by Conor Brady
‘But she wasn’t interested.’
‘Nah. All she wants is book readin’ and the like. Straight away home after work. I asked her to come for a walk down be the canal, and she nearly took me head off. Fiery and all that. That’s Miss Flannery for ye.’
‘But you wouldn’t take no for an answer, Michael. Wasn’t that it?’
Carmody shook his head.
‘I wasn’t goin’ to waste me time or go knockin’ on a door where I wasn’t wanted. I didn’t bother.’
He was giving his version of events effortlessly. In all probability, Swallow guessed, the young man was telling the truth. But he decided to press on.
‘I don’t think that’s so, Michael. I think you wanted Alice to be your girl. And when she said no and no again, you decided to punish her.’
‘Punish her?’ Carmody seemed genuinely puzzled. ‘Wha’ de ya mean?’
‘I mean that you waited for her on the way home from work and killed her. And that’s why you cleared off out of Dublin and ended up here.’
Carmody shook his head violently.
‘Ah Jesus, no. Are you tellin’ me that somewan killed Alice? Sure she wouldn’t hurt a fly. Why would anywan want to do tha’?’
Swallow put on his angriest tone.
‘Don’t give me that sort of bullshit. You know damned well that she’s dead. That’s why you left Dublin so bloody fast. You weren’t happy about being given the push. She put you down, insulted your pride, so you decided to teach her a lesson. Isn’t that what happened?’
Carmody made the sign of the cross on himself.
‘I swear, Misther Swalla’, you’re wrong, wrong, wrong entirely. I didn’t know about anythin’ happenin’ to Alice. I went on the batter after leavin’ work with the few quid I had. Drank me way aroun’ Dublin for the best part of a week, and the next I knew I was on the packet on me way to Liverpool. I have a brother there. I swear it. I’m not proud to say it, but I’m a bit doubtful how I ended up on that boat or who put me there.’
Either he really was telling the truth or he was a world-class actor, Swallow reckoned. A little more pressure might tell him which.
‘That’s very convenient, Michael. You just got mouldy drunk and you can’t remember anything. The judge won’t be impressed with that story. He’s heard it too often before.’
‘No, wait. I can tell ye this,’ Carmody wagged a finger. ‘It’s comin’ back. There was bobbies. Two o’ them. Two big fellas. They picked me up at Sackville Street, took me to the station for a bit and then they marched me to the North Wall to the boat. I remember that. I remember tellin’ them I had a brother in Liverpool and I had the fare in me pocket. He’s workin’ on the docks there. Got a missus and a child, he has. I kipped in wi’ them for a few days, but the missus didn’t want me aroun’ and I had to go. The brother loaned me the cash to get on through England to come here.’
If it was true that Carmody had been in police custody, even briefly, before leaving Dublin, there was nothing in the DCR file about it, Swallow knew. But that would not necessarily be surprising. Beat men were notoriously careless about paperwork. And what Carmody had described was commonplace in the C-Division around the docks. Young country men, bound for England and hoping to find employment there, frequently fell victim to drink, or the ladies of ‘Monto’, or both, as they tried to make their way to the steam-packet wharf on the North Wall. If they came to the attention of the police, the simple solution was often to assist them on their way.
‘So why come all the way here?’ Swallow asked. ‘Why not just move down to Birmingham or Manchester or even London? You’d have found work somewhere.’
Carmody shrugged.
‘I’ve got a bit of a wanderin’ spirit, Mr Swalla’. I started off for Manchester, sure enough. There’s a lotta Irish there too and work in the fact’ries, they say. But I met a German fella on the train. A waiter, he was. He told me there was plenty o’ jobs here in Berlin and that speakin’ English would be okay. I told him I was workin’ in a restaurant in Dublin, an’ he said that was what they’d like to hear in Berlin. So I just kept goin’. I’d be lyin’ if I told you I paid me fares on the trains to get here. But it’s easy enough to dodge the ticket collectors.’
‘Okay, so tell me about Alice Flannery.’ Swallow softened his tone. ‘What kind of girl was she? Who’d want to harm her?’
