Katie looked at him, not smiling, but feeling that she might at last have made some kind of breakthrough.
"Thank you, Jimmy," she said, and took the notebook, and put it down in front of her.
"Well, then," he said, obviously embarrassed. "I just wanted to say that I'm glad I saved your life. Otherwise, you know, you'd be dead, like."
She put a hold on her calls and took twenty minutes to read Gerard's notebook and then read it a second time. After the second reading she sat at her desk in silence. Then she put the notebook into her handbag, and closed it. Jimmy was right. Even if "Crackers" Corcoran had been nothing but a wild theorist, there was enough bad blood in the world already.
At eleven-thirty the following morning she met Eugene Ó Béara and Jack Devitt in the Red Setter, a cramped triangular pub up at Dillon's Cross. During the whole of her time there, the rest of the clientele stared at her balefully, as if she were a nun who had walked in with dog shit on her shoe.
They sat in a small booth in the corner. The smoke was so thick it was surprising that nobody called the fire brigade. Even Jack Devitt's wolfhound was snuffling and coughing.
Katie said, "We've found intelligence records in London that conclusively show that the man who abducted those fifteen women in 1915 and 1916 wasn't a British soldier at all. He was almost certainly a German from Münster in Westphalia known as Dieter Hartmann, and he wore a British uniform as a disguise. We're still searching for more information from the German government, and we'll let you know if we find out any more. I just want you to know that we also have evidence that the Crown forces in Cork went to extraordinary lengths to find him and arrest him. Once they almost had him, but he managed to escape and after that he was never heard from again."
"We can examine this evidence?" asked Jack Devitt, solemnly.
"Of course, once we've finished with it. But you have my word that it's genuine."
"Very well, then, Superintendent Maguire. I knew your father well, and if you give me your word that it's genuine, then I accept it. Although I have to admit to a certain sense of anticlimax."
Katie gave him a tight smile. "Keeping the peace is a never-ending anticlimax."
Eugene Ó Béara suddenly let out a loud, staccato laugh, and then-just as abruptly-stopped. "You're a good woman, Katie Maguire, for a cop."
Just before one o'clock, she met Eamonn Collins in his usual seat at Dan Lowery's. His minder Jerry was having a séance at the opposite table with a bowl of fish chowder.
"Hallo, Eamonn."
"Hallo yourself, Detective Superintendent Maguire. You look very fetching today. I always say that black always becomes a woman, nuns and widows especially."
Katie said, "I thought I'd let you know that I've decided not to press any charges against you relating to the crucifixion of Dave MacSweeny. Lack of evidence, as well as the fact that my principal witness is lying on a slab in St. Patrick's Morgue."
Eamonn took out a very white handkerchief and blew his nose. "Not to mention the minor embarrassment that it might have caused yourself, of course?"
"Let's just say that Dave MacSweeny deserved everything that ever happened to him, and more besides."
"So we're friends again, are we, Katie? Just remember, if you ever need another favor, at any time, you know who to call on."
"Actually, I would rather sell my soul to the devil."
"Oh, come now! You know how much you need decent upstanding criminals like me. God knows what state this city would be in, otherwise."
Katie stood up. "I'll have you one day, Eamonn, I swear it, you jumped-up Knocknaheeny gobdaw."
Eamonn raised his whiskey glass, and sang to Katie in a low, husky voice. "'Believe me, if all those endearing young charms, which I gaze on so fondly today were to change by tomorrow, and fleet in my arms, like fairy gifts fading away!'"
She left Dan Lowery's and was crossing MacCurtain Street when her cell phone rang. It was Sister O'Flynn from the Regional.
"Mrs. Maguire?" It was the first time that anybody had called her "Mrs. Maguire" in a very long time. She knew then that it was bad news.
She pushed open the door of Isaac's restaurant. John Meagher was waiting in the back, self-consciously holding a large bouquet of lilies. He stood up when he saw her, and pulled out a chair.
"I'm afraid I won't be able to stay for lunch. I've just heard from the Regional that Paul died about fifteen minutes ago."
"I'm sorry, Katie. I really am."
She took a deep breath to steady herself. "Well I suppose it's for the best. He wouldn't have wanted to spend the rest of his life like a cabbage."
"Why don't I give you a lift to the hospital?"
"Would you? I'd like that. I can't say I really feel like driving."
The waitress came up with their menus. "Do you want to know what the specials are?"
Katie stood up and managed a lopsided smile. "Not today. Some other time."
They walked back along MacCurtain Street to John's Land Rover. The sun was shining but it was raining again, so that the wet pavements were almost blinding.
"Oh," said John. "I have something to show you. I was going to wait until after lunch, but-"
He opened the Land Rover's tailgate. In the back there were coils of rope and shovels and blankets. There was also a circular wicker basket, in which, fast asleep with its tongue lolling out, lay a glossy young Irish setter.
"He's yours. His name's Barney."
Katie stood in the rain and the sunshine, her fingers tightly pressed against her lips because she was trying not to cry. Behind her, over the tall gray spire of the Evangelical Church, a rainbow appeared, and brightened, and faded, and brightened again.
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A Terrible Beauty Page 35