The City of Shadows (38 page)

As Stefan looked out at the city, Edward O'Rourke seemed to be doing the same thing, but his eyes didn't see very much. He was weighing the consequences of what had happened. Then, quite abruptly, as they crossed the river, he started to talk about Francis Byrne. He didn't look round. Stefan wasn't really sure the words were addressed to him at all.

‘I met Francis at the Eucharistic Congress in Dublin. They assigned him to me as a guide. He had good German and an interest in genealogy. My family fled Ireland after the battle of the Boyne. They ended up in Russia, fighting for the czars. It was the family business. My father intended me for a general but the way things have turned out in Russia I probably made a wise decision to turn my hand to something else. Francis ended up spending more time arguing about the future of the Church than looking into my family tree. We disagreed about a lot but he was very bright. I liked him. When I left, I offered him a job, if he ever wanted one. I didn't hear from him for nearly three years, and then unexpectedly he appeared in Danzig. He wasn't the same man though. Somehow all his vitality had gone; along with all his curiosity, all his passion. But I didn't see how troubled he was. There is a high price to pay for that now. It was only when he came to me yesterday …'

O'Rourke stopped as suddenly as he had started, and he said no more. They drove across the river on to the Speicherinsel. In Milchkannengasse they pulled up outside Grund & Co, funeral directors.

A considerable amount of the undertaker's art had already been expended on Father Francis Byrne. His face was an unnatural, almost clownish pink. His hair had been oiled and combed back in such neat, stiff lines that it looked like a wig. He was wearing a dark suit and clerical collar that had certainly not accompanied him into the dark waters of the Mottlau. The coffin he lay in was lined with white silk, which only accentuated the pinkness of his flesh. He looked like a mannequin from the windows of Freymann's department store. Herr Grund scurried behind the bishop with a combination of fawning obsequiousness and ill-disguised fear. It was a privilege to have such an eminent personage on his premises, but the corpse had been brought by the Gestapo. O'Rourke bent over the body of the priest. He made the sign of the cross on his forehead and prayed silently. As he straightened up he turned to the undertaker. ‘Leave us alone, please.' The words were said quietly and graciously. The undertaker hesitated. The bishop's stern eyes said what his words had not. ‘Now piss off.' The undertaker bowed, walking deferentially backwards before leaving the room.

‘Well?'

‘Apart from the fact that he's made-up like a –' Stefan stopped.

‘Like a madam in a whorehouse.' O'Rourke took a handkerchief from his pocket and applied it firmly to Byrne's face, wiping away the pink cream that had been spread and plastered into the skin. Stefan had seen policemen more squeamish with the dead. As he scraped around the eyes the skin was dark and bruised underneath. There were cuts on the cheeks as well. He pulled the upper lip away. There were black gaps where teeth had been.

‘Look under his shirt.'

Stefan unbuttoned the jacket. He pulled away the shirt and collar. There were more bruises, cuts, weals. He pressed down on to the rib cage.

‘Broken ribs.'

They looked round as someone entered the room. There was a click of heels. Stefan immediately recognised his Gestapo interrogator, Klaus Rothe.

‘Krim
inaloberassistent Rothe, Your Excellency.'

He stepped forward, holding out a report. As the bishop eyed him carefully the Gestapo officer looked sideways at Stefan, frowning. He was the last person he could have expected to find with the Bishop of Danzig.

‘The Kriminalkommissar extends his sympathies.'

‘And this is?'

‘The report into the accident, Your Excellency.'

‘I understand Father Byrne drowned.'

‘Correct.'

‘There was no crime then?'

‘Correct.'

‘So why is the Gestapo involved?'

It was hard for Rothe to suppress a smile as he gave what he felt was a very neat reply. ‘We take the death of a priest seriously, Your Excellency.'

‘And before he drowned, what do you think happened?'

‘Impossible to say, Your Excellency. There were no witnesses.'

‘I'm sure. And you are certain about drowning?'

‘Unfortunately, yes. There was a full medical examination.'

‘Take a look, Kriminaloberassistent.' The bishop moved away from the coffin and gestured for the Gestapo man to step forward. He didn't. ‘No other theories? He couldn't have beaten himself to death by any chance?'