Carmody smiled weakly.
‘You’re after givin’ me a fair shock tellin’ me she’s dead, ye know. Ah, she’s . . . was . . . a lovely girl. Right, she didn’t like me and I wasn’t gettin’ anywhere with her. She was all right. Just a bit full of airs and graces, thinkin’ she was better ’n the rest of us workin’ there.’
‘Did she have any falling out with anyone? Any difficulties?’
‘Nah, apart from the accident with the boilin’ soup. There was a big pot where the chef used to boil the vegetable soup. It was too heavy. She tried to carry it from the range and she fell. It went all down her leg and burned her. She screamed somethin’ terrible. Then after that she started havin’ trouble with Werner.’
That explained the disfigurement of Alice’s skin that Lafeyre had noted in his post-mortem examination of her body, Swallow noted silently.
‘Tell me about that. What happened?’
‘She was off work for maybe a month, in and out to the infirmary there on Jervis Street to get the burns dressed and that. Then she comes back to her job. She says she’s entitled to have it back. Werner’s gone and taken on another girl, someone from the country, and he doesn’t want Alice back. He says he doesn’t need her and her job is filled. But she says she knows her rights and she’s entitled to her job so she’s stayin’ on.’
‘How do you know about this?’
‘Well, first they were havin’ this argument for all to hear in the kitchen. Then he said she was disturbin’ things and he took her to th’ office. But sure, when she came out an hour later she said she had the job back an’ she told a few of us abou’ it. Said she knew her rights and she knew the law. So in th’ end Werner gave in. He told her she could stay if didn’t make any more mistakes. Like, he was makin’ out that it was a mistake, her fault, when the big pot o’ boilin’ soup kem down on her.’
‘So there was trouble between them?’
‘Bloody sure. She got back to work, which was what she wanted. But she must have been fierce unhappy at it. He criticised her all the time, makin’ out she was doin’ things wrong. She told him she was a good worker, and then she said she wanted compensation for th’ accident.’
‘Compensation?’
Carmody grimaced.
‘Yeh. I told her it was a stupid idea. If somethin’ happens at work, that’s your problem, isn’t it?’
‘But she didn’t agree?’
‘Nah, she thought she could get money outta Werner because o’ wha’ happened.’
‘So how did Werner deal with that?’
Carmody shrugged.
‘She told me he offered her a few quid to just clear off and go somewhere else. But she said she wouldn’t be bought off so easy.’
It was just possible, Swallow reasoned, that Carmody was close to the truth of the matter. Alice Flannery was an assertive young woman, insistent on her rights. If she became an irritant to Werner it might not be beyond the bounds of imagination to think that he could have arranged to have her taken out of circulation. Or perhaps to have her taught a lesson, which then went too far.
He needed time to think, to reflect on what Carmody had told him. He had got far more in this preliminary questioning than he had expected. And he was tired after the journey. Suddenly the idea of a hot meal at Pfaus’s home seemed especially attractive. And he needed a good night’s sleep. Michael Joseph Carmody would still be here in the morning, when he would be back to question him again.
Carmody spread his hands in a gesture of openness.
‘Look, mister Swalla’, I don’t know what way your mind is goin’ here. But I can tell ye again, I
got nuthin’ to do with Alice Flannery’s killin’. Now, if I figure you right, you think that Werner might have done it or got someone to do it for him. I can give you a lot of evidence on the trouble between them. I’ll go into the witness box, no bother. But I’ll want somethin’ in return.’
It was the psychological moment to break off, Swallow reckoned. Carmody had showed his hand. Best now to make no response and to let him sweat.
He stood and banged on the cell door.
‘Kapitän Pfaus, can you open the door please? I’m sure it’s past your supper time and I’m done here.’
He turned back to Carmody.
‘Get a good night’s sleep, Michael. I don’t know if there’s anything I can do for you. But I’ll come back tomorrow, very likely. If I don’t, sure I might see you back in Dublin in a few years after they let you out of here.’
