The Eloquence of the Dead

by Conor Brady

  ‘Swallow. Detective sergeant.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘We met when you tried to rob Greenberg’s. I shot your idiot friend, Darby, the hero with the knife.’

  Teddy blinked. He seemed puzzled.

  ‘Darby’s been singing like a thrush, Teddy. So you’d better give me your version of things now while you can.’

  ‘I’m an innocent man,’ Teddy croaked. ‘And I’m injured.’

  Swallow raised his voice.

  ‘You’ll know what it is to be injured if I hand you back to Vanucchi’s crowd. Don’t piss me off. Any man who puts a gun in my face is fair fucking game as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘You can’t do that,’ Teddy made an effort to sound confident. ‘I know me rights. You’ve got to let me go or bring me to a magistrate. An’ he’s got to get me a brief, a lawyer.’

  ‘Well, Jesus pity you,’ Swallow laughed. ‘You’re in Ireland now, my friend. We’ve different rules here thanks to a certain Mr Balfour, a countryman of your own. You wouldn’t know much about the Coercion Act, but it means I can keep you here for as long as I want or put you back on the street if I want.’

  Teddy was still able to muster some defiance.

  ‘You can’t prove nothin’ against me. I’m bein’ bleedin’ victimised, so I am.’

  Swallow laughed again.

  ‘You’re talking shite, Teddy. I can give evidence of identification at Greenberg’s. You’ll be done for attempted armed robbery, assault with a deadly weapon and possession of a firearm with intent to endanger life. You’re looking at twenty years in Maryborough Convict Prison.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘It’s in the bog. It’s colder and wetter than any place you’ve ever been. Wandsworth or Brixton are like hotels compared to Maryborough.’

  Teddy was silent for a moment.

  ‘Look, I got into fackin’ deep waters. All I want is to go ’ome and forget about this bloody place. If you can do that for me, I can tell you where to catch some really big fish, if you’re interested.…’

  Swallow smiled.

  ‘You’re not in a position to make deals. If you’re lucky you’ll spend the next twenty years buried in Maryborough. That is definitely not something you would enjoy. It might be more merciful to put you back in that cellar where Vanucchi’s gang can finish you off.’

  Teddy struggled to a half-sitting position.

  ‘I know ’ow it works for coppers. You gets a conviction, it adds to yer good record. It might even add to yer pay. You can put Darby away. I’ll swear against him, no bother. And, if you just put me on the boat back to Liverpool, I’ll give you a score that any copper in London would give ’is right eye for.’

  Swallow cocked his head.

  ‘I doubt it very much, Teddy. Some poor bugger that’s been dumped in the Thames or some inkie printing banknotes in his kitchen isn’t of any interest here. But I’m listening.’

  ‘It’s much bigger than any o’ that. Wot I’m talkin’ about is big money gettin’ took away from ’er Majesty’s Treasury. An’ it’s ’appenin’ ’ere in bloody Dublin, innit.’

  Swallow tried not to look impressed. But he was. So far, what Teddy Shaftoe had told him tallied with what Charlie Vanucchi said his men had beaten out of him in the cellar under the public house in The Coombe.

  ‘Go on.’

  Teddy hesitated. He calculated that he had to give a bit more.

  ‘It’s like this. I meets this bloke back ’ome. He works for the government down at Whitehall. From time to time ’e calls me in when ’e ’as jobs that need to be done, for the government, like.’

  Teddy was upright now.

  ‘So,’ he said, seeming to draw energy from his own narrative, ‘this bloke sends for me a couple o’ weeks back and asks would I like to do a bit o’work in Ireland? So I says, Teddy’s not proud, I’ll work for anyone wot pays me up front.’

  ‘What’s his name, this fellow who works for the government?’

  ‘Aha, that’s fer me to know at this stage and fer you to wonder at,’ Teddy attempted a grin. ‘That’s the kind of information you jest might get … if we can … come to an understanding.’

  ‘Go on,’ Swallow said again.

  ‘So I says to ’im, I says, I always wanted some recognition for me talents. Wot is it exactly ’er Majesty wants me to do? And ’e says, “It ain’t exactly ’er Majesty you’d be workin’ for. You’d be workin’ for my boss and ’e works for the gov’ment, so, indirectly sort of, you’d be workin’ for the gov’ment too.”’

