by Conor Brady
‘Your choice, Michael,’ Swallow said quietly. ‘Just don’t waste my time. There’s an evening train I’m going to catch, either on my own or with you. Make your mind up.’
Carmody grinned mirthlessly.
‘Like this bloody sausage-eater says, I don’t have much bloody choice do I?’
He shot a glare at Pfaus.
‘All right, Inspector. Lay out yer writin’ paper. I’ll make me statement, like you want.’
The hammering on the cell door was hard and urgent.
Carmody had just signed the fourth and final sheet of his four-page witness statement. Swallow signed as chief witness and handed the steel pen to Pfaus for his countersignature.
The statement had been remarkably coherent, Swallow reflected. He guessed that Carmody had rehearsed it well in his head during the night and in the hours before he and Pfaus had returned to the cell. It set out succinctly what Carmody claimed to have seen and heard after Alice Flannery sustained her injuries in the kitchen of the New Vienna restaurant a year previously. It described Stefan Werner’s anger. It recounted her conversation with Carmody in which she spoke of her intention to take Werner to law in order to secure compensation. Perhaps most significantly of all, Swallow estimated, it recounted Werner asking Alice for her home address and his departure from the restaurant almost immediately after she had finished work.
The witness had required a little prompting here and there, but not much. Swallow was careful to allow Carmody’s bad grammar to stand so the statement spoke the words of an uneducated man rather than a stenographer concerned with making the right impression in court. When Michael Carmody would give evidence in the Dublin Criminal Court, his statement and his evidence would complement each other.
‘If he is returning to Dublin as a witness, that makes things very simple,’ Pfaus had said earlier. ‘There is no need to have any extradition warrant if he is going with you voluntarily. What happens when you return to your own jurisdiction is not of concern to us. If he is then charged with a crime, what is the German Empire to do about that?’
‘Apologies, Kapitän Pfaus, I have an important message.’
The uniformed officer who had hammered on the door now hovered on the threshold. Pfaus crossed the cell and stepped out into the corridor, closing the door behind him. When he stepped in again, perhaps a minute later, Swallow knew instantly by his expression that something was terribly wrong.
Chapter 35
The train journey through the dark of the freezing Prussian night was like a bad dream from which there was no escape. Swallow sat, transfixed, staring through the window into the blackness that hurtled by, broken occasionally by showers of orange sparks from the locomotive.
Sitting opposite him in the carriage, Michael Carmody slumbered uneasily beside the impassive, helmeted policeman whose left wrist was chained to his right. Even if he was returning to Dublin voluntarily and as a witness, neither Swallow nor Pfaus were taking any chances that he might simply vanish off the train at some point on the journey.
There would be a railway police escort at the Hamburg Hauptbahnhof to see them onto the train for the Hook of Holland. A Dutch escort would take over at the border, Pfaus had explained, and would accompany them as the packet crossed the North Sea to Harwich.
Half a dozen times, as the train plunged through the darkness, Swallow reread the telegram in the weak light, as if somehow he might discover a different, more hopeful interpretation of its stark, ungrammatical wording.
MARIA ADMITTED ROTUNDA
+ CONDITION SERIOUS
+ ESSENTIAL RETURN IMMEDIATELY
+ LAFEYRE
What could possibly have gone wrong, he asked himself repeatedly. Maria was in the Rotunda Lying-In Hospital. That had to mean there was some problem with the baby. Or with Maria. But the specialist at the hospital had said that everything was in order, Maria was healthy, and he could hear the baby’s heart in his stethoscope. ‘Condition serious’, Lafeyre had said. What did that mean? Did ‘serious’ imply a threat to her life? Or the baby’s? Or both? It had to be grave. He would not be recalled from an important investigation for any trivial reason. The only word in the telegram from which he could take comfort was the signoff: ‘Lafeyre’. With Harry engaged, Swallow knew, Maria would get the best possible care and attention.
Pfaus had hurriedly arranged transport from the Kriminalpolizei building when Swallow, now ashen-faced, had handed him the opened telegram in Carmody’s cell. The police sidecar had sped to the Berlin Hauptbahnhof to catch the next train for Hamburg.
