by Joe Joyce
‘It’s getting better.’
‘I don’t believe …’ she began.
‘She and her father don’t get on.’
‘I know that. But why would she try and get at him like that? There must be someone else behind it.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘This boyfriend of hers. Jim whatever his name is.’
‘No, don’t be ridiculous. Jim’s the sweetest, most peaceable guy you could ever meet. He wouldn’t have anything to do with anything violent, criminal.’
‘And Nuala?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Is she given to being … dramatic?’
‘She’s your cousin.’
‘We hardly know each other. Like I told you.’
‘Not that dramatic. Not five-hundred-pound-ransom off her own father dramatic.’
‘The five hundred was only the first payment.’
‘Oh my God. How much?’
Duggan shrugged. ‘She wanted a few thousand.’
‘That’s not Nuala.’
‘The note says it is.’
‘I don’t believe it.’ She went to the table and read the note from Nuala again. Duggan stubbed out his cigarette and swung his legs off the bed.
‘What does she mean “when it’s safe to do so”?’ Stella asked.
‘I think she knows that Timmy has sent some old IRA friends after her and she wants to put a stop to it before they find her.’
‘But he wouldn’t let them do anything to her.’
‘I’m sure he told them not to kill her. But he might have told them to teach her a lesson.’
Stella looked at him as if he was insane.
‘I mean,’ he said, pointing at his face, ‘I don’t think he told them to beat me up. Just to follow the money. Which I had delivered for him.’
Stella looked at the envelope of money and stepped away from the table as if it was contaminated.
He got to his feet. ‘That’s why I don’t want anything more to do with Nuala and Timmy and whatever they’re up to.’
‘So what are we going to do with that?’ she pointed to the money.
‘You take it down to Timmy in Leinster House. Ask for him at the gate, say you’re a friend of Nuala’s and you have a message for him.’
‘All right,’ she nodded as if she was memorising the instruction. ‘And if he asks me where I got it what’ll I tell him?’
‘Tell him the truth. Nuala left it for you.’
She gave a nervous nod and he had a sudden change of heart. He couldn’t let her walk into the forefront of Timmy’s mind. He might send his thugs after her, wouldn’t believe that she didn’t know where Nuala was. And they might decide to use their usual interrogation techniques on her.
‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I’ll do it myself.’
‘No, it’s all right,’ she said. ‘I can see why you don’t want anything more to do with them.’
‘I need to have one final talk with Timmy to make that clear,’ he lied. ‘So I might as well give the money back to him. I’ll keep you out of it,’ he added as an afterthought.
‘Thanks,’ she said. She gave an involuntary shudder and folded her arms under her breasts.
Duggan picked up the envelope and put it into his inside pocket. The brownish stain on it couldn’t be mud, he thought idly, the ground is too dry for that. He took the envelope out again and looked at the stain. No, it wasn’t blood either.
‘Is there going to be war?’ Stella asked behind him.
‘What?’
‘I mean an invasion.’
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Nobody knows. I mean nobody here knows.’
‘One of the girls is from Waterford,’ Stella said. ‘She says there’s a lot of army activity there. They’re expecting an invasion.’
‘Training exercises,’ Duggan said. ‘It’s just manoeuvres.’
At least you’d know where you were with an invasion, he thought. You’d know what you were up against and what had to be done.
He cycled back down Baggot Street, into Stephen’s Green and rounded the corner at the Shelbourne Hotel into Kildare Street. The streets were almost empty now in the hiatus between the rush hour and the city’s nightlife. The sun was beginning to drop into the west, still lighting the top floors of Leinster House and mellowing Queen Victoria’s dour look as he stopped at the entry kiosk to the Dáil and asked for Timmy.
‘He’s not in the House,’ the usher at the desk said. ‘He left a little while ago.’
‘Is he across the road?’
The usher said nothing and Duggan added with ambiguity, ‘I’m one of the family.’
‘You might find him there,’ the usher glanced across at Buswell’s Hotel.
