When Shadows Fall (45 page)

At the same time that Allister was leaving Dublin Castle, Larry Mulligan was sitting in the lounge of Vaughan’s Hotel, a Guinness and a box of Woodbines on the table. Michael Collins had arranged to meet him here, and as usual he was impatient to be away again, for fear of surveillance.

“I told you, Mick, for the last time,” Mulligan snapped, “that my guns are exactly where I want them. If some gobshites in Kerry or Clare are falling short, then let ’em find their own.”

“They’re complaining in Munster, Larry. They’re saying Dublin doesn’t give a stuff about them. And if they don’t have enough guns, then they can’t fight a war.”

“They’re my guns. I won them. Me and my boys.”

“They’re not your guns, Larry. They’re the IRA’s. And come on now,” his eyes glinted, “is sharing not caring?”

Mulligan glowered back at him and spat into the fire. “The IRA wouldn’t have an arse to scratch between them if it wasn’t for me.”

“Oh, I think we’d get on just fine without you, Larry. Don’t go assuming an importance that you don’t possess. We are all of us expendable.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mulligan demanded but was cut short when the boy from the reception approached them. It wasn’t Billy McDonagh, but another youth whom Mulligan didn’t know very well.

He apologised and said, “Mick, I didn’t see you come in. There’s a message waiting for you the last few days. A fellow named Bowen dropped it in.”

Mulligan sat up.

“Give to me,” Collins said and read the short brief. He closed his eyes and swore softly.

“Bowen, is it?” Mulligan murmured. “Anything up?”

“Nothing I can’t deal with.”

“Where is he? Bowen?”

“He’s about. He’s fine. Why are you so interested?”

Mulligan stifled his frustration. He would desperately have loved to pour it all out to Collins here and now and condemn Adam Bowen to his fate. But Mulligan’s mission was a personal one, against both Bowen and his whore, and he wasn’t about to share. “Oh, no reason. I just hope he’s not getting himself in any trouble that he might regret, is all.”

Collins tucked the message inside his coat. “I said he’s fine. Now, I must be going. You think on our discussion, Larry. I need those weapons. You’ll be well rewarded for your efforts in knowing that every single gun will be employed in the liberation of your country.”

“See you later,” Mulligan said. “I think I’ll stay for another pint.”

“You ought not to. Your name was on that Castle list too, you know.”

“Don’t worry about me, Mick. I can move faster than any man when I need to.”

Tara was alone, and while she was getting ready to close the stationery office, a male clerk from down the corridor knocked on her door.

“Ian, hello. What is it?” she asked.

“I was told to pass on a message, Tara. A fellow called Adam said to say he’s outside the gates, if you’d care to meet him.”

She stopped in the act of wrapping her scarf around her neck. “He’s outside?”

“That’s what I was told to pass on. Have a good night, Tara.” He winked and headed off.

She went first to the restroom and checked the mirror. An odd sense of trouble affected her now, as though she must prepare herself for the worst.

He doesn’t want to see me anymore. That’s what he’ll say. I knew something was wrong.

Closing her coat and fetching her hat, she steeled herself for the cold outside and the uncertain reception from Adam.

Yet his face told its own story.

“Tara,” he smiled in relief. “I so badly wanted to see you. I’m sorry.”

She allowed him to kiss her cheek, maintaining her defences for the moment. “What are you sorry about?”

“I shouldn’t have left you last Sunday like that. It was a silly argument. I’m sorry.”

Her worries were banished just as swiftly, and she laughed. “Oh, Adam. Did you really feel so bad? Goodness, let’s not worry about Mrs. Clohessy and the parish priest. I was silly too. Come on, it’s freezing here. Are you taking me to dinner?”

“I am now.”

They ate in the Shelbourne, a Dover sole each and a glass of wine, and the awkwardness of the previous Sunday wasn’t mentioned again. Afterwards they dropped into Counihan’s tavern a few streets away, procured two stools in an alcove, and watched the gang of musicians gathered about the fire. There was a table of half-eaten sandwiches and glasses of Guinness in front of the band. The air was pungent with smoke while bodhrans, tin whistles, and violins raced in splendid harmony. Boots stamped and hands clapped. Dozens of boisterous voices around the bar tried to keep tune.

Even after the sweating musicians took a break, the noise continued in earnest. Stories were spun from the fireside, jokes retold, shawled women singing
Danny Boy
. As Adam ordered a second drink for them, a solemn-faced youth with an over-long mop of curls stood to the fore and cleared his throat. He delivered a self-composed poem about a girl who hadn’t returned his affections, reading with tearful sincerity and a wobbling voice. Once done he pushed the spectacles back on his nose and retook his seat. Roars of laughter echoed into the ceiling.

Soon the musicians formed up again and launched into a belting melody that shook the wooden beams. A space was made for people to dance, and after Tara had watched several sets in awe—and sank a half-pint of stout to bolster her nerve—she announced to Adam, “I want to try that.”