  ‘So you’re telling me now that you’re working for the government?’

  ‘I s’pose so. Bit like yerself, in a way,’ Teddy laughed. ‘Yeh, I’ve got maybe a dozen jobs over the year that required my skills. They pay me well. But I know, don’ I, I’m doin’ their dirty work for ’em because they can’t afford to get caught doin’ it themselves, can they?’

  Swallow had no idea what Teddy was talking about, but it seemed best to agree.

  ‘What sort of jobs?’

  ‘Went for some posh Irish geezer in the street outside Claridges’ hotel wiv’ a knife. I ’ad to cut him but not too badly. I ’ad to stick a letter in ’is pocket as he went down. I seen it. It said “GET OUT OF IRELAND OR DIE.” It was wrote in big, red letters.’

  ‘You can tell me who he was. I can check that easily in the crime records.’

  ‘True enough. Okay, ’e was a big bloody landowner somewhere. I done a right good job. Got ’im just in the ribs, not too deep though. Just enough to bring a squirt o’ blood and a good squeal.’

  Swallow recalled the incident. The Earl of Dunmanway was a leading landlord. The attack on him as he came out of his London hotel had been attributed by Scotland Yard to Irish land agitators. A few weeks after the incident, the Earl had sold out his estates.

  ‘It doesn’t sound like the sort of work government usually undertakes. What else did you do?’

  ‘There was a couple more jobs wiv me knife. I ’ad to threaten a woman once. He told me she wasn’t to be ’armed, and she wasn’t. I just frightened ’er.’

  ‘You’re not making any sense, Teddy. Why would somebody in Whitehall want to threaten or injure these people?’

  Shaftoe cocked his head.

  ‘I’ve a pretty good idea it’s connected with sellin’ or buyin’ land ’ere in Ireland.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Once I was meetin’ this geezer at The Mitre – that’s a public ’ouse – he had papers wiv ’im and ’e left ’em on the bar when ’e went to answer a call o’ nature. So I ’ad a look. It was all about acres and deeds and who owned these fackin’ farms. There was big money bein’ mentioned too. I seen figures of £2,000 and £5,000 in there. ’E come back from outside and sees me lookin’ at the stuff and ’e was fackin’ furious wiv me. I reckon he thought I couldn’t read.’

  ‘What did he say? Exactly.’

  ‘When ’e calmed down, ’e said I didn’t need to know abaht all the stuff ’e was dealin’ wiv. ’E said there was a lot of business to be done over land across in Ireland an’ if I was smart there’d be work in it fer me.’

  ‘So who is this geezer, as you call him?’

  Teddy’s eyes narrowed. ‘There you go again. Like I said, that’s the kind of detail that’ll cost you.’

  ‘All right,’ Swallow conceded. ‘If this story stands up, I reckon I can do something for you. But it’ll take time, and I’m making no promises until I get a solid case out of it all.’

  Teddy grinned. ‘That’s good. You’re a man wot knows a good chance when ’e sees one.’ He leaned forward. ‘Wot this is all about is makin’ a lot o’ money for a few clever people, if you ask me. Me, I’m jest gettin’ crumbs while I’m takin’ all the risks.’

  ‘What was the job here in Dublin?’

  ‘It’s been a fuckin’ disaster, ain’t it? ’E gave me a ’undred quid and said “Go to Dublin.” I was told that someone in Dublin was sellin’ these fack
ing coins. Said they knew there was some of ’em bought by in this Jewish shop called Greenberg’s. I was to buy ’em up, find out who was sellin’ em and get back ’ome.’

  ‘But you didn’t stick to the job, Teddy. You got greedy.’

  ‘That’s the truth. I cased out the bleedin’ shop with that fackin’ idiot Darby. It looked easy.… They got some good stuff in that shop, believe you me.’

  He winced in pain.

  ‘From the moment we went in that bleedin’ place, it’s all gone wrong. First, you turn up with the bobby and your fackin’ gun. I didn’ know the coppers ’ere had guns. It ain’t right, you know. Then when I gets away, I falls into the ’ands of a bunch of fackin’ cannibals.’

  He lay back, exhausted.