Chapter 33
The Pfaus family lived in a third-floor apartment just fifteen minutes’ walk from the headquarters of the Kriminalpolizei. Swallow formed the impression that Berlin was not a big city like London, but perhaps closer in scale to Dublin. The streets were busy with carriages and tramcars. And the coffee houses they passed, well-lit in the gloom of the January evening, seemed full. But there was none of the surging crowdedness he had experienced in London during his visit to New Scotland Yard the previous year.
The apartment was spacious, with wooden block flooring, high ceilings and tall windows giving out onto a quiet street. A delicious aroma of cooking had greeted them as Pfaus led him through the main door into a small vestibule or entrance hallway.
‘Elena, my love,’ Pfaus laughed as he greeted his wife, kissing her on the forehead. ‘This is Detective Inspector Swallow. I have told him about your wonderful cooking, and I promise you he is very hungry.’
Elena was small and dark, with a happy smile. Her well-rounded proportions suggested that she did not just like cooking for the sake of it, but also enjoyed the fruits of her endeavours. She held out a hand in welcome.
‘It’s very nice to meet you, Mr Swallow. You are an honoured guest in our home.’
Her English had a distinctive American pronunciation.
‘I understand from Johann that you are here on police business, so I hope that this evening may be a pleasant distraction for you. Come, sit and have a glass of wine and tell me what it is that brings you to Berlin.’
There was a hint of reprimand in Johann Pfaus’s tone.
‘Oh, Mr Swallow is investigating a brutal murder case. You have no need to be upset by any details.’
Elena smiled knowingly, but did not answer. Swallow sensed that there were two strong spirits in the Pfaus household.
Three places were set for dinner at a circular table by the window, with good china and heavy crystal glassware, set on a lace-trimmed tablecloth. Pfaus poured them a dry Riesling.
‘You have a very nice home, Mrs Pfaus,’ Swallow said.
Elena smiled contentedly.
‘Thank you, Mr Swallow. We don’t have many guests because Johann works so hard. For me it is a very special evening when we have a visitor from England.’
Swallow was not going to bother explaining that he was not from England. But Pfaus anticipated the point.
‘Inspector Swallow is not from England but from Ireland, my dear. From Dublin. He has reminded me more than once since we met that the Irish and the English are not the same race. You remember there were many Irish people in New York?’
Swallow thought he detected something close to momentary disappointment in Elena Pfaus’s expression.
Before she could respond, two small voices came in unison from behind him.
‘Good night, Papa. Good night, Mama.’
He turned to see two little girls, dark-haired like their mother, in their night attire standing in the doorway. Swallow guessed the slightly taller child might be seven, with her sister perhaps two years younger.
‘Ah,’ Pfaus beamed. ‘Meet our two precious jewels, Anna and Louise. They are just on their way to bed.’
He stood from the table and took them, one in each hand, to meet the visitor. They shook hands gravely and said something in German that Swallow could not understand, so he nodded and smiled.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ he said as warmly as he could. He realised how little he knew about dealing with young children. He had hardly ever spoken to one since his own childhood, other than on special occasions when he brought sweets or perhaps chocolate to Pat Mossop’s brood. He nodded and smiled again and tried to summon the few words of German that he knew.
‘Danke schön . . . danke schön.’
The children first giggled, then nodded solemnly and smiled as they backed towards the door to go to their beds.
‘Do you have children, Mr Swallow?’ Elena Pfaus asked.
‘Regrettably, no, Mrs Pfaus. I married rather late in life. Just very recently in fact. But I am happy to say that my wife, Maria, is due to be delivered of our first child later this year.’
‘Oh, that is exciting news,’ Elena clapped her hands. ‘The joy of children is a gift like no other. I am sure you will be an excellent father, Mr Swallow. Your wife is keeping well, I trust?’
‘Yes, thank you. She is in good health, and everything appears to be going well. Her doctor is very happy about that.’
Pfaus poured more of the Riesling.
‘I recall reading somewhere that Dublin has one of the most advanced maternity hospitals in the world,’ Pfaus observed. ‘Our maternity services here in Berlin are good, but I believe that Dublin’s reputation is unmatched. Curious in a relatively small city.’
