Dublin Odyssey

by Michael P. Cooney

  “Did he pick a replacement yet?”

  “Only rumors so far. But my money is on a female from Organized Crime, Deeleez Birdha-Washington. Know her?”

  “The only Deeleez Washington I know used to be in the ACT Unit. The guys called her Lady Bird. She got bounced out of there for conduct unbecoming. Never knew where she landed. But if it’s the same sergeant, sounds like she landed on her feet. Organized Crime isn’t a bad place to hang your hat.”

  “I… Oops! Sorry, Cap. Gotta go. The commissioner is calling. Good luck over there.”

  “Okay, Creg. Good luck yourself.”

  Mickey hangs up the phone. All things considered, that went well.

  Next, Mickey calls Katherine McBride, Philly’s no- nonsense DA.

  “Good afternoon. District Attorney’s office.”

  “Hi! Is the DA available?”

  “Is she expecting your call, sir?”

  “Not really. If you tell her it’s Mickey Devlin calling from Ireland, I’m sure she’ll make time for me.”

  “Oh, Captain Devlin. I heard all about you. I’m Mary Ann Allen, the DA’s new receptionist. If you hold on one minute, I’ll tell Katherine you’re on the line.”

  “Hold on a minute, Mary Ann. Write this number down in case we get cut off. I want Katherine to have it anyway.”

  Mary Ann writes down the number, then repeats it back to Mickey.

  “You got it, Mary Ann. Nice talking to ya.”

  “You too, Captain. Hold on now.”

  Katherine McBride in her best imitation of an Irish lass gets on the line and asks, “Well, if it isn’t the almighty Mickey Devlin himself. Calling all the way from Ireland he is. How the hell are ya, Mickey?”

  “Top of the day to you, Katherine McBride.”

  “Okay, now that we got that out of the way. What’s up? AE told me you called the other night from the airport. You seriously believe the Greek is in Dublin?”

  “That I do. Look, I can’t go into too much detail, but I’ve been tracking a hunch that Odysseus is teaching at Trinity College under the assumed named, Michael Collins.”

  “Michael Collins? The Greek now sees himself as an Irish revolutionary hero? Give me a break.”

  “He’s a piece of work all right.”

  “So you really think this Collins wannabe is our Greek?”

  “I’d bet the house and the farm on it.”

  “Holy crap, Mick. So how do I fit into your hunch?”

  “Right now, as counsel. Kath, if I’m right and I have a chance to grab this guy, how do I get him back to Philly? Legally, by the book of course.”

  “This office has had a warrant on his arse ever since he absconded in ‘91. I’ll have AE get it out and dust it off.”

  “That’s what I hoped you say.”

  “Like you said, Mick, by the book. What else you got? I won’t even charge you for that one.”

  “I got involved in a situation at a sheep ranch.”

  Katherine giggles. “That doesn’t make you a bad person, Mick. I once had a friend who had this thing for gerbils.”

  Now it’s Mickey’s turn to hoot. “I’m out of sight for a few days and you become Henny Youngman.”

  “Sorry, Mick. Couldn’t resist. Go ahead.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Youngman. Anyway, I accompanied a Garda superintendent to a ranch just outside Dublin. I’ll explain in a minute. During the warrantless walk-through, several items of interest were observed and photos were taken of said items.”

  “Warrantless walk-through? Really! What are we going for, Mick, case law?”

  “Far from it. Last thing I want to do is make case law in Ireland.”

  “Good! What else?”

  Mickey continues. “Also during that whatever you want to call it, the superintendent accidently tripped a C4 shape charge.”

  “My God, Mick. You hurt?”

  “No! Just minor stuff. Had to trash a suit though. The superintendent wasn’t so lucky. He’s in the hospital with some pretty substantial injuries. At least one is life threatening. So it’s touch and go.”

  “I’ll give Saint Anthony a call. So who took the lead? Ya know? Who drove to the ranch? Who took the photos?”

  “The superintendent drove. I took the shots. Although, now that I’m thinking more clearly—”

  “Okay, more clearly. This ought to be good.”

  “The super did hand me the camera when I got out of his car. I had left it in the back of his car.”