  ‘Now, you’ve got a lot from Teddy. So what abaht Teddy gettin’ somethin’ from you?’

  Swallow got to his feet. ‘You have me interested, Teddy. But things take time and it’s been a long night. You just relax here now and enjoy the hospitality. I’ll go away and do a bit of thinking.’

  He turned as he reached the door.

  ‘One other thing. When did you get here to Dublin?’

  ‘Three days ago, it was Sunday, I think. Why?’

  ‘Just curious.’

  If Shaftoe was telling the truth, then he and Darby were still in London when Ambrose Pollock was killed. Swallow was not surprised. But it helped to seal off at least one line of inquiry.

  WEDNESDAY OCTOBER 5TH, 1887

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Morning was breaking east of the city when Swallow emerged from the police canteen in the Lower Yard. A thin sun was spreading in from the bay, and there was a hint of ground frost on the cobbles.

  There had been no point in making for Heytesbury Street or his bed.

  He had no sleep, and he had drunk far too much the night before. But the initial sense of exhaustion when he had made it home after dinner with Lafeyre had given way to exhilaration at the arrest of Teddy Shaftoe at the cathedral.

  As the new day formed out of the dawn, he began to feel a little better. The alcohol was beginning to pass out of his system. He thought briefly of Maria’s evening at the theatre with George Weldon, and then pushed the subject to the back of his mind before his anger would take over again.

  He focused on what Shaftoe had told him about the job he had been sent on from London. If his story was true, it was serious news for the authorities both at Westminster and in Dublin. If it emerged that the land transfer process was corrupt, it could collapse the entire programme. He would have to brief Mallon as early as possible.

  But how did any of it connect to the coins that the Clinton woman had brought in to Katherine Greenberg? Johnny Vizzard had still not located her. Wherever she was, she and her family were almost certainly now in danger.

  So too was Katherine. But with an armed G-man around the clock at Greenberg’s she could be protected. Vizzard’s efforts to find the Clintons would have to yield results sooner rather than later.

  In the meantime, he had to hear what Mick Feore’s inquiries might have turned up in relation to the front hall porter at the Northern Hotel.

  He needed the soakage of the police canteen breakfast. He had sausages, bacon, black pudding and two fried eggs. There was bread in from the bakery, butter and strawberry jam in a big glass pot. It was a blessed change from Harriet’s porridge and figs. He filled his mug three times with strong tea.

  The canteen was abuzz with the dramatic events of the night. Uniformed constables plied the G-men for details. Two of them sat on the bench seat facing Swallow across the trestle table.

  ‘Busy night, Skipper,’ the younger one grinned, forking half a sausage away under his moustache. ‘You grabbed this English character above in the cathedral, I hear. Did he give any trouble?’

  Swallow cursed silently. If the morning uniformed shift knew about Shaftoe, it would in the newspapers by noon. He could have done with a bit of slow time before it became public knowledge.

  ‘Nah,’ he answered. ‘Just a small-time gurrier that got out of his depth. Should have stayed in London.’

  He finished his breakfast and checked the roster to see if Johnny Vizzard was back on duty after his night protection duty at the Viceregal Lodge. He had returned to the Exchange Court dormitory just an hour ago. Swallow reckoned he would let him sleep for a while before rousing him.

  He went down to Mallon’s office in the Lower Yard.

  ‘What time will the boss be in?’ he asked the clerk. ‘I want to brief him on a few developments.’

  ‘Come back at half nine. He’s got an appointment with the Security Secretary in the Upper Yard an hour after that.’

  Pat Mossop and Mick Feore were waiting for him at the crime sergeants’ office. Swallow told them the story behind Teddy Shaftoe’s arrest at the Cathedral.

  ‘He’s a lucky man that the Vanucchi crowd didn’t do for him straight away,’ Feore said.

  ‘There’s got to be some connection with the murders, Boss.’ Mossop shook his head. ‘I’m damned if I can see it, but all my instincts tell me yes.’

  Swallow shrugged.

  ‘Maybe so.’

  He turned to Mick Feore. ‘What new on your friend Rowan?’

  ‘I got the file from DCR. He’s ex-army. Did two years in the glasshouse at the Curragh for robbery with violence of a camp shopkeeper. Then he’s got convictions for assault in Limerick and Kilkenny. In all cases the victims were women.’

