The City of Shadows (8 page)

Stefan made no attempt to explain away what had happened. He couldn't. He didn't want the contempt in Hannah's voice directed at him.

‘What were you going to ask Mr Keller?'

‘If my friend had arrived for her abortion, what happened then, oh, and who the priest was who paid for it all. That would have been a start.'

‘And do you imagine he'd have told you?'

‘I don't know. That's when you walked in.'

‘I don't think your conversation with Keller would have lasted long.'

‘Why not? I'd just paid him for an abortion. I would have been happy to say that very loudly and very publicly. All I needed was information.'

‘The events of this evening make it clear Mr Keller isn't without friends. He's also a criminal who keeps a revolver in his desk drawer.'

‘I hadn't thought about him shooting me. Perhaps I should have.' She was laughing at him. It didn't seem there was much she was afraid of.

‘So you've got a man, the priest. An appointment for a miscarriage. Let's assume she went. You don't think he'd have gone with her?'

‘They'd stopped seeing each other. She didn't say he was going.'

‘Then there's Keller, who's unlikely to tell anybody anything. And Susan, who no one's seen since July. It's hard to know what it really says.'

‘I think I know.' She held his gaze, unwavering now.

‘What's that?'

‘It says Susan's dead.'

He didn't answer. Instead he reached across the table and took Hannah's hand. She nodded. It was answer enough. She had known for a long time now, however much she had tried to persuade herself it couldn't be true. Even as she spoke the words she still hoped Stefan would tell her she was wrong. And it would have been easy for him to. It was what he was meant to do as a detective, at least till there was evidence to prove otherwise. And there was no evidence at all, of anything. Not that anyone had really looked for any yet. But he had a sense of where looking was going to lead already. It was the total absence of facts that made pushing aside Hannah Rosen's simple statement hard. Hannah knew her friend. It wasn't a fact but it was as close to one as made no difference. He couldn't tell her he didn't understand what Susan Field's silence was. It was the silence of the grave.

The lights were still on in the house at twenty-five Merrion Square. It was almost ten o'clock. The uniformed officer Stefan Gillespie had left there was still on the steps. Garda Liam Dwyer had the collar of his coat turned up, his cap pulled down. Smoke hovered in front of his face. He was cold and hungry and pissed off. He should have ended his shift three hours ago.

‘I can't let you go in, Sarge, sorry.'

‘Who says?'

‘Sergeant Lynch. It's a Special Branch operation now.'

‘A serious business then, Liam. Is he inside?'

‘They've gone for a pint.'

‘I can see why they would. It's thirsty work keeping the nation safe.'

‘No one goes in. That's Sergeant Lynch's orders.'

‘So what's Jimmy Lynch up to in there?'

‘How do I know? I'm out here.'

‘There's no fooling him, is there, Dessie?'

‘He's got Special Branch orders, he needs to be on his toes, Sarge.'

‘You can piss off, Dessie. I've been here since this afternoon.'

‘Maybe they'll bring you back a bottle of stout,' laughed Dessie.

‘I hope you're not thinking about putting in for any overtime from Inspector Donaldson when you get back to Pearse Street.' Stefan shook his head with a look of mock concern. ‘He's not happy about those two at all, especially Detective Sergeant Lynch. I'd say he had the holy water out when they left the station, and maybe the bell, book and candle. Will we go back and tell him you're taking your orders from Special Branch now, Liam?

Garda Dwyer felt that a little more cooperation would be no bad thing.

‘They've been looking for something, Sarge,' he said quietly.

‘Jimmy and Seán Óg?'

‘And the German feller. They were turning the place inside out.'

‘You know what they were looking for?'

‘I can't see through the front door, not being a detective.'

Stefan smiled, but ignored the sarcasm.

‘Where's Keller now?' he snapped.

‘He went with them, Sarge. Not to the pub though.'

Stefan could see he knew where Hugo Keller was.

Dwyer smiled. ‘Any fags? I'm on my last one.'

‘I'm sure Dessie's got some, Liam,' replied Stefan.

Begrudgingly Dessie MacMahon pulled twenty Sweet Afton from his pocket. As he opened the packet, Stefan took it and handed it to Dwyer.

