The Revenge of Liam McGrew: A Dermot Sparhawk Mystery

by Tom MacDonald

  “Liam, I wasn’t questioning your–”

  “Questioning, you say? Ach, we all question things. But tell me this and tell me no more, do you believe me?” Liam waved his hand. “Think about what I told you and think about this. In our business we get our hands filthy dirty, handling scum to get what we need. I have eaten shite for the cause, too much shite if you want to know, and I’m proud to have eaten it, and I’d eat it again.”

  “Liam, easy now.”

  “If I hadn’t wallowed in shite with the likes of Phillip Webb, you’d be dead. You’d be feckin’ dead!” Liam sat up. “I don’t expect blind loyalty, nay, but I do expect the benefit of the doubt. You might be asking yourself, why? Why didn’t Liam tell me about Phillip Webb? I didn’t tell you because it was too damn dangerous. I was protecting you, O’Byrne, just as I’ve always protected you. I saved you at Tullyverry and I’ve saved you from other calamities you don’t even know about. So think about that when you’re sitting in judgment of me.”

  II.

  I called O’Byrne at noontime but he didn’t pick up. When his answering service kicked in, I hung up. A few minutes later he called me back.

  “I was praying the Angelus at the Clonard Monastery when your call came in,” O’Byrne said. “The church bells ringing, the candles burning, ’twas a holy moment indeed. Are you familiar with the Angelus?”

  I told him that I was familiar with it and said, “The angel of the Lord declared unto Mary, and she conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit.”

  “Behold the handmaid of the Lord,” O’Byrne said, keeping the prayer going. “Be it done unto me according to your word.”

  “And the word was made flesh and dwelt among us,” I said. “We need to talk. Can we meet in Dundalk?”

  “Dundalk, you say?”

  “Do you know it?”

  “Aye, I most certainly do know it. But why Dundalk?”

  “Because it’s not Belfast.” Then I told him the real reason. “I visited family in Dundalk recently and I liked the town. We’ll have more privacy down there.”

  “Aye, indeed, Dundalk is a second home to me,” O’Byrne said. “It has a very special place in my heart, second only to the Clonard.”

  “Where’s a good place to meet?” I asked.

  “I know of the perfect spot,” he answered. “On the banks of Castletown River there sits a cozy family tavern named Herrick’s. I’ll meet you there at six o’clock.”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  §

  I drove to Dundalk and found Herrick’s Tavern right where O’Byrne said it would be, on the banks of the Castletown River. More precisely, it was adjacent to the Dundalk Bridge, or as the woman who gave me directions told me, the Big Bridge. I went inside. It had the homey atmosphere that O’Byrne had promised, including a blazing fireplace and copper sconces on every post. The barman smiled and waited for me to order. I asked him for tea with milk.

  “Barry’s or Bewley’s?” he said, still smiling.

  I told him I’d have Barry’s, which he served in a clay teapot. I finished the first cup and was working on the second when O’Byrne came in. He pointed to a table in front of the fireplace and sat at it. I picked up my tea and joined him. We said hello and shook hands, and it was all measured and cautious.

  “The smoked shoulder is the best in County Louth,” he said. “It could be the best in the entire world. I highly recommend it to you.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll give it a try.”

  We both ordered smoked shoulder. O’Byrne told the waitress he’d have a pint of Guinness, and I stuck with tea. We didn’t talk much at first. We ate and drank. I finished the meal, which lived up to O’Byrne’s billing, and I ordered a Coke to wash it down. O’Byrne pushed his plate away and theatrically rubbed his belly. The waitress handed us desert menus. I thought of Aunt Bridget, and I asked her if Herrick’s carried Donegal oatmeal cream.

  Before she answered, O’Byrne said, “My godmother makes the best Donegal oatmeal cream in all of Ireland.”

  “I’d have to taste it to be convinced,” I said, “because my great-aunt makes the best I’ve ever had.”

  The waitress told us that Herrick’s didn’t serve Donegal oatmeal cream, and we went without desert. O’Byrne ordered another Guinness. When the waitress left the table, he said, “Now that the niceties are out of the way, tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “I want to talk to you about Tullyverry,” I said.