‘I shall telegraph your Doctor Lafeyre in Dublin, Joseph,’ Pfaus assured Swallow as he climbed aboard the sidecar. ‘I’ll try to find out what I can and communicate what I learn to my colleagues at Hamburg. When you change trains, be sure to check if there is a message from Kriminalpolizei Berlin.’
But there was no message at Hamburg. The railway policeman shrugged and offered a puzzled apology when the escorting officer queried him. And there was no message at the police post on the wharf at the Hook of Holland. But there were two Dutch police officers to take custody of Swallow’s prisoner from the Prussians.
It was dawn when the packet sailed from the Hook into a calm, sunless sea. A mile from the Dutch coast the vessel was enveloped in a freezing yellow fog that persisted throughout the twelve-hour crossing. The policemen took turns guarding Carmody in a cabin on the upper deck. After a couple of drinks in the miserable saloon bar, Swallow retired to his own cabin. But sleep was impossible. He tossed and turned, marking every hour with his watch. When he rose to have supper in the ship’s dining room, the darkness of the January evening had already blacked out whatever visibility there had been. And when the captain eased the vessel alongside the quay at Harwich, even the strong carbide marker lights were hardly visible through the gloom.
Two uniformed constables of the Essex Constabulary stood, faintly illuminated below the gangway, to take Carmody into custody from the Dutchmen. Frost gleamed on their helmets and greatcoats. A man in plain clothes standing beside them nodded to Swallow as he stepped ashore. He extended a hand in greeting.
‘Essex CID. Detective Inspector Swallow?’
Swallow nodded.
‘Yes. Have you information for me?’
The detective handed him an envelope stamped with the royal crest.
‘There’s a telegram here for you from Dublin. Two, in fact. You’d best read them yourself. Come into the waiting room. It’s warm and there’s good lighting. You’ve half an hour before the London train.’
A warming coal fire glowed in the waiting room. Swallow opened the first telegram. The transmission address was ‘POLICEDUBLIN’.
PFAUS DETAILS OF FLANNERY INQUIRY TO HAND
+COMPLIMENTS
+REGRETS FAMILY NEWS
+CONFIRMING COMPASSIONATE LEAVE
+MALLON
It was if something hard, metallic almost, had clutched his heart. Compassionate leave was rare in G-Division. John Mallon’s resources were stretched to the degree that he needed every G-man he could have on duty and available at all times.
He tore hurriedly at the second telegram. It bore the transmission stamp of the General Post Office in Sackville Street. It was dated twenty-four hours previously. He glanced at the sender’s name. It was Lafeyre.
MARIA STABLE
+HOSPITAL DOING ALL POSSIBLE OTHERWISE
+NEXT 48 HOURS IMPORTANT
+ROTUNDA IMMEDIATELY YOU ARRIVE
+LAFEYRE
Stable is good, he told himself. Stable means Maria is alive. Stable means that even if she is ill, she isn’t getting any worse. Lafeyre used medical terms precisely, so words meant what they said. But ‘doing all possible otherwise’? That had to refer to the unborn baby. ‘All possible’ did not read well. ‘All possible’ was a medical term too. It was an excuse. It meant that something or some things could not be done. But surely in a hospital like the Rotunda, with its surgeons and doctors, with its skills and reputat
ion, anything was possible? Within reason.
But what had happened? Why in the name of Jesus could Lafeyre not have told him straight out what had gone wrong? As far as he knew he had left a perfectly healthy wife less than a week earlier when he departed for Berlin. What was being kept from him?
He parsed and analysed the telegram over and again as the night train chugged slowly on the two-hour journey from Harwich to its London terminus at Liverpool Street. The two Essex constables, he learned, were regulars on escort duty, bringing prisoners from the North Sea port to the capital. They dozed with Carmody seated between them, one or the other opening a lazy eye to mutter the name of a station to his companion as the train slowed, marking their slow progress across the darkened countryside.
At Liverpool Street the uniformed Essex men handed their prisoner over to the three Scotland Yard CID officers waiting on the platform. Swallow recognised one of them from a visit to London a year ago when he investigated the murder of pawnbroker Ambrose Pollock at Lamb Alley in the Dublin Liberties. It took him only a moment to recall his name. It was Montgomery. Special Irish Branch. Family background in Donegal.