“That? I shouldn’t if I were you.”

“Don’t be a big scaredy-cat.” She grabbed his hand and dragged him into the maelstrom.

Later, long past midnight, they lay exhausted in bed, Tara breathing softly with her eyes closed. Adam gazed at the soft porcelain skin of her shoulder and kissed it. “Tara?” he asked gently.

“Mm?”

“Are you asleep?”

“Mm.”

“I need you to know,” his voice struggled with tiredness, “I need you to know something. I love you, Tara. And I need to know if you’ll love me too. No matter what happens from now on.”

Long moments of silence passed. No answer came.

He looked over her shoulder. She was already asleep, and so he surrendered himself into the warm black void.

“It’s devious.” James chewed his lip in doubt. “Devious, and damned tiresome too. I’m the one who should dictate the time and place of arrest.”

Allister blew his nose and carefully folded the hanky. “Detective, I’m leading you to a dangerous terrorist. I thought you might be pleased.”

“I’d hardly call him a dangerous terrorist, Mr. Bowen. He’s a sideshow, nothing more.”

“I’ll wager he’s more than a sideshow. Do you want him or not?”

“Yes, I do. But I don’t like playing games with my job. It would be far easier for me to pick him up at his office.”

“Detective, I told you, he’s hardly ever there. I’ve just given you a definite time and place. It’s foolproof.”

James turned the pencil absently in his hand. “I hope you don’t take offence, Mr. Bowen, but I find you a little peculiar. You actually seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“I most certainly am not.” Allister glared at him. “Detective Bryant, I have worked hard all my life. I have followed every honourable tenet and tried my best to make my parents proud. My brother cares nothing for rules or discipline. He has indulged himself far too much over the years, and far too often at my expense. No, I’m not enjoying myself, but I am happy to see justice done. Is that sufficient for you?”

And I want him humiliated
, Allister thought.
Humiliated and destroyed, and he’ll never be a threat to me again.

“I see.” James stood and went to turn up the lamps. It was getting dark outside and a steady sheet of rain beat against the window. “You said you had another brother. Does he know of these plans of yours?”

“No. Duncan is best kept out of it for the time being. He’d not deal with it too well.”

“I’m trusting you to come through on this,” James warned him, “and I don’t like trusting people. It’s not in my nature.”

Rising from the chair, Allister draped his coat across his arm and fixed the trilby atop his head. “If you have things ready at your end, Detective, I’ll have everything ready at mine. And a pleasure to be of service to the Crown.”

Duncan was in no mood.

“Shaka’s black behind, Allister! I’ve a whole nonsense-full of engagements already planned for this month. What the hell are you playing at?”

They’d been eating luncheon in a busy pub in Ballsbridge when Allister chipped in his plan. Duncan shoved aside his bangers and mash and began working his teeth furiously with a pick.

“Duncan, it’s only one day. One evening, in fact. You can make the time.”

“What the devil for?”

“Because it’s good old Adam’s birthday. And I’d like to give him a surprise.”

“A booze-up.”

“Hardly a booze-up, Duncan. Mother and Quentin will be there after all.”

“Well, whatever the blazes you call it. But why you, Allister? Since when did you care a fig for Adam? You’re always grousing about him.”

“Come now, Duncan. Family is family, and one must make the effort.”

“I’m surprised you remembered his birthday. I didn’t. I can’t even remember my own.”

“It will be a lovely evening. I know you’ll enjoy it.” Allister speared one of the prawns with a cocktail stick and slid it into his mouth. “So what do you say? Sarah would welcome a night out.”

“Sarah is six months pregnant with our first child, damn you.”

“All the more reason for a nice,
relaxing
, celebration.”

“Waitress!” Duncan bellowed. “This is tiresome, Allister. Where, by the way? Excuse me, miss! I’ve done with my lunch, you can remove the plate. I’ll have a coffee and a slice of apple pie. Warmed.”

“Just coffee for me, thank you,” said Allister.

The serving girl mopped round their table and took the plates away. Duncan shifted to give his belly more room and sighed miserably. “Well, where?”

“There is a delightful little restaurant near Howth called the Lyndon Court. A little out of the way, but very private and perfect for our needs. But there’s one other thing.”

Duncan moaned. “What?”

“It would be more appropriate for you to propose all of this to Adam. Give him the invite yourself.”

“Me? Why me?”

“Because you’re the eldest, Duncan. The man of the house, so to speak.”

“Because he’d never accept it from you, is what you mean,” Duncan snorted. “Christ, as if I don’t have enough to do, running a busy firm and organising peoples’ social lives. Will I buy the birthday candles and all?”

“No. You just make sure to give him sufficient notice. Tell him all the family will be there, and that he must not miss it.” Allister sat back and sipped his coffee.

It should be an evening to remember.