The bar was jammed and tobacco smoke hung heavily under the low ceiling, stirred into swirls by the raised voices and bellows of laughter. Duggan couldn’t see Timmy anywhere and threaded his way through the groups until he found him in a tight circle beside the bar with four other men who all looked alike. Timmy was telling a story and Duggan circled around the group until he was opposite him. Timmy gave no sign of seeing him and finished his story. The other men spluttered into laughter and Timmy took a large swallow, waiting for the laughter to subside.
‘You’ll have to excuse me now, men,’ he put his empty glass on the bar. ‘I have to talk to this man here. Someone who knows what’s going on. Unlike you useless fuckers.’
They made their way out to the small lobby, now beginning to fill up with the overflow from the bar. They found space near a back wall and leant against it, facing each other.
‘Good,’ Timmy pointed at the bandage. ‘You had that seen to.’
Duggan ignored the comment and took the envelope from his pocket and handed it to Timmy. Timmy immediately moved to the side to shield it from everyone around them.
‘Is that dried blood on it?’ Duggan asked.
Timmy stopped stuffing it into his inside pocket, glanced at it. ‘No it’s not.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’ve seen enough blood in my time. It’s not.’ Timmy moved back against the wall and faced him again. ‘You’ve seen her.’
‘No. That was left for me. I got a message, that’s all.’
‘Where’d she leave it?’
‘How’d she know to come to me?’
‘So you did meet her?’
‘No. How’d she know to send the message to me? Asking me to return the money to you?’
‘What do you mean?’ Timmy looked perplexed.
‘How did she know I was involved in any of this?’
‘Christ,’ Timmy threw his hands up, ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on with her at all.’
‘Well you got your money back now.’
‘Yeah, thanks.’ Timmy lit a cigarette, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to offer Duggan one. ‘I need to sit down and have a talk with her. Find out what this is all about and straighten out whatever problem she has.’
‘Well I’m out of it now anyway,’ Duggan said.
‘Tell her I’ll meet her anywhere she wants. Any time. And we’ll sort this out between us.’
‘I don’t know where she is.’
Timmy gave him a sly look. ‘But you got a message through to her.’
Duggan lit one of his own cigarettes. Stella, he thought. But she couldn’t be lying to him about Nuala. Unless she was an astonishing actress. She must’ve mentioned him to somebody else. Somebody who was in touch with Nuala. He sighed cigarette smoke and became aware of the dull ache in his cheekbone.
‘Why don’t you leave her alone?’ he suggested. ‘You got your money back. Just let her be. And she’ll come back in her own good time.’
Timmy paused as if he was giving serious thought to the suggestion. ‘I’m not sure she’s a free agent,’ he said. ‘I can’t take the chance that she’s not. That she needs help.’
‘To be rescued?’
‘Exactly.’
‘From who?’
‘I don’t fucking know.’ Timmy’s frustration made him flatten his back against the wall and kick it with his heel.
That’s it, Duggan thought. That’s what’s really bugging him. That Nuala is manipulating him, and not he her. Like he tries to manipulate everyone.
‘Look,’ Timmy recovered himself, ‘get word to her that I want to meet. You can come along too.’
‘Why would I go along? I don’t want to be involved in any of this anymore.’
‘In case she’s worried. Wants someone else there.’
‘Maybe she should go and talk to her mother. Let her act as an intermediary. If she needs one.’
Timmy dropped his cigarette butt on the floor and looked down as he ground it out with his toe. When he looked up his face was a mask of menace that Duggan had never seen before. ‘You’re a good lad, Paul,’ he said very quietly, putting his hand on Duggan’s shoulder. ‘Don’t try to be too fucking smart.’
Duggan was stunned for a moment. ‘I’m not,’ he said. ‘I’m trying to tell you I want nothing more to do with it. That I don’t know where Nuala is. And if I got a message to her I don’t know how I did it.’
‘All right, all right,’ Timmy raised his hands in surrender and his normal jovial self returned. ‘You’ll have a drink.’
‘No, thanks. I’ve got to get back to the barracks. It’s been a long day.’