‘I'm afraid I don't understand, Your Excellency.'

‘I'm sure you understand perfectly.' Edward O'Rourke turned back to the coffin. He made the sign of the cross. As he left the room he screwed up the report he had just been given by Rothe and dropped it on the floor.

The Gestapo man was staring at Stefan again, about to speak.

‘I'm with him.' Stefan followed the bishop out into the corridor.

*

‘Why didn't you tell me?' Hannah had been waiting for Stefan in his room. ‘You knew about the pistol in December.'

‘I didn't tell you because it was evidence we were holding back. You don't throw these things around. It was part of another investigation as well. There were two bodies. The captive bolt pistol was the only thing Susan and Vincent Walsh had in common. I needed to know what that meant first.'

‘It meant she didn't die, she was murdered. You knew that and you didn't say it.' She threw the letter from Father Byrne on the bed. ‘It didn't take him long to work it out. It was a gun. It doesn't matter what kind of gun, so somebody shot her. Was it Keller? Why would Keller shoot her?'

‘No. It wasn't him.'

She looked at Stefan, shaking her head.

‘But you know who it was. You know and you haven't told me!'

‘I think I know.'

‘Isn't that enough!'

‘It's not enough to prove anything. It's a lot less now Francis Byrne's dead.'

‘Who did it?' She wanted the truth now. He would have to tell her.

‘It was a guard.'

First she was surprised; then there was a question. He could see it.

‘It's not why I didn't tell you. It was only when I talked to Byrne –'

‘Who is he?' She wasn't going to listen to any more evasion.

‘You've met him. He took you to the convent. Sergeant Lynch.'

She stopped, remembering the December day she went to Merrion Square to see Hugo Keller; the interview room at Pearse Street; Mother Eustacia; DS Lynch. It felt a long time ago.

‘Did Father Byrne know that?'

‘He knew the man driving the car was a guard, that's all. When the guard told him Susan was dead he believed it. And he ran. He left Jimmy to deal with the body. He was a guard, wasn't he? It could have been true. Maybe she was dead. If she wasn't, he shot her in the head to make sure –'

‘He killed her. Like an animal!'

‘Yes.'

‘Why?'

‘He worked for Keller. When there was a mess, he cleaned it up.'

‘So it was Hugo Keller who told him to do it?'

‘He could have done. I don't know. '

‘I think you
need
to know, Detective Sergeant Gillespie,' Hannah said, her voice trembling. ‘And so do I. If you won't find out, I shall.'

She walked across the room and picked up her coat.

‘You know where he is, Stefan, don't you?'

‘It's not that simple,' he said.

‘Why not?'

‘Francis Byrne was going to have it all out with Hugo Keller. I don't know whether he got there or not, Hannah, but I've seen what they did to him. Keller's got a lot more police pals here than he had in Dublin, not to mention the SS. It's not just one Special Branch man taking kickbacks. Every Gestapo officer in Danzig is Jimmy Lynch with bells on. And they don't do it for the money, they do it all for love. Keller's too dangerous.'

She was standing by the door, pulling on her coat.

‘Recording angels have been in my family a long time.'

He knew he wouldn't stop her. She'd find where Hugo Keller was, one way or another.

‘All right, we'll go. But I'll take the gun.' He held out his hand.

Stefan and Hannah got off the tram by the railway station in Langfuhr. There were new street signs as they crossed the main road, the recently renamed Adolf-Hitler-Strasse. They turned into Eschenweg. That was the address Francis Byrne had given Stefan. It was quieter here. Small apartment blocks lined the suburban street at first, with the ever-present swastikas hanging from almost every window. At the far end of the street there were several bigger, older houses with red-tiled roofs and tidy gardens. The last house, on the corner with Mirchauer Weg, was a lot less tidy. Trees and uncut bushes screened it from the road. There was no gate; it lay among the weeds that sprawled across the garden, rotting where it had been thrown a long time ago. The house reflected the garden. The paintwork was peeling; a length of gutter had come away from a wall and hung down almost to the ground; the broken shards of roof tiles crunched underfoot as Stefan and Hannah walked up the steps to the front door. Even from the outside it reminded Stefan of the empty, dilapidated rooms upstairs at Keller's house in Merrion Square. He stood at the top of the steps, still unhappy about what they were doing.