  He turned a page on his notebook.

  ‘He says he was never near the first floor of the hotel at the time Phoebe Pollock went up there. But we have a chambermaid saying she passed him up there on the corridor. The reception clerk says that around the same time there was no porter on the front door. He had to keep an eye to it himself in case anyone needed assistance.’

  ‘What do think we should do, Boss?’ Mossop asked.

  ‘I think it’s clear enough,’ Swallow said. ‘Bring him in.’

  THIRTY-NINE

  John Mallon felt good about the day.

  The divisional crime reports for the previous night on his desk offered nothing other than the usual. The city’s six divisions, from the crowded, poor ‘A’ to the affluent, coastal ‘F’ had an almost crime-free night. A street fight here and there. The usual drunk-and-disorderly incidents. A housebreaking at Drumcondra.

  The most important report was always that compiled by the duty sergeant at G-Division, and this morning’s was positively good news. It narrated the arrest, in the precincts of St Patrick’s Cathedral, of the second man believed to have been involved in the attempted robbery at Greenberg’s jewellers shop on Capel Street two days previously.

  He riffled through the morning newspapers, the Freeman’s Journal, The Irish Times, the Daily Sketch. He could find nothing critical of the police. There was a matter-of-fact paragraph in The Irish Times about the Lamb Alley murder and the presumably connected disappearance of Ambrose Pollock’s sister, now almost a week ago.

  He was due to meet the Security Secretary at his office in the Upper Yard, and he would be the bearer of at least some good tidings. The Pollock murder was still unsolved. Phoebe Pollock was still missing. But the arrest of the Capel Street gunman was evidence of the police force’s exertions. He relaxed a little behind his desk, satisfied that he could put a fair gloss on things for the day.

  When Swallow arrived shortly after 9.30, the conversation helped his mood initially. Swallow related what Mick Feore had learned about Rowan, the hall porter at the Northern Hotel.

  ‘We’ll bring him in, and if he’s our man we’ll get it out of him fairly quickly,’ he told Mallon.

  ‘Good work,’ Mallon enthused. ‘You’ll keep me informed, of course.’

  But ten minutes later into the conversation, when Swallow had relayed what he had been told by Teddy Shaftoe, Mallon’s happiness was ebbing.

  ‘Jesus, do you believe what this character is saying?’

  The chief of detectives app
eared to have deflated in his chair.

  ‘I’d say he’s telling us the truth as he understands it. Or enough of the truth to get himself out of Dublin and out of trouble if he can manage it.’

  Mallon put a knuckled fist to his temple.

  ‘Let me get this straight. He says he’s working for some toff in the government in London. He’s going around stabbing and threatening people and pretending he’s from the Land League or some other crowd of assassins. He’s been sent here to find out who’s putting these bloody Greek coins about. And somewhere, there’s a gang aiming to make money out of land deals here in Ireland. Is that it?’

  ‘That seems to be it.’

  ‘Jesus, at least it’s original, I’ll give him that. God be with the days when all we had to deal with was old-fashioned murder and robbery.’

  ‘What do you want me to do, Sir?’ Swallow said after an interval.

  Mallon rose to pace the room.

  ‘If this is true, Swallow … and mind you, I’m saying, “if,” it could destabilise things more effectively than any of the extremists ever thought possible. It’s been the devil’s job to get either the landlords or the tenants to believe in the land transfer scheme. If it turns out that some crowd are on the make it could bring the whole bloody thing to a halt.’

  ‘I realise that, Sir.’

  Mallon scratched his beard.

  ‘What’s the significance of these Greek coins … these tetra … whatevers?’

  ‘Tetradrachms. We don’t know. But they must be important to someone if Shaftoe was sent here to find out who’s been putting them into circulation.’

  ‘I assume we’ve still got protection on the Greenbergs.’

  ‘There’s a G-man over there on special post since the attack.’

  ‘Is there any progress on locating this Clinton woman who sold the damned things to the Greenberg girl? Didn’t we send out an information request to the constabulary?’

  ‘Johnny Vizzard is following that one. But there’s nothing back from the RIC, which seems strange. They got on a train at the Broadstone, and went off to County Meath. They must have got off someplace.’