‘Hey, I've only just bought those!'

Liam Dwyer lit a cigarette from the stub in his mouth. He put the packet of Sweet Afton into his pocket and dropped the stub to the ground.

‘You're not the gouger they crack you up to be, Dessie.'

‘So Keller's not with Lynch?' Stefan returned to the matter in hand.

‘He was off to the Shelbourne for a drink. There's a Christmas party on, every German in Dublin. Jimmy Lynch said they'd see him back here.'

‘Well, it's a pity we didn't know there was a party. I'm sure the inspector would have told us to back off on the raid if someone had said. But they're always the lads for a bit of Christmas spirit in Special Branch.'

‘How much longer do I stand here, Sarge? Can't someone take over?'

Stefan laughed. ‘You'll have to ask Sergeant Lynch that, Liam.'

The Shelbourne Hotel was warm and welcoming. Two flags still flew over the brightly lit entrance, looking out on to Stephen's Green – the Nazi swastika and the Irish tricolour. As Detective Sergeant Gillespie and Garda MacMahon entered the frayed-at-the-edges splendour of the Shelbourne lobby the top-hatted doorman smiled. He also gave a quick, warning glance to the porter at his desk. He knew who they were. Detectives didn't just call in there for a drink. The porter emerged from behind the desk with the same barely disguised combination of welcome and wariness.

‘Anything I can help you with, Mr Gillespie?'

‘There will be, Anto. When I've worked out what it is I'll tell you.'

They walked towards the doors that opened into the dining room, which had been taken over for the evening by the German Christmas party. Stefan stopped and peered into the room. It was festooned with red and white and black swastika flags and red and white Christmas decorations. Inside there was a buzz of loud and cheerful German conversation. Men, women and children filled the tables and milled around amidst the debris of an almost completed meal. Just then a loud ‘Ho, ho, ho!' boomed across the lobby. As Stefan and Dessie turned, they saw a fat, bearded figure in red, with a bulging sack over his shoulder, heading towards the dining room and the party. He was accompanied by a middle-aged elf in green and gold and a Brunhilde-like maiden, flaxen plaits and all, in German peasant costume. They also carried sacks of presents. The two detectives stepped back. Santa Claus and his companions burst into the dining room to the sound of applause. Children clustered round Santy as he fought his way through the crowd. Stefan turned to the porter, still hovering a little way behind them.

‘Hugo Keller, do you know him?'

‘Mr Keller, of course.'

‘Is he in there? I can't see him.'

‘He'll be in the bar. He was just now.'

They moved on towards the Horseshoe Bar.

‘It's hardly likely Keller isn't going to notice us,' remarked Dessie.

‘I'd say you're right.'

‘But aren't we meant to be leaving him alone? Inspector Donaldson said the case is dead. And didn't Lynch tell us to keep our noses out of it?'

‘Which case is that?'

‘What do you mean which case is that?'

‘This is about a missing woman. Susan Field. Twenty-three. Student at UCD. Lived in Little Jerusalem. Sixteen Lennox Street. She disappeared five months ago. We're trying to trace her last known movements and find out who was the last person to see her. It's a cold trail though. It's bound to be after all this time. I've got a hunch Herr Keller might be able to help us.'

‘And where did all that come from?'

‘Hannah Rosen. She's a friend of Susan Field's.'

‘The woman –'

‘The woman we arrested at Keller's house, the one who wasn't having an abortion after all, and the one DS Lynch dumped on Mother Eustacia.'

‘It doesn't sound much like leaving Keller alone.'

‘But this is a different inquiry altogether. We only want some help.'

‘What's this missing woman got to do with Special Branch?' Dessie didn't like the sound of it. When Stefan started following his nose you never got much sense of where it would lead. But experience had taught the guard that it usually meant trouble. There didn't seem any doubt about that here.

‘Nothing I should think. We don't want to tread on those fellers' toes.'

As they pushed their way into the small bar it was packed. People were spilling out into the hallway. Inside much of the conversation was in German, loud and enthusiastic and fuelled by large quantities of highly proofed Christmas cheer. The detectives squeezed through to the bar, Stefan apologising in festive German. Dessie caught the barman's eye.

‘A hot whiskey.'

