. Nonetheless, as they came forward to cross the street, Davis made some remark to Radford, and slapped him on the chest with the hat. Radford looked mildly surprised. They crossed the road at an angle to where Sean and Daly were standing, and set off towards the city centre.

Sean hurried after them, leaving Daly a little behind, as they had agreed. Walking briskly, he passed the two men, and by the next junction he guessed he was a dozen or so yards ahead. He stood here, looking up and down, as though uncertain which way to go. Then he turned round. The two detectives were a couple of yards behind him.

Radford was looking straight at him. He smiled. Sean thought:
My God he knows who I am! He must have seen the photograph. What do I do now?

Then he went past. The smile was not for Sean. Radford was talking to Davis, in a strong Belfast accent, about rugby. Sean stood where he was, until Daly came up.

‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, boy, you were close enough! You don't think he recognized you?’

‘If he did, he's done nothing about it.’

Daly looked around. The street was busy, but the two detectives were nowhere to be seen. He began to relax. ‘True. Well, we’ve seen his face now. There's no way you can forget it?’

Sean shook his head. Every detail of Radford's face was imprinted in his mind. The heavy, firm jaw, quick, intelligent eyes, sandy moustache, the creases in the cheeks. There had been a pleasant, bluff, open air about the man - that was what disturbed him most. A bit like one of his housemasters at school, the one who had taught maths and hurling. He and Sean had had arguments in their time, but he had been a decent enough sort, in his way.

But this Radford was a policeman from Belfast. He's not a schoolmaster, Sean thought, don’t think it. He can put me or Paddy or Michael Collins or any of us in a little stone cell for years if he wants to. That’s his job. That's what he's come to our city to do. Maybe he’s got a nice smile and is fond of dogs and children. Forget all that. It's not personal. It’s not going to be done out of hatred, as the priest said. It’s my duty as a soldier. A blood sacrifice for my country. That’s all there is to it.

The afternoon was long and slow. Sean wished the time would move faster. He and Daly shared a pie and a pint in a pub, and then walked across the city to Harcourt Street. They checked the entrances to the Standard Hotel, and then walked back along the street to the Castle, thinking which way someone might choose from there to the hotel. If Radford was going to visit the Castle at all today. It was probable, but not certain. They had no way of knowing. In the end they decided to stand as near as they could to the hotel, and walk down the road towards the man when they saw him coming. A quick shot in the head should do it. There was no shortage of ways to escape afterwards.

The bellboy in the hotel was one of Collins's informants, and he told Daly that dinner was not served until six thirty in the evening, and most of the British officers didn’t return to the hotel much before then. So then there was nothing to do but wait. Daly decided that it was pointless, indeed dangerous, to hang about in the street all afternoon, so they split up and agreed to meet again at half past five.

Sean walked towards the church, with half an idea of making his confession. As he washed himself, this morning, it had seemed a good idea. Then he had felt pure, clear, certain; now his emotions were more violent, unsettled. I need to be in control of what I feel, he thought. But I don't think a priest can do that for me now. Not now. Not today, with what I have to do.

He went to St Stephen's Green and strolled around the park, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his coat. It was a cold, cloudy afternoon, and the place was full of mothers and nannies with prams and little children, out for a breath of fresh air and a chance to feed the ducks. Sean felt a great surge of unfocused anger, so that he had to walk quickly, scowling, to release the energy of it. I must get a grip on this, he thought. I must use it and control it or I’ll make a mess of the killing this evening. And it mustn’t be in hatred, the priest said that.

The worst of it was, he wasn’t sure what he was angry about. Catherine’s face rose up before him in a daydream, unwanted, smiling lasciviously, and then scornful, waving the piece of sponge which she - ah, what did that matter? It was her idea but I wanted it too, how can I blame her for taking precautions, even if …?

She should have told me.

I didn’t want to know. I still don’t want to know.

He began to realize he was angry with himself, for wanting what he had no right to have, what she had no right to give him. And he thought: Why? Why shouldn’t we have it?