  O’Byrne placed his pint on the table and stared at me. “How do you know about Tullyverry?”

  “My friend in Boston told me about it. It was in Phillip Webb’s report.” I waited for a group of customers to walk by the table. “You lost four comrades at Tullyverry.”

  “I almost got killed myself.” O’Byrne admitted. “If Liam hadn’t gotten word to me when he did, I’d have been the fifth to die. The Brits were after our gun shipments. They captured two ships and sank another that night.”

  “The Brits knew about the gun shipments ahead of time,” I said.

  “That seems obvious, doesn’t it?”

  “An informer told them about it.” I paused for effect. “The informer was Liam McGrew. Liam told Webb about the shipments.”

  “No feckin’ way. He never told Webb anything like that.” O’Byrne finished the remains of his Guinness and signaled for another one. “You have to let this go, Dermot, this obsession with Liam McGrew.”

  “Let it go?” I chafed. “He’s trying to kill me.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” O’Byrne said.

  “What did you mean?”

  “You make him out to be a spy or some such thing. Liam has done some irregular things, I’ll admit that much, but that doesn’t make him a traitor,” O’Byrne rubbed his forehead. “It’s Phillip Webb. Webb was a Brit. You can’t trust Webb.”

  “You can’t trust Liam, either,” I said. “I know all about Webb’s activities, and I know all about his work with Liam. My friend read Webb’s reports to me.”

  “The reports were probably faked to make Liam look bad,” O’Byrne said. “The Brits would do that, you know. They would pit us against each other to create strife within the ranks.”

  O’Byrne was dug in. His loyalty to Liam would be tough to break. The only thing I could do was bombard him with facts and hope to shatter the bond between them.

  “Liam was in league with Webb.” I leaned across the table and grabbed O’Byrne’s arm. “Liam told Webb about Tullyverry.”

  “You can’t prove any of this, none of it at all.”

  “Liam is the lowest thing an Irishman can be,” I said. “He is an informer to the British government.”

  “I don’t believe that, not for a bloody second.”

  My cell phone rang. It was Kenny Bowen. I told O’Byrne I had to take the call.

  III.

  Sparhawk answered the phone, spoke briefly, but mostly listened. The call lasted a long time. His jaw tightened and his face blanched. Sparhawk folded the phone and put it in his pocket.

  “I can’t believe this,” he said to himself. “Un-fuckin’-believable.”

  “What’s wrong?” O’Byrne asked. “You’re as white as a birch tree.”

  “That was my friend in Boston.” Sparhawk stared up at the ceiling. “He’s received more information.”

  “Did he now?” O’Byrne looked at Sparhawk’s face, trying to get a read on it. “What information?”

  “I don’t know how to tell you this,” Sparhawk said, still staring at the ceiling. “It’s bad.”

  “Don’t be a cheeky bastard, talk to me about it.”

  Sparhawk signaled the waitress and said, “Double Jameson straight up.”

  “You don’t drink.”

  “I know I don’t.” His eyes turned to O’Byrne. “The drink is for you.”

/>   “What in blazes is going on, Dermot?”

  Sparhawk drew a breath and said, “My friend just told me that a British Army hit squad murdered your wife.”

  “Is that all?” O’Byrne breathed a sigh of relief. He was bracing for something worse. “That’s yesterday’s news, decades old. I knew about it years ago.”

  “They murdered her.”

  “They killed her but they intended to kill me.” O’Byrne leaned forward to explain. “Kathleen’s death was an accident of war. I was the target.”

  “Kathleen was the target.”

  “No, Dermot.” O’Byrne winced at the memory of it. “The Brits meant to kill me, but I wasn’t home.”

  “The Brits knew you wouldn’t be at home,” Sparhawk said. “That’s how they planned the murder.”

  “What do you mean, planned?”

  “They knew Liam would draw you away from the house, leaving Kathleen alone and vulnerable. With you out of the way, they could kill Kathleen without a struggle.”