‘And how are things back there?’
‘Busy, busy. Lots of false alarms.’
‘You have to check them all out,’ Timmy sounded solicitous.
Duggan nodded.
‘One day it’ll be the real thing,’ Timmy added as if it were a fact. ‘Any day now.’
‘The British?’ Duggan asked.
Timmy didn’t answer directly. ‘D’you feel the buzz around here?’ He indicated the area around them. The noise level had increased and it had become more crowded. ‘Always the same when momentous events are upon us.’
‘The talks with MacDonald?’
‘Only a sideshow,’ Timmy shook his head. ‘Like I told you. The last feeble twitch of the lion’s tail.’
‘And you think they’ll invade instead of doing a deal on the North.’
Timmy shook his head and leaned closer. ‘The Germans are coming.’
Duggan felt his stomach sink. ‘When?’
‘Soon.’
‘How soon?’
‘Any day now.’
‘Where?’
Timmy raised his index finger. ‘Now you’ve put your finger on it.’
Duggan waited and Timmy looked around and dropped his voice. ‘The North. Any day now.’
Plan Kathleen, Duggan thought. The invasion plan that was found in Brandy/Goertz’s lodgings. The one that McClure said was unrealistic. How did Timmy know about that? He looked around. Maybe everyone knew about that.
‘How do you know?’ he asked.
Timmy tapped his nose a couple of times. ‘It’s top secret.’
‘Does everyone know?’ Duggan indicated the crowd around them.
‘No, no,’ Timmy said as if he was being patient with a child. ‘They don’t know the plan. But they know big things are afoot. That the day we’ve been waiting for for twenty years is approaching.’ He smiled and gave Duggan a slow wink. ‘A nation once again.’
Ten
The phone rang, breaking Duggan’s reverie about his conversation last night with Timmy. ‘Your cousin,’ the switch said, a different voice to the usual orderly.
‘Which one?’
‘He didn’t say.’
Duggan waited a moment. ‘Peter,’ he said.
‘Acting like a general now, I hear,’ Gifford said. ‘Like I was telling your young lad here, give these culchies an inch etcetera etcetera.’
‘Any news?’ Duggan didn’t feel like exchanging mock insults this morning.
‘Well, yes, general. As a matter of fact there is.’ Gifford paused but Duggan waited for him to go on. ‘Your young man has been busy. I’m sure he’s dying to tell you himself, get a pat on the back. But I got to the phone first.’
Duggan sighed. ‘What is it?’
‘Sinéad sends her love. I think. She didn’t say that exactly. Just some culchie talk about how you were no loss. Which I think means she’s in love.’
‘Fuck’s sake,’ Duggan moaned.
‘Right,’ Gifford paused. ‘Hope you heard the heels click. General busy man. And so on. And, sir, the thing is that your legman has found the postman’s other letter box.’
‘Right,’ Duggan said, taking a second to interpret the information. Sullivan had found where Kitty Kelly collected letters.
‘He wanted to barge in and ask questions. But I pointed out to him that this was a police matter. Required tact and delicacy. Which you brute force merchants don’t understand.’
‘Where is it?’
‘Meet me at the station beside the church in half an hour and we’ll go take a look.’
‘Is that area okay?’
‘Oh, yes. The post’s been and gone. Got Mass and all.’ Gifford hung up.
Gifford was lounging by the wall inside the entrance to Westland Row station, reading a newspaper when Duggan arrived. He looked like he was planning a crime and a woman in front of Duggan gave him a quick suspicious glance before she passed by and climbed the stairs to the platform.
‘Just across the road,’ Gifford said, folding the paper under his arm. ‘Your legman followed her in there after Mass next door and heard her asking if there was any post for her.’
‘I told him to keep back. Not to let her see him.’
‘Just as well he went in. Or he’d never have heard what he heard.’
‘Better not let him hear you call him my legman.’
‘Sensitive, is he?’
‘He looks on himself as a real G2 man. I’m only in there because I can speak some German.’
‘Maith an buachaill,’ Gifford retorted illogically. Good boy.