  “Good! ‘Implied intent.’ So in some way it was the Garda who suggested you take some shots of, as you put it, ‘said items.’ Right?”

  “That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.”

  “Now. Was this ranch open to the public? Ya know, were there any no-trespassing signs posted or did you hop a fence or a closed gate? Anything like that, right?”

  “No. Actually, it was my second trip to the ranch. The first time I went out there to inform the owner, at least I think it was the owner, about the death of his brother, who was a retired Philly PD tow-truck operator for over twenty years. He was shot three times in his house in Fairmount.”

  “You talking about the Jerry Drum job? You involved with that, Mick?”

  “Kinda! Jerry Drum took a disorderly pinch the other night in Central. He’s the one who got me interested in Odysseus again. Also a story for another time, Kath.”

  “Good! Make sure you tie that into any statement you might be asked to give in the future.”

  “Will do. So ya think me tagging along with the Garda was okay?”

  “From what I know about Ireland’s judicial system and international law, you’re on solid ground. You were a guest commander accompanying a high-ranking Garda officer. Just make sure that it’s the Garda who processes those shots you were asked to take by the superintendent. You get my drift?”

  “I hear ya, Kath.”

  “Hey! Guess who just walked in? AE. Look, how about I hand you off to her? She’s become a real pro at shoring up warrants and stuff.”

  “That would be great. Thanks, Katherine. Talk to ya when I get back.”

  “Looking forward. Stay safe, Mick. And as far as that trashed suit goes, as Seamus would say, the world is better off without it.”

  Mickey laughs aloud. “Well, I’m so glad to hear Seamus has had such a positive influence on you, Madam DA.”

  Katherine chuckles. “You’re bad, Mickey Devlin. Promise you’ll call me if you need anything else.”

  “Promise.”

  “Okay. Here’s AE.”

  Alice Elizabeth picks up. “Hi, Captain. I gather we’re pulling the Odysseus warrant and making certain it’s current.”

  “You got it.”

  When Mickey finishes, he asks AE, “So what do ya think?”

  “I think the legal threshold has been reached.”

  “Great.”

  “Mickey, I’m worried about you. Odysseus is a killer. That’s already been established. If he thinks you’re mixed up with the Garda or that you’ve been asking questions about him at Trinity, he won’t think twice…”

  “Hold your horses, AE. I’ll be fine. I never use my name when I’m talking to the natives. I haven’t given him the opportunity to eyeball me either. Not yet anyway.”

  “If you say so. And I know it’s hard. But don’t do anything too heroic this trip, okay. You got people back here that care about your well-being.”

  “I know. Thanks, AE. And my plans don’t include any heroics. Trust me.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  “AE, I gave Mary Ann my number here in Dublin. I’m in and out. But you can always catch me late at night. Remember, I’m five hours later than you.”

  “Okay, Mickey. I’ll pull the warrant and make sure everything is by the numbers. And start my pipeline to Saint Jude going again.”

  “Thanks, AE. I’ll try to keep you guys in the loop. If I don’t talk to ya in a day or so, I’ll see ya when I get back to Philly.”

&nb
sp; “Excellent! We miss you around here, Mickey Devlin.”

  “Right back at ya, kiddo.”

  Mickey hangs up and punches in Michelle Cunay’s office number. After three rings, he gets her answering machine.

  “Michelle, Mickey. I talked the PC into a few more days over here. A lot of stuff coming together. Don’t worry. You’ll still have the exclusive. Catch up with you later. Here’s my number. Try me between five and six PM tomorrow, your time.”

  Mickey reads his Dublin phone number into the phone.

  “Talk to ya later, Shelle.”

  Man! Almost forgot. Gotta call Doc Steinberg. Want to ask him about Jerry Drum having cancer. He should still be at work.

  Mickey punches in Doc’s private number and waits for him to answer. A strange voice answers.

  “Doctor Steinberg’s office.”

  “Hi! Is the doctor available? I—”

  Click. The phone goes quiet. What the—

  Then a very familiar voice begins to speak.

  “Doctor Steinberg, who am I talking to?”