  “What are you saying?” O’Byrne looked straight at Sparhawk. “What the feck are you saying?”

  “The Brits targeted Kathleen, not you.”

  “You’re out of your feckin’ mind.” O’Byrne gulped down the double Jameson. “I was the target. Me!”

  “Liam told them to kill her.”

  “Stop it, stop what you’re saying.”

  “O’Byrne, I am really sorry but it’s true. Liam ordered Webb to murder Kathleen.” Sparhawk continued, undeterred. “Webb led the hit squad that night. He led it because Liam told him to lead it. Liam wanted to make sure everything went right.”

  “Everything went right?” O’Byrne face turned red with fury. “Everything went wrong that night. And you’re wrong, too!”

  “I wish I were wrong,” Sparhawk said in a flat tone.

  “You’re as crazy as a loon.” Veins throbbed in O’Byrne’s neck. “Why would Liam kill Kathleen? What would he gain by killing her?”

  “Your loyalty.”

  “My loyalty?” He reached for the whiskey but the glass was dry.

  “According to Webb’s report, Liam thought you were walking away from the cause.” Sparhawk spoke calmly and clearly, as if addressing a jury. “Liam sensed you wanted out of Belfast.”

  “How could he possibly sense that?” O’Byrne said. “There’s no way in hell he could know that.”

  “My friend obtained more of Webb’s reports. Webb took notes like a recording secretary. He wrote everything down.” Sparhawk walked to the fireplace and kept talking. “Liam thought you were leaving Belfast––that’s what it said in Webb’s report. He killed Kathleen to keep you here. Liam needed you for his criminal undertakings. Webb needed you, too. They were a team, you were the robber.”

  “Impossible,” O’Byrne said.

  “Liam knew that if the Brits killed Kathleen, he’d own you forever.” Sparhawk came back to the table and sat like a prosecutor who finished presenting his case. “Kathleen’s murder was no mistake. It was ordered by Liam, it was executed by Webb, and it was done to keep you from leaving Northern Ireland.”

  IV.

  I drove back to the Maryville House thinking about the conversation with O’Byrne. The premise that Liam was behind Kathleen’s murder would be tough for him to accept, especially since it came from me. O’Byrne had been with Liam his whole life, and I showed up a week ago. I couldn’t drive a wedge between them that easily. I had no history here, no standing whatsoever, but at least I had given O’Byrne something to think about.

  When I got back to the Maryville House, I called Kenny Bowen. “How badly do you want the fourth sheet of bills?”

  “Are you trying to be funny?” Kenny said. “It’s worth a fortune to me, to both of us. I want it as badly as the other three. Do you know where it is?”

  “I know a man who will show me where it is, but he’ll need some coaxing.”

  “Coaxing? What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about a plan to get the money back,” I said. “The plan is somewhat harebrained. It is convoluted, too.”

  “It can’t be more convoluted than the fake search warrant,” Kenny said.

  “You got three sheets of money back because of that fake search warrant.”

  “Hey, no complaints,” he said. “I’m so used to the standard approach that your unconventional ways throw me.”

  “And make you money,” I added.

  “Touché, monsieur,” he said.

  “Let’s talk about my next doozy of a plan,” I said. “I’ll need money up front. Can I get my share of the reward, the ten percent?”

  “Not until the job is completed,” Kenny said. “Do you know how much money that is?”

  I was no math whiz, but ten percent of thirty-two $100,000 bills came out to $320,000.

  “If I put up the money, will I get reimbursed?”

  “Do you have that much at your disposal?” he asked.

  “I fell into some money a while ago.” I told him. “A very large sum.”

  “What did you fall into, a diamond mine?”

  “Answer the question, Kenny.” I pushed. “I want to make this happen.”

  “Sure, sure, you’ll get reimbursed, but you’ll have to recover the sheet first. No sheet, no refund, understood?”

  “I understand.”

  “Can you get it back?” he asked, sounding hopeful.

  “It depends,” I said.

  “It depends on what?” he asked.

