by Conor Brady
Swallow reminded himself he should never underestimate John Mallon.
‘I know it’s not my business now, Chief. But you know this could go very hard with Stephen Doolan. He’s one of the most solid skippers in the force. If it turns out his brother is the main man in a crime gang, it’ll be difficult for him. And it’ll be worse again if it turns out that his other brother’s house is being used to move stolen property. It’s hardly possible that he’s known about this, is it?’
Mallon grimaced.
‘I’d have thought Doolan would be the last man who’d likely turn a blind eye to something like this, even if there was family involved. He’s got, what, maybe twenty or twenty-five years’ unblemished service? He can retire anytime he wants. But who knows? I’ll have a warrant to search the house this morning. We’ll probably have to question him, at the very least.’
‘Well, that’s that, then, Chief,’ Swallow said. ‘I’m truly sorry. I know I’ve presented you with the biggest foul-up that G-division has encountered in a very long time.’
Mallon shook his head.
‘No. This can be dealt with. If we box clever, it’ll be stormy for a bit, but then it’ll die down. We’re left with an unsolved murder, a body in the Poddle and all that. But even murders get forgotten about.’
He gestured to the selection of morning newspapers spread on his desk.
‘Crime is important. But it’s far more important that we keep Parnell where he should be. That’s out of the newspapers, at least insofar as his private life is concerned.’
He stared hard at Swallow.
‘And that, it seems, is what you’ve managed to do, Detective Inspector Swallow. I can live with an unsolved murder and an angry Chief Commissioner. But I wouldn’t want to be trying to keep the madmen in check without Parnell’s calming influence. God knows how you did it, but I don’t need to know.’
Chapter 33
At some point during the afternoon he realised that he had not responded to old Ephram Greenberg’s request to visit him again in Capel Street. He had some new information, according to the message left by Katherine Greenberg at Exchange Court, concerning the diamonds and gold coins that had been recovered from the Poddle.
The day had been punctuated by news of dramatic developments which he followed from his sedentary location in the office of the Chief Commissioner. News of crime or advances in an investigation travelled quickly around the police offices. Clerks in adjoining departments liked to show colleagues how much they were in the know by being the first with confirmation of a significant development, an operation in one of the divisions or an arrest. Gossip and chat was shared in the canteen in the Lower Yard and in the many licensed premises frequented by policemen in and around the Castle.
His station in the Chief Commissioner’s office was far from unpleasant. He was accommodated in a small room that had a desk with a capacious drawer, two chairs, a coat-stand, a waste-paper basket and a tall, wooden filing cabinet. Its solitary window faced west into the stable-yard. Thus, while the view was not particularly uplifting, the light was good.
The clerks in the Chief Commissioner’s office were pleasant and welcoming to him. Police clerks, he knew, fell into one of two categories. There were career clerks, men who had chosen to work indoors, usually at an early stage of their careers. These were generally better educated than the average policeman and they had an allowance that boosted their pay somewhat. Mostly they had the rank of sergeant, which gave them a little more money again. The other category included men like Swallow, as he now found himself. These were not in their roles by inclination but because fate and circumstances dictated that they should not be at work in the divisions or in contact with the general public.
The task allocated to Swallow by the superintendent who acted as the Chief Commissioner’s personal private secretary was to work on perfecting the text of the forthcoming Annual Report on the Dublin Metropolitan Police for 1888. It was due to be forwarded to the Chief Secretary for Ireland not later than the thirtieth of June, as required each year by regulation. There were two principal objects in the task, the superintendent explained. First, the narrative had to be proofed for grammatical propriety. Second, the columns of statistics had to be checked for numerical accuracy. In no circumstances was there to be any departure from the sentiments so carefully articulated and set down by the Chief Commissioner himself. The formulaic style and presentation, sacrosanct over decades, had to be strictly maintained, right down to the assurance, at the conclusion of the report, that its author had the honour to remain the obedient servant of its distinguished addressee.
Two hours later, when he had managed to find no more than a couple of misplaced apostrophes, a clerk from the Weights and Measures office next door came by to tell him that four cavalrymen were in custody at Portobello Barracks in connection with the robbery at Sir John and Lady McCartan’s. An hour later, the same clerk came by to tell him in shocked tones that one of the cavalrymen was a brother of Sergeant Stephen Doolan in the A-district.
And when he broke from his paperwork to have his mid-day meal at the canteen, a sergeant from the ABC telegraph office told him a message from Belfast CID had confirmed that Mrs Sarah Bradley, the subject of an earlier inquiry from G-division, had been located, alive and well and employed as housekeeper at the home of a Belfast bank manager on Cliftonvale Avenue in that city.
In the mid-afternoon, while he was cross-checking the total number of offences under the Street Trading Acts detected and prosecuted during the year, the door was opened by none other than John Mallon himself.
‘You’re gainfully employed, anyway, I see,’ he said gruffly.
‘I could give you an argument on that, Chief. But I won’t.’
Mallon took the straight-backed chair in front of the desk.
‘There’s a few developments that you might be interested in.’
‘Always glad to keep up with the news,’ Swallow quipped. ‘But you’d be surprised how well it travels in here anyway.’