The CID man stepped forward, unsmiling.
‘Sorry to meet you again in these circumstances, Swallow.’
He held out a hand.
‘I gather the doctors in Dublin have done their best.’
Swallow wanted to shout at the man, but he forced himself to be very calm.
‘Thank you. Your men are in order there with my prisoner?’
The other two CID men had already handcuffed Carmody between them.
‘Of course. We’ve a car outside to take us to Euston. The boat train leaves there at midnight. The escort will travel with you to Holyhead and cross with you to Kingstown.’
He nodded to the platform clock.
‘You’ll be in good time.’
‘Look,’ Swallow took him by the arm, stepping aside from the others, ‘I need someone to tell me what’s happened to my wife. All I’ve got since I left Berlin thirty-six hours ago is evasion and silence. Can you tell me what’s going on?’
Montgomery grimaced sympathetically.
‘I’m sorry. I just know there was some sort of incident. An accident . . . I don’t know much more than that. Your wife was injured. But as far as I know she’s not in any mortal danger. . . .’ He stammered. ‘I . . . I . . . just don’t know any more. . . .’
‘An incident? Or an accident?’ Swallow heard himself raising his voice. ‘So which was it? Where was it?’
Montgomery spread his hands, palms downward, in a calming gesture.
‘Please, Swallow. If I knew more, I’d tell you more. Your own people will know more, I’m sure.’
He gestured towards the barrier at the end of the platform.
‘Come on. Let me get you to the car. You’ve a long journey ahead.’
Monday January 7th, 1889
Chapter 36
He could see Harry Lafeyre in the morning half-light as the steam packet edged into the wharf at Kingstown. The city medical examiner stood where the gangway would be run out from the passenger shed once the vessel was docked. Swallow silently cursed the time lost to the captain’s caution, his engines at near standstill, slowly closing the last few feet to the wall.
Pat Mossop was there too, his slight frame lost in his greatcoat, his chin tucked down into its heavy folds against the morning chill. Even from where he stood on the deck he could see that they both looked serious and strained. Two other G-men stood behind Mossop, waiting to take Michael Carmody into custody from his Scotland Yard escort. Their instructions were to charge him with larceny from the New Vienna and to convey him to Mountjoy Prison.
The vessel’s hull bumped against the wharf. Heavy ropes were thrown out and looped around the steel bollards to make it fast against the wall. The gangway was rattled out on noisy iron wheels. Swallow was the first person off the vessel.
Lafeyre stepped forwards to grasp his hand. He gestured silently to the harbour offices behind. When he did speak, his tone was slow and measured.
‘Maria will be fine, Joe. I’m going to take you to her shortly in the hospital and you’ll see that for yourself.’
The harbourmaster had made a small anteroom available to them beside his office. A coal fire burned in the grate, and there was a steaming urn of tea on the table. Mossop poured three full mugs. Swallow was silent.
‘Unfortunately, she lost the baby. The haemorrhage was very heavy,’ Lafeyre said, using the same deliberate, slow delivery. ‘Do you understand what I’m saying, Joe?’
‘Yes. I understand,’ Swallow snapped. ‘I’ve understood what you’re telling me pretty well for two days and two nights now. But nobody’s told me what happened.’
Mossop cleared his throat.
‘I’ll explain, boss. But first I have a message—it’s an order—from Mr Mallon. When I tell you about this, you’re not to take any action on your own. Once you’ve seen your missus you’re to go straight to the Castle. He’ll be waiting for you.’
He glanced nervously at Lafeyre. Swallow saw Lafeyre nod.
‘Well this is how it happened, boss. You were gone away on the Monday just after New Year. The week was quiet. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then Friday morning, just after eight o’clock or so, Martin Shanahan was duty man at Exchange Court and in comes Carrie, the cook from your missus’s place. She’s in a hysterical state, saying that Maria—your missus—has had an accident above in the house and they wouldn’t let her get the doctor.’
‘They?’ Swallow said sharply. ‘Who are we talking about?’