‘That'll be two!' called Stefan.

The barman poured two whiskeys and topped them up with hot water from the kettle. Stefan was trying to locate Keller. Dessie took the drinks and moved his hand towards the wallet in his jacket pocket. It was a gesture. He didn't intend to pay and the barman didn't expect him to. He simply waved his hand. It was on the house. It always was. Stefan pushed his way through the noisy crowd again, exchanging more Christmas greetings in German as he went. Then he stopped, close to a corner table where Hugo Keller sat with two other people. There was a sharp-featured, middle-aged man with balding, close-cropped hair and thick-rimmed circular glasses, and a younger man, with a shock of dark hair, wearing a brown suit that bore a small swastika emblem on one lapel. The two older men were arguing. It wasn't comfortable and it certainly wasn't festive. But they spoke quietly and it was impossible for Stefan to pick up even a few of the words. The younger man sat back, smoking a Turkish cigarette, with an expression of impatience. Keller became aware someone was watching him. He looked up.

Hugo Keller was surprised, but it was only seconds before the same look of supercilious self-confidence he had shown when he was arrested reappeared. The other two looked at Sergeant Gillespie too. They had no idea who he was. Keller fired some kind of explanation, unheard over the melee. The older man in glasses looked even more ill-tempered. He was distinctly put out by the explanation. The three got up abruptly. Stefan smiled at the abortionist and raised his glass. ‘Fröhliche Weihnachten!' The Christmas greeting spread through the bar, until even the three men trying to leave were forced to respond to the people around them wishing them a Merry Christmas. Hugo Keller was only a few feet from Stefan, who was still irritated by the smirk of invulnerability that hung about his smile. ‘Did you find what you were looking for, Herr Doktor Keller?' He stressed ‘Doktor'. The smirk disappeared. Stefan had thrown these words out on a whim, but he had got something back. Whatever was being searched for at twenty-five Merrion Square, it hadn't been found. Then Keller was gone. The detectives downed the whiskeys and pushed their way back through the crowd to the hotel lobby. As they extricated themselves at last from the bar, the three Germans were ahead of them, just turning into the dining room.

People were stepping aside for Father Christmas and his entourage, now emerging from the party, their task completed. Chriskindl continued to call out ‘Ho, Ho, Ho,' and ‘Herzliche Weihnachtsgrüsse!' He reached into his pocket and handed small Nazi lapel pins to anyone sitting in the hotel lobby or passing through it. He grabbed Stefan's reluctant hand and thrust one into it. The policemen carried on to the doors that opened into the party. All around children were playing with their gifts from Santy, at the tables, on the floor. Several of them ran out into the lobby chasing a boy who held a model fighter plane over his head, all making rat-tat-tat machine gun noises.

In the restaurant, waiters were ladling out mulled wine. Someone started playing the piano. After only a few notes an abrupt and almost complete silence descended on the noisy gathering. A boy of nine or ten was lifted up on to one of the tables. He started to sing. As he did, everyone in the room who wasn't already standing, rose. Detective Sergeant Gillespie was one of the few people – besides the partygoers – who understood the words. They had nothing to do with Christmas, but after some of the day's events they made him feel very uncomfortable. ‘Deutschland erwache aus deinem bösen Traum! Gib fremden Juden in deinem Reich nicht Raum!' Germany wake from this fearful dream. Give Jews no room to live and scheme. Germany arise, our battle cry. Our Aryan blood shall never die! There were tears in watching German eyes. Even Dessie MacMahon, who understood not a single word, was captivated by the boy's perfect voice.

‘Let's go, Dessie,' said Stefan abruptly.

As they turned, he beckoned the porter over. He looked back into the room once more, pointing to where the two men who had been with Keller stood, watching the boy as he sang, with the same rapture as everyone else. There was no sign of Keller now. He didn't seem to be there any more.

‘So who are the two fellers who were with Mr Keller, Anto?'

‘I don't know the young one, Mr Gillespie. He's something to do with the German embassy though. But everyone knows the older one. That's Mr Mahr, Adolf Mahr. He's the director of the National Museum. We know him very well in the Shelbourne.' There was just a hint of condescension. Anybody who was anybody ought to know who Adolf Mahr was.