He was glad to see his boss. It made his new surroundings in the Chief Commissioner’s outer office less unfamiliar.
‘I went out to Salthill this morning to see Mr Parnell. The funds to persuade O’Shea to stay quiet came through earlier so he was mighty relieved. And I told him that you had somehow persuaded the people in the security section in the Upper Yard to abandon their attempts to get the newspapers to run with the story about the divorce petition. He asked me to convey his particular thanks to you for that. But he’s a strange man. First, he was pleased. Then he told me he’d almost prefer if it was out in the open.’
Swallow was moved.
‘You can understand how he’d have mixed feelings, in a way. It can’t be great living that sort of a double life. But it’s kind of him to send that message. I only did what any Irishman concerned for the good of his country would do.’
‘The fact is, you did it,’ Mallon said, ‘whatever it was. I don’t suppose there’d be any connection between it and the fact Mr Reginald Polson, a member of the Assistant Under-Secretary’s department, was noted by our lads on the North Wall, going aboard the Liverpool steam-packet later in the morning, with all of his luggage?’
‘Ah, I wouldn’t know anything about that, Chief. But it wouldn’t surprise me greatly that he’d want to move on. He told me he found Dublin very dull entirely.’
Mallon face was impassive.
‘Really? That’s a pity.’
‘The other thing I want to tell you is that the search team down at what we were told is Stephen Doolan’s brother’s house on Clanbrassil Street has struck gold. Literally. The place is like an Aladdin’s cave. It’s crammed with jewellery, watches, gold and silver ornaments and so on. They’re still trying to count all the cash they’ve recovered. It’s under floorboards, in boxes in the attic, under the beds, everywhere.’
‘Well, that’s a bit of good news, for a change. Do they know if any of the McCartans’ stuff is in that haul?’
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‘Subject to confirmation from the McCartans themselves, it looks positive. There’s rings, pearls and watches that match the descriptions they gave us.’
‘So there may be a God in Heaven, after all. And maybe he occasionally takes pity on poor policemen down here.’
Mallon smiled.
‘And there’s one other bit of intelligence that you might be glad to know too. Stephen Doolan hasn’t been on speaking terms with either of his brothers for years. There’s nothing so far to suggest that he suspected either of them to be involved in crime.’
‘I’m glad to know that. I’d have been astonished if he was aware of anything like that without doing something about it. But obviously he’s a bit unfortunate in his choice of brothers.’
Mallon stood.
‘He is. I’m personally going to take the stuff recovered at Clanbrassil Street that we think belongs to the McCartans and bring it out to Templeogue Hill myself. It might just be possible to put some sort of a curtain around what’s happened. What the French call a cordon sanitaire, I believe.’
‘How could you do that, Chief?’ Swallow asked. ‘He was furious beyond words, threatening every sort of punishment on me. I know he’s a bit mercurial and he can blow hot then blow cold. But in fairness to him, I’ve given him adequate reason to be angry.’
‘I can’t deny that,’ Mallon acknowledged. ‘But I’ve been making my own inquiries. It’s known that he acted very foolishly in allowing Sarah Bradley to more or less take over his house, humiliating his wife and taking charge of the household as if she was mistress of the house. There’s little doubt a relationship or a dependency grew up that was, at very least, inappropriate.’
‘All of that may be true, Chief. But how does that help us?’
‘Ah, well. There’s a vacancy coming up shortly on the bench. It’s in the High Court of Justice, in fact. Sir John has expressed an interest in the appointment and, of course, it’s in the giving of the Lord Lieutenant.’
He grinned mischievously.
‘As it happens, I’m having a private lunch with the Lord Lieutenant next week and I expect we will discuss it, as we discuss all sensitive appointments. It’s important that the judiciary have the full confidence of the police. And it’s important that appointees to the bench are men of absolute propriety, with good judgment, not given to foolishness or indiscretion. Of course, it would be fatal to the ambitions of any would-be member of the bench if it became known that the police had good reason to consider him as a murder suspect, notwithstanding that they found they were mistaken.’
‘Are you serious, Chief?’ Swallow was incredulous.
‘I believe that Sir John might think it better all-round if there were not to be any publicity about what happened at Templeogue Hill last night, or why it happened. It wouldn’t help his standing among his legal colleagues or among the judiciary, whose distinguished ranks he is keen to join. Indeed, if the Lord Lieutenant were to hear about these things, it would be catastrophic to his ambitions. So I think I can mollify McCartan by explaining that the over-zealous officer who raided his house has been transferred to desk duties. And he’ll be pleased to know that I intend to speak so highly of him to the Lord Lieutenant over lunch.’
Swallow spent the rest of the afternoon trying to tot numbers of offences reported and detected across the city’s six uniform divisions, checking them against the totals recorded by the Chief Commissioner’s own clerical staff. However it was inordinately difficult to concentrate. The audacity of what Mallon was planning to do scrambled his thinking. When he found that someone had incorrectly totalled the numbers of persons charged with being drunk and disorderly in a public place and when he rectified the error, he marvelled at his capacity to keep simultaneous processes running parallel in his head.