‘That’s true,’ Swallow acknowledged. ‘The Rotunda Lying-In Hospital is perhaps 150 years old. I’m told that women who give birth there are more likely to be healthy along with their babies than in any other institution in the United Kingdom. Dublin is, as you say, a small city, but it has a strong tradition in medical discovery. I studied medicine myself for a number of years before becoming a policeman.’
His thoughts went momentarily to Maria. Grant’s would be starting to get busy with its night-time trade by now. He hoped that she was being prudent, as she promised, resting at this time in the parlour or in the bedroom rather than spending long hours supervising in the bar downstairs.
‘That’s a rather unusual career path,’ Pfaus said. ‘Why did you not complete your studies?’
‘It’s a long story,’ Swallow said ruefully. ‘Let’s just say that I didn’t concentrate on them as I should have.’
‘Would you have been happy as a doctor?’
‘The best answer I can give you is that I don’t know,’ Swallow said. ‘I sometimes regret that I didn’t qualify.’
Pfaus did not press the issue. Swallow sensed his understanding that it was best not to probe further.
Elena Pfaus’s Wiener Schnitzel was as good as her husband had promised it would be. The veal was thick and tender and the breadcrumb coating was crisp and golden.
‘And so, Mr Swallow,’ Elena asked, ‘what are the fashions in Dublin this year? It must be an elegant city. I am always interested to know about other cities and other countries. Berlin is rather a dull place, you know, especially after New York. And the wife of a police captain is rather constrained in her social life.’
‘I’m afraid you’re asking the wrong man about fashion,’ Swallow laughed. ‘As I told you, I’m only recently married myself, so I haven’t had much experience with that kind of thing. And the social life of a police inspector in Dublin isn’t exactly adventurous either.’
‘Dublin is a troubled city, is it not, Inspector?’ Pfaus said, slicing into his veal.
‘Ireland is a troubled country, Johann,’ Swallow answered. ‘And the countryside is more troubled than the city. A struggle continues between rich landowners and small tenant farmers who want to have the security of ownership of their farms. And the country’s political fate is in the balance. You may know of the Irish parliamentary leader, Cha
rles Stewart Parnell. He is trying to secure Home Rule for Ireland, to give it an independent parliament rather than having it simply represented at Westminster as a region of the United Kingdom.’
Pfaus laughed quietly.
‘That’s an ironic contrast with Germany. Almost twenty years ago the peoples of these states of central Europe united to form the German Empire, centred here in Prussia. Our great statesman Prince Otto Von Bismarck saw that the future lies in unity. And of course, the United States is the great example of strength through unity. How curious that your Mr Parnell sees a future in separateness. So where do you stand on that issue, Joseph?’
‘Policemen are not allowed to take part in politics in my country, Johann,’ Swallow said cautiously. ‘We enforce the law as best we can.’
Pfaus grinned.
‘Ah, yes. It’s the same in Germany. But it doesn’t prevent one having views, does it?’
‘No,’ Swallow admitted. ‘I don’t mind saying that I would like to see Parnell succeed in his objective. Ireland is a different country from England. It has a different culture, a different language, even though I must confess I don’t speak the Irish language. And I believe if Mr Parnell doesn’t succeed, people who are prepared to resort to violence will take over the argument. I’d also like to see the land of Ireland belong to the ordinary farming people, not to landowners who live in another country on the rents they extract from their tenants.’
‘I know that women are not supposed to be involved in political issues,’ Elena said quietly, laying her knife and fork on her plate, ‘but if the Irish are a different race from the English I think it makes perfect sense for them to be allowed to have their own parliament and to own the land their ancestors held.’
‘That is an argument, my dear, that appeals to emotions,’ Pfaus said.
Swallow detected a hint of irritation in his voice.
‘Prince Bismarck’s vision is based on reason, and it has been proven,’ Pfaus went on. ‘There is strength and prosperity in unity. Look at the great advantages that the people of Germany have now compared to how it was in their parents’ day. There is universal education, good hospitals for all, pensions for the elderly, support for the infirm and even legal protections for those who suffer injury in the course of employment.’