  “Doc. Mickey Devlin. Glad I caught you.”

  “Mick. How the hell you doing over there in Ireland?”

  “Hanging in there, Doc. Catch ya at a bad time?”

  “Never with you, Mick. What’s up?”

  “I was hoping I could get some additional feedback on the Jerry Drum autopsy.”

  “Sure! I called the cell number you gave me. It just kept ringing. You need to set up voice mail on that thing, Mick.”

  “It’s on my to-do list, Doc. But even that wouldn’t work in this case. I left my cell back in Philly. Figured it wouldn’t work across the pond.”

  “I think it does. Who knows? Now to the Drum autopsy results.”

  Steinberg brings up Jerry Drum’s autopsy results on his computer and starts reading the highlights to Mickey. It was pretty much what Mickey thought. Man gets shot three times. Man dies. When Doc concludes, Mickey asks, “Did ya find any trace of cancer? Like prostate cancer?”

  “Negative. But his liver wasn’t exactly the best it could have been for a man of his age. Probably liked to hoist a few now and then. But—why you asking about cancer, Mick?”

  “I went to his brother Patrick’s ranch to give him the bad news. The PC bought into that it would be better hearing the news in person. And since I was going to Dublin anyway…”

  “I get it. You played the commissioner.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that exactly.”

  “Sure, Mick. And did you sell him that bridge you’ve been trying to sell, too?”

  Mickey laughs. “Nope! The bridge is still available. Why, you interested?”

  Now Doc laughs. “You’re quick witted. I’ll say that about you.”

  “Sometimes my wit is all I have going for me. Saved my butt a couple of times.”

  Doc laughs again. “Mick, did you say you talked to Jerry’s brother Patrick?”

  “I did. I went to his sheep ranch and talked to him about Jerry. He even invited me into his house for a little Irish whiskey and a few Jerry Drum tales.”

  “And when did this meeting take place?”

  “Yesterday afternoon. Ireland time.”

  “I know that tone, Doc. What’s up?”

  “Josh Hatch, our overnight manager, left me a note stating that Jerry’s brother came by around two in the morning yesterday. He and his sidekick said they came to America to bring Jerry back to Ireland for a proper burial. So, unless Jerry had two brothers, both named Patrick, somebody’s bullshitting somebody.”

  “Unless Patrick can be in two places at once, I’d agree. My gut is telling me neither of our Patricks are who they say they are.”

  “What’s going on, Mick? This whole Drum thing is getting creepy.”

  “And then some, Doc.”

  “Then it should be right up your alley, right?”

  “I’m knee deep into it now, Doc. I’m either gonna untangle the web or…”

  “Don’t say it, Mickey Devlin. Maybe it’s time to get your Irish arse back among the friendlies for a while. Why don’t you come home and—”

  “Can’t. Not right now. But soon, Doc. Real soon.”

  “You know best. Look, stay in touch. Okay?”

  “I’ll try, Doc. Gotta go now. But I will try to get back to you. Scout’s honor.”

  “Oh! Before you go. I put a stop on the release of Jerry Drum’s remains. So, as of right now, Jerry’s still my guest.”

  “That’s good news, Doc.”

  “The bad news is Patrick Drum, or whoever that guy was the other night, is supposed to come back.”

  “How long can you keep Jerry on ice?”

  “How long do you need, Mick?”

  “Couple of days.”

  “Okay. I’m not gonna sign off on releasing Jerry’s body until the weekend.”

  “You know, of course, this is Memorial Day weekend.”

  “Of course I know. And I also know this office is closed until Tuesday.”

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  “I’ll let you go. Take care of yourself.”

  “Will do!”

  Mickey hangs up first. He glances at the small black clock on the nightstand next to the bed. Six o’clock. I’m famished. Guess I’ll grab a quick bite at Bewley’s on Grafton Street.

  CHAPTER 29

  “The eye hides what it does not see.”

  Irish Proverb

  Mickey gets a window table in Bewley’s Café. Over the years, Bewley’s has quickly become his favorite place to snack and just hang out. Between his Grafton Street people-watching activities, Mickey takes out his notebook and stares at the random word diagram he copied from the pad in the yellow Volvo at Drum’s, after the blast.