  “It depends on how big a risk you’re willing to take, because you’ll have to be a bit nuts to do what I’m about to ask you to do.”

  “A bit nuts?” Kenny said. “And that’s coming from you. If you think it’s a bit nuts, it must be insane.” He sighed. “Tell me what you need.”

  I told him.

  §

  Using contact C2 on McAfee’s cell phone, I called O’Byrne, who answered without enthusiasm. He told me to get rid of Mac’s phone before I got in trouble. I told him I needed to ask him a favor.

  “I want you to set up a meeting with Liam McGrew,” I said.

  “I was right,” O’Byrne said. “You’re feckin’ crazy. He’ll shoot you in the head, you know.”

  “Tell Liam I want to talk about the World’s Fair of Money.” I thought for a second. “Tell Liam I’m afraid of him, and that I want to meet him inside the airport, so he can’t get a gun past security. I’ll meet him in the Café Bar.”

  “His cousin or in-law or comrade will probably be working in airport security and let Liam walk through armed.”

  “I’ll take that chance,” I said. “Set it up for tomorrow afternoon at five o’clock.”

  “Is there anything else you’d like?” O’Byrne asked, sounding cynical. “Do you want me to call the Queen of England and set up a meeting with her, too?”

  “There is one more thing,” I said, “and it is the most important part of the plan.”

  “What plan?”

  I told him.

  V.

  O’Byrne called Liam to set up the meeting with Sparhawk, or at least try to. He worried that Liam might think it was a trap. O’Byrne thought about Sparhawk’s take on Kathleen’s murder. He wasn’t sure if he believed it, but he didn’t dismiss it out of hand, either.

  Liam picked up the phone.

  O’Byrne said, “It’s me.”

  “Have you any more charges to hurl my way?” Liam grumbled. “Any other insults or rumors or half-truths?”

  “I apologize for that, Liam,” O’Byrne said. “I got confused.”

  “We’re in a cutthroat business, O’Byrne, a profession reserved for the cold blooded.” Liam affected his orator’s voice. “Spying, bugging, double-dealing, we are called to engage in all forms of clandestine activity, and we are called to second
-guess every person we encounter, even our closest allies.”

  “’Tis a tough life we live,” O’Byrne said.

  “Indeed, it is very tough.” Liam breathed heavily. “I sense you have something to say to me.”

  “Sparhawk contacted me,” O’Byrne said. “He wants to meet with you.”

  “Perfect!” Liam howled. “I’ll blow his feckin’ head off. Where are we to meet?”

  Liam’s reaction surprised O’Byrne. Liam never asked how Sparhawk made contact. Was it face-to-face, over the phone, by letter or by email? Liam didn’t ask.

  “He wants to meet you at Belfast International,” O’Byrne said. “He’ll be in the Café Bar at five o’clock tomorrow.”

  “The airport is crawling with law enforcement.” Liam now sounded hesitant. “They have security everywhere.”

  “That’s why Sparhawk wanted to meet you there, to feel safe.”

  “We’ll see about safe,” Liam said.

  They hung up.

  §

  O’Byrne called Jackie Tracy in Charlestown to get an update on the Boston situation. Jackie answered the phone, and O’Byrne said, “How are things in Boston?”

  “If you’re asking about the Red Sox, things couldn’t be worse, unless the Yankees win it all.” Jackie laughed. “But you’re probably more interested in dead bodies and hit men and ballistics and stolen sheets of money.”

  “Indeed, I am.”

  “The cops still haven’t identified Alroy and McAfee,” Jackie said. “They haven’t identified the third man either, whoever he is.”

  “And the robbery?”

  “Nothing in the newspapers, nothing new with the police,” Jackie said. “I searched the Internet. Nothing there, either. You guys are home free as far as I can tell.”

  “Any problems with the gun Alroy used?” O’Byrne asked.

  “No problems at all, the police are flummoxed.” Jackie laughed again. “Everything is coming up heads for you guys, for me too.”

  “There is another matter I’d like to ask you about,” O’Byrne said. “It has to do with Tullyverry.”