Most of the Chief Commissioner’s staff worked regular hours and started to shut their offices from half-past five or so. He had finished all his long tots and cross-checks by then but he lingered on almost to the hour, poring over the introductory text. Finding no further stray apostrophes, he folded the file, locked it in the drawer, descended to the Lower Yard and exited the Castle by the Palace Street gate, just as the Angelus bells started to ring across the city. He crossed Dame Street into Parliament Street, now shaded from the sinking sun, and crossed the bridge named in honour of Henry Grattan, who had briefly secured an independent parliament for Ireland a little more than a century ago, onto Capel Street.
All the shops were shut now, their proprietors and assistants either retired to private quarters on the upper floors or to the more cramped rooms at the back of the tall, elegant houses. The dark roller-blinds were down behind Greenberg’s plate-glass windows, protecting the valuable displays both from the evening sun and the eyes of would-be snatch thieves and predators. The shop doorway, as always when the business day was done, was sealed off from the street with a heavy, wrought-iron grille.
The private entrance was a separate, narrow doorway where the house adjoined its neighbour. He hauled on the bell-cord and heard a faint, distant tinkle from the top of the narrow stairs inside. The Greenberg’s elderly housemaid who opened the door to him was from some remote village in Poland and in spite of having lived for decades in Dublin spoke little or no English. But she knew Swallow was always a welcome visitor to the house and smiled wordlessly before preceding him laboriously up the narrow stairs to Ephram’s first-floor parlour.
The old dealer was seated at the long mahogany table that sometimes doubled as his work-top. The remains of his supper lay on a tray beside him, chicken bones and some scraps of red cabbage on a plate, with a half-consumed glass of dark red wine beside it. Swallow was surprised to find him already in a dressing gown as if preparing to go to bed.
His eyes lit up when he recognised his visitor.
‘Joseph. You’re very welcome. Come in, come in. Take a seat here and join me in a drink.’
The elderly maid, anticipating her master’s wish, had already procured another glass from the cabinet and placed it on the table beside him. Ephram reached slowly across for the opened bottle of strong, Lebanese Syrah and half-filled the glass. Swallow noticed that the old man’s hand had a distinct shake that he had not noticed on previous visits.
‘The usual, Joseph. The very best from the Bekaa Valley.’
The voice was a little weaker too.
Swallow had abjured alcohol for more than twenty-four hours and felt the better for it. But it would be offensive to refuse to drink with Ephram, he told himself. And wine was more or less safe, not having the potency of whiskey. He raised the glass in appreciation.
‘Thank you, Ephram. Here’s to your very good health.’
The wine was good on his palate.
‘If I had known you were coming, I would have delayed my supper and we could have dined together. You have not eaten?’
‘Thank you, Ephram, but I’m not hungry. I looked after myself in the police canteen earlier in the day.’
‘That’s not proper food,’ Ephram gave a little snort. ‘Katherine told the cook earlier to prepare cod in white sauce for her own supper. She always makes a good deal more than is needed so I know there will be plenty for you. It’s always very appetising, I promise you.’
As if on cue, the door opened and Katherine walked in, carrying two cloth-bound ledgers.
‘Mr Swallow,’ she smiled brightly. ‘I heard the bell but I assumed it was one of the men from the Synagogue come to visit my father. They are all his friends and they like to have conversation with him. You are very welcome, as always.’
She was in the working uniform of a city businesswoman. The long, dark dress, buttoned to the neck and without adornment of any kind, was severe but also flattering. Katherine had recently started to gain a little weight and her slightly fuller figure sometimes reminded Swallow of her late mother, Miriam.
‘We’ve got very formal, haven’t we?’ he quipped. ‘What happened to Joe?’
She laughed.
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sp; I’m sorry. Of course. You’re very welcome, Joe. It’s just that I’ve been in the shop all day, dealing with customers. I have to adjust my disposition and my terminology now that the day is ended. And I need to change out of this drab attire.’
She put the two ledgers on the table.
‘These are up to date, now Father. Everything up to close of business today is there. But I don’t want you to check them until tomorrow. The doctor wants you early to bed for a while. Will you promise me?’
Ephram sighed.
‘I know. I know. Yes, I promise. I’ll go up after I’ve had a short conversation with Joseph. But I want you to give him supper before he goes. He hasn’t eaten and I told him that you had ordered the cook to prepare that nice cod she bought for you in the market this morning.’
‘Of course, I will,’ she smiled again. ‘You have your conversation together and I’ll have the table prepared in the dining room. I’m looking forward to supper myself and it will be very nice to have company.’
When she had left the room, Ephram poured more wine for them both.
‘Katherine works very hard now, because I can do so little in the business,’ he said. ‘I don’t have the energy that I used to. The brain is still good and I can advise her on buying and selling, but even going up and down those stairs now is difficult.’
Swallow nodded.
‘You know I did some medical training before I joined the police, Ephram. So I can offer some advice to you, as well. My advice is, listen to what your body is telling you. None of us can do everything we did when we were younger men. We all know that. At least we can’t do everything as well or maybe as quickly. So don’t ask unreasonable things of your body. Treat it kindly.’