  He starts trying to make sense of what, at first glance, looked like gibberish—a bunch of random words and numbers written in no particular order. On a pad once belonging to convicted cop-killer Michael Odysseus. A man known by law enforcement around the world as “The Greek.”

  Going on the assumption the pad is or was the Greek’s, Mickey’s gut is telling him the gibberish may be some sort of code or list. If that proves to be the case, Mickey’s gut is also telling him not every word and number has significance. The Greek is one of the brightest and most-calculating men Mickey has ever known. Knowing Odysseus the way he does, he would never underestimate his devious mind.

  They were actually Police Academy recruits together in 1969. That is until the PD Intelligence Unit snatched Odysseus from the class and sent him out alone to infiltrate subversive organizations in Philadelphia, New York, and Washington and feed intel back to the PPD. An assignment that lasted over nine years. Some in the PD, Mickey included, believe that he never really came in from the cold. In 1978, Odysseus was ordered “back to the fold” because the City made a deal with the “Movement Lawyers concerning Fourth Amendment violations.”

  Spending almost a decade literally living with some of the most radical and violent underground groups of the ‘60s and ‘70s influenced Odysseus and how he sees the world more than he let on. It took his chaotic actions in 1991 around the City to once and for all convince law enforcement that Odysseus, “The Greek,” is in fact a terrorist with little or no regard for human life. He proved it in 1991 and possibly again around the world, offering his “Special Services” to those folks with a similar view.

  Mickey has had some luck in the past piecing together what at first glance appears to be the ranting of a deranged person. He once solved a homicide by reversing words and concluding that every fifth word in the preamble of the US Constitution actually represented numbers—numbers found in the addresses of past victims. The doer also was brazenly giving the police the location of his next homicide. Although Mickey got praise for his investigative skills and the capture of “The Rittenhouse Square Murderer,” he always felt remorseful he couldn’t stop the murderer sooner.

  By the time Mickey figured out the cryptogram, sadly, another victim was murdered:
a teenager, Debra Knapp, visiting her grandmother living in the Barclay Condominiums on the southeast corner of Rittenhouse Square.

  Mickey orders Bewley’s legendary seafood chowder with brown bread and hot Irish tea. He ends his people watching, opens his FOP notebook, and tries to concentrate on unraveling the riddle in front of him. For the first few seconds, he can do nothing but stare at the page. Think, Devlin!

  All Mick can think about is Kevin bleeding and clinging to life. Snap out of it, Devlin.

  Let me dumb this thing down.

  He starts at the top of the page and starts numbering each item.

  Keep it simple, Devlin.

  20H175—Not underlined. Number 1

  12H255—Underlined. Why? Number 2

  IWP—Underlined. Number 3

  All at the top middle of the page. Let’s see. Items 2 and 3 are centered and underlined. Must mean—must mean they’re more important than 1.

  Mickey circles items 2 and 3.

  Now, what the heck are they? What has numbers and letters? Combination locks? Never saw a combination with letters. A clock has numbers but no letters. A clock is out. A calendar has numbers. Like days of the week and months of the year. And the months have letters.

  Mickey takes out his pocket planner, a freebee promotion from the Police Credit Union, and starts checking for months with the letter H in them. He finds only March has an H.

  March? What’s so important about March? This is May. Did something happen last March? Or something gonna happen next March?

  For no real reason, Mickey decides to eliminate March as being significant.

  So what have I got so far?

  Mickey laughs aloud, drawing a few stares from the dinner crowd.

  I don’t have diddly. Let me start over, one character at a time. I’ve got a 12. And because it’s underlined it’s important to someone.

  Mickey stops and stares at the 12 on the page.

  What the heck. I’m gonna say 12 represents 12 o’clock. So is it 12 noon or 12 midnight? Think, Devlin. Think!

  Mickey remembers in all his conversations with Superintendent O’Clooney he always used military time. Like when he told Mickey about Drum bringing his product to market. “He’d leave at zero seven hundred hours and get back to his ranch at eighteen hundred hours.”