‘Well, that’s the point, boss,’ Mossop grimaced. ‘That . . . bastard Kelly . . . Major Kelly and his gang arrived an hour earlier with a warrant to search the public house and your private quarters, looking for the protection logs that you were supposed to find for them.’
Swallow felt his rage start to spill over.
‘What are you telling me?’ He realised he was shouting. ‘Are you saying that Kelly got a warrant to raid my house, Maria’s house, while I wasn’t there? Is that what happened to her?’
Mossop’s face contorted.
‘I’m sorry, boss. That’s the truth of it.’
‘Jesus,’ Swallow exclaimed. ‘Was there nobody there from G-Division to look after my wife? Didn’t anybody try to stop them? We’re supposed to be the police, the bloody detective division, aren’t we? Aren’t we supposed to look out for each other?’
‘I understand. . . . I’d prefer to be at the gates of Hell myself than bringing this news to you, boss,’ Mossop groaned. ‘But we didn’t know. Nobody in G-Division knew. They said they’d got a warrant from the assistant under-secretary. He’s a magistrate, as you know yourself.’
‘And what happened? What bloody well happened?’
‘They broke in the side door, probably around seven o’clock, and they made straight up the stairs to the private quarters. It seems that Mrs Swallow came out of her room and confronted them, told them to get out of her house. According to what Mr Mallon was told, Kelly showed her the warrant and told her to read it. There was some sort of an altercation then and . . . well . . . she fell on the stairs.’
Mossop turned his face imploringly to Lafeyre.
‘Maybe Dr Lafeyre can explain the . . . medical details . . . from that point, boss.’
‘Kelly says she tripped,’ Lafeyre said, grimacing. ‘I’ve spoken with Maria myself, and she says that she was manhandled down the stairs when she tried to prevent them searching the bedrooms. She says she fell heavily about halfway down, and the next thing she remembers was Carrie kneeling beside her on the floor.’ Lafeyre paused. ‘Carrie came in to work around half past seven, so it seems Maria was lying there for maybe half an hour. Carrie knew there was something very wrong. Maria told her she was in pain, and Carrie wanted to send for the doctor, but Kelly wouldn’t permit it until after the search was completed. It would have been a breach of security, he told Mallon later, if sh
e left the premises.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘But he wasn’t entirely without humanity. He let Carrie move Maria into the lower parlour and get her onto the settee. He even ticked off one of his men to help. Carrie was smart enough though. As soon as Maria was resting on the settee and she was on her own she slipped out through the window, went across the back yard, out into the laneway and made straight for Exchange Court.’
‘Martin Shanahan was fast too,’ Mossop interjected. ‘As soon as he got the picture from Carrie he sent Eddie Cussen up to Harcourt Street for Dr Lafeyre and dispatched Mick Feore and Johnny Vizzard up to Grant’s on the double. Carrie said she’d go down to Francis Street and get Dr Morrow too.’
‘I got there as quickly as I could,’ Lafeyre resumed. ‘I was about to depart for Marlborough Street, and Scollan had the carriage ready outside my door. Detective Cussen came with me, and I was there in ten minutes. Kelly and his men were still in the house, but they didn’t obstruct us.’ Lafeyre paused. ‘You know, I think if they had I’d have asked Cussen for his revolver and gone in there at gunpoint.’
‘And Feore and Vizzard would have been with the doctor. They’d have done the same,’ Mossop added, nodding vigorously. ‘They were there just ahead of him. You know,’ he added, ‘I should have let fly at that bastard when I had the Remington up against his gob in the public office.’
‘Maria was in a lot of pain and she was bleeding,’ Lafeyre continued. ‘In my view she needed to get to the Rotunda where they have the specialised knowledge and the right equipment for that sort of thing. She knew herself that something had gone seriously wrong. Dr Morrow arrived then, and he agreed with me that she had to go to hospital. We managed to get her to the carriage and make her as comfortable as we could. Scollan had us at the Rotunda inside a few minutes. They managed to stop the bleeding after a while. She was very weak, but I don’t think she was ever in mortal danger.’
‘Was she . . . in pain?’ Swallow asked.