They stopped on the footpath and looked across at the line of shops opposite. ‘Which one is it?’ Duggan asked. Gifford pointed to a small newsagent’s.
‘The same one where Harbusch gets his letters from the woman in Amsterdam,’ Duggan said. Odd, he thought, that they would both use the same place if they were working together. A definite breach of security. There was no shortage of shops that provided a post restante service.
‘The dirty letters,’ Gifford nodded.
They crossed to the shop and went in. There was a middle-aged man behind the counter. ‘Men,’ he said, looking from one to the other.
‘Mr Johnson,’ Gifford showed him his warrant card. ‘You’re helping us out already with a quick look at any post for Herr Harbusch.’
‘Indeed,’ the man nodded. ‘Always happy to help you lads.’
‘We think that a Miss Kelly is also using your service.’
The man nodded again.
‘Does she get many letters?’
‘Only an occasional one. They come from abroad. Switzerland.’
‘Switzerland?’ Gifford sounded surprised and glanced at Duggan. ‘Only Switzerland? Does she get any post from anywhere else?’
The man thought for a moment, then shook his head. ‘No. I recognized the stamps. I’m a collector.’
‘Only Switzerland,’ Gifford agreed. ‘And how often?’
‘Nothing regular. Maybe one every few weeks or so.’
‘And when was the last time?’
‘Would’ve been ten days ago, maybe more. Could’ve been two weeks. I don’t pay a lot of attention. Not up to now.’
‘We think she might be expecting another one,’ Gifford said. ‘And we’d appreciate it if you’d let us know as soon as it arrives. And hold it for us before you give it to her. Like with Herr Harbusch’s post.’
‘Certainly,’ the man said. ‘Actually, she was in this morning, asking if there was anything for her.’
‘Really?’ Gifford sou
nded surprised.
‘Yes,’ the man said with enthusiasm. ‘But there wasn’t anything. Not for the last ten days. Maybe two weeks.’
‘We’d appreciate it if you could alert us the next time.’
‘Always happy to oblige. I know you have a hard job these days.’
‘Could I ask you,’ Duggan intervened, ‘if you get any post here for a Mr Jameson?’
‘As in the whiskey?’ the man sounded surprised. ‘No.’
Duggan added the names of the other tenants in the Harbusch building. ‘Or for any one of those names?’
The man thought a moment and then shook his head.
‘Okay,’ Gifford said, turning to leave. ‘Thanks for your help.’
‘I thought she might have a relative who was a prisoner of war,’ the man said.
‘What?’ Gifford turned back to him.
‘Well she’s not a married lady,’ the man said confused. ‘Or widowed. So I thought it might be a nephew. Someone like that. Not a son.’
‘Did she ever say anything like that?’ Duggan asked.
‘Oh, no, no,’ the man said. ‘She never said anything at all. It was just the letters from Switzerland, you know. The Red Cross.’
‘What about the Red Cross?’
‘Well I hear they organise letters from prisoners of war. So one of my neighbours told me. His son’s in the British Army and they’ve been told he’s been taken prisoner. They’re up the walls. Trying to get information from the Red Cross. He says they have lists. Can pass messages back and forth.’
‘Was there anything on the letters to indicate that they came from the Red Cross?’ Gifford asked.
‘No, no,’ the man sounded sorry that he had volunteered his theory. ‘I was only just thinking myself. Idly wondering.’
‘Anything on the letters to say who they came from?’
‘There was some kind of an address. In Zurich. But no mention of the Red Cross.’
‘Okay,’ Gifford sought confirmation from Duggan that they were ready to go. ‘Sure we’ll see it when the next one arrives.’
‘I’ll call the usual number the minute it does,’ the man promised.
Cycling back to headquarters a thought that had been niggling at the back of his mind came to the fore. Timmy hadn’t seemed surprised to have got his money back. Didn’t even ask if it was all there. Only wanted to talk to Nuala in person. Almost like he knew he would get the money back. All of it. How come? he wondered as he pedalled down the quays.