The door was slightly ajar. Hannah stepped past him and pressed the bell. It rang loudly. There was no movement inside the house. They waited. She pressed the bell again. There was still no response. Stefan pushed open the door and walked in. Hannah followed him. There was no carpet; the floor was thick with dust. But on a table there was a new telephone. Next to it was stacked a neat pile of unopened letters. He stopped by the table, looking through the letters. One of them had a Saorstat Éireann stamp on it. He put it in his pocket, unseen by Hannah who was continuing along the hallway.

There were two large rooms on either side. One was furnished with a sofa, an armchair and an unmade bed; the other was empty. Stefan was behind Hannah again as they passed the stairs and entered the kitchen. They didn't see the broken furniture or the smashed crockery or the blood on the blue and white delft tiles of the big stove in the corner. They only saw the figure of the man stretched out on the floor. His hands and feet were tightly bound. He was almost naked. His bruised, wealed body was black with congealing blood. It was the right address. They had found Hugo Keller.

He wasn't dead. Stefan found a knife on the kitchen floor and cut away the ropes. They sat him against the wall. He opened his eyes and looked at them, as if coming out of a deep sleep that he didn't want to leave. He was struggling to find the place and the time he had been brought back to.

‘I know you.' He was looking at Stefan. He turned to Hannah. He was sure he knew her too, but he couldn't quite remember. He coughed. His face contorted. He had found where he was now and it was a place of pain.

‘They've gone?' he asked.

‘Yes.'

He looked at Hannah again; he remembered her now. ‘The priest told me you were here.' There was a smile on his lips for a second. ‘It wouldn't have been so bad, would it, an Irish gaol? Well, better than this, eh?'

‘We'll get an ambulance.' Stefan glanced at Hannah. She nodded.

‘It's too late.' Keller's eyes seemed clearer. ‘It's Hannah, yes?'

‘We can worry about that later. Stefan can phone –'

‘I'm enough of a doctor to know, my dear.' He coughed again and a spasm of pain rocked his body. Blood trickled from his mouth. ‘They've done enough. They killed Father Byrne. It was my fault. I was the one they didn't trust. I'd found out. They knew I'd found out. He didn't even know what they were going to do. He didn't know anything.'

‘I'll phone now,' said Stefan getting up.

‘No!' Somewhere Hugo Keller found the strength to bark it out like an order. ‘There's no point. I know. Do you think they'd send a doctor anyway?' He clutched at Hannah's coat. ‘He didn't even know. The priest didn't know what they really wanted! Neither did I. I'd only just found out why he was so important. It wasn't only information. He was a way in. That's why he mattered so much.' There was unexpected determination in his voice. But then he stopped, his head dropping, his breath slowing. He struggled to look up at Stefan. ‘When he's dead they're going to blame the Jews. That's what it's for.' He closed his eyes. Now the place he was in seemed to be fading. ‘I didn't want to know. I wanted to find a way home. I just wanted a way back to Ireland!'

‘What are you talking about?' asked Hannah.

Keller stared, as if he had forgotten who she was again.

‘Blame the Jews for what?'

‘They're going to kill him,' whispered the Austrian.

Hannah looked at him blankly. ‘Kill who?'

‘Count O'Rourke.' Hugo Keller grimaced in pain, choking out the words. ‘They're going to kill the bishop. If the election doesn't go the way –' His eyelids drooped shut. There was a rasping in his chest. Phlegm and blood oozed from his mouth. His eyes half-opened again. He was still looking at Hannah, but the present was slipping away. ‘Your friend shouldn't have died. There was time. I told the guard to take her to the hospital! But he didn't. I thought she'd just died. I didn't know. I didn't know he'd killed her. I don't know why. He was working for the priest.'

Stefan and Hannah stared at him; this contradicted everything.

‘But Father Byrne didn't know anything, he didn't know she was dead,' said Stefan. Could the priest have fooled him that much?

Even in Keller's pain there was irritation.