Saints and Sinners

by Paul Cuddihy

  There was silence in the room now except for Kate’s gentle sobs. She had backed away from the bed and stood beside Thomas, who stared at his brother. Mick’s head remained bowed.

  ‘I didn’t do it,’ he kept muttering until Thomas turned away and walked over to the window.

  ‘That’s true, Mick,’ said Walsh. ‘You didn’t actually slice off their ears or take out their eyes or cut out their tongues…’

  ‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ said Kate.

  ‘…But you’ve still got their blood on your hands. The minute you lured Agnes out of that cottage you became as guilty as the monsters who did carry out the attack.’

  ‘But if he didn’t actually do anything to them, why do you want him so badly?’ Thomas asked.

  ‘Charlie Flaherty is a broken man,’ Walsh said. ‘Can you imagine what that must be like to lose your daughter, and know that it was people you considered to be friends who mutilated her like that? No, I don’t suppose you could ever know, Father. But trust me when I tell you she was a beautiful girl, as fair as any girl in Ireland. God only knows the mess that pretty face was in when they’d finished with her.’

  Walsh sighed. ‘But Charlie is also a vengeful man. What money he’d gathered for his escape he has given me to find the person who betrayed his daughter and delivered her to his former comrades. He wants to see Mick Costello swing for what he did and he’s made it worth my while to make sure he gets his wish.’

  ‘What about the men who actually carried out this … this horror?’

  ‘Two of them are already dead,’ Walsh said, ‘shot in another attack, while another is in a Galway jail counting down the hours to his own death. Now I have your brother and after that, I just need the man who was in charge.’

  Kate moved forward and Mick flinched, anticipating the blow. When it didn’t come he looked up nervously. She spat at him, a silent and venomous attack.

  ‘I didn’t do it,’ Mick said, not bothering to wipe the spit away. ‘I swear to you, Kate. I didn’t know what they were going to do. I only thought they’d scare her, shave her hair off at worse. I didn’t know they were going to do that to her.’

  ‘But why? Why did you help them?’

  ‘You don’t say no to the Brotherhood, Kate. You just don’t.’

  Kate was crying now, silent tears running down her cheeks.

  ‘He is right,’ Walsh said. ‘They can be difficult to turn down. Is that not so, Father?’ he said, looking at Thomas, who blushed. ‘So now that I have your brother, I just have one more man to find and I already have a name, so that should be helpful,’ he added, patting Mick’s cheek playfully.

  ‘Who are you looking for?’ Thomas asked.

  ‘Dan Foley. He was the man in charge. He killed my nephew and Agnes Flaherty, and he is going to pay for that.’

  26

  POWERS OF PERSUASION

  Thomas and Kate stood outside St Mary’s. Neither of them had said anything when they were led out of the chapel house by one of Walsh’s men. Thomas had said a prayer in the room, telling his brother that he would pray for his soul while Kate had stood silently at the door, avoiding all eye contact with Mick, even though he kept pleading with her, muttering her name over and over again. It felt like the final goodbye and Mick had the look of a man resigned to his fate. The fight had finally gone out of him and all he could say as they left the room was, ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I think you should go back to Eileen’s,’ Thomas said without looking at Kate.

  ‘What’s the point?’

  ‘He’s still looking for you – Duffy.’

  Kate shrugged but made no attempt to move.

  ‘I’ll come round and see you later,’ Thomas said. ‘I’ve got someone I need to speak to right now.’

  Kate started to walk away while Thomas stood with his hands in his pocket, watching her, still wanting to shout her name and stop her. Then he’d run to her and hold her and tell her how he really felt and see what the consequences of that would be. He shook his head, knowing it probably wouldn’t end well for him, certainly not the way he imagined or hoped it would. He kept watching her until she disappeared out of sight and then he headed off in the opposite direction towards the city centre, taking no more than ten minutes to reach the Cathedral.

  The Chancellor’s office was a small room beside the sacristy and Thomas walked in without knocking. Father McNeill looked up, startled at the unexpected intrusion and started to speak but Thomas strode over to his desk and punched him in the face, sending him sprawling across the floor. The blow stunned the priest, who slowly began pushing himself up onto his knees, but Thomas stepped forward and planted a kick in his ribs, knocking him back to the floor.

  Father McNeill groaned but remained lying on the ground, apparently sensing very quickly that any attempt to move would provoke further attack.

  ‘You told Walsh about my brother,’ Thomas said, standing over him.

  ‘Are you going to let me up?’ Father McNeill mumbled.

  Thomas took a step back and slowly the Chancellor dragged himself to his feet. His nose was bleeding and he wiped it with a handkerchief from his pocket. He sat on his chair and patted down his hair instinctively.

  ‘You betrayed my brother,’ Thomas said and Father McNeill smiled.

  ‘I’ll wipe that grin off your face,’ Thomas snapped, stepping forward. The Chancellor flinched. ‘So what have you got to say for yourself?’

  ‘You have no idea what’s going on, do you?’ Father McNeill said with a sigh.

  ‘I know why Walsh wants my brother and he’s got him too, thanks to you.’

  ‘Do you think I care about your brother? This is about the future of the Church, you fool, and if one thick Irishman has to pay with his life, then it’s a price worth paying.’

  Thomas punched him again and the Chancellor was back on the floor. He lay there and groaned. There was a strange exhilaration flowing through Thomas’ body and he was slightly shocked at how much he enjoyed hitting Father McNeill. Once again, the other priest dragged himself to his feet and then dropped onto his chair.

  ‘You’re finished,’ he said, examining the handkerchief now saturated with blood.

  ‘So I’ve nothing to lose,’ Thomas said. ‘I’m not leaving until you explain yourself.’

  Father McNeill shrugged and his shoulders were still moving when Thomas hit him again, his hardest punch yet. The priest seemed to fly off his seat and he crashed off the wall at the back of the room, his skull cracking off the stone façade. He lay perfectly still as Thomas knelt over him, quickly checking that the other man was still alive.

  ‘God forgive you,’ Father McNeill muttered.

  ‘I’m sure he will,’ Thomas said, leaning over until he was close to the other man’s face. ‘This isn’t going to stop unless you talk,’ he whispered. ‘That’s a promise.’

  He grabbed the Chancellor roughly and dragged him to his feet where he stood unsteadily, looking dazed. Thomas guided him to the seat while he sat on the desk directly in front of the other man, slapping his face a few times to get his attention, making sure that each blow carried more force than the previous one to remind the other man what awaited him should he remain silent.

  Father McNeill kept trying to move his head out of reach of the blows but he wasn’t able to and soon a bright red glow began to appear on either cheek.

  ‘Enough,’ he muttered, but Thomas kept slapping him. The Chancellor held up his right hand, nodding weakly.

  ‘This had better be the truth,’ Thomas said.

  ‘You will regret this, Thomas. I swear,’ Father McNeill said.

  Thomas slapped him again, hard and the other man cried out.

  ‘Hurry up, Angus.’

  ‘This is bigger than you or me, or even your stupid brother.’ The Chancellor braced himself for the expected blow but it never came. ‘This is about the future of the Church.’

  Thomas shook his head dismissively.

  ‘There are people wh
o do not like our presence in this city or indeed this country,’ Father McNeill said. ‘And they would like nothing better than to wipe us off the face of the earth.’

  ‘A bit over-dramatic, don’t you think?’

  The Chancellor raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

  ‘So imagine that someone comes to the Archbishop and says that a group of Irish republicans are living in the city, plotting and planning against the government. They want the Archbishop’s help to find out who these men are and what they’re up to. Now the Church does not get involved in politics, and Irish politics is a murky world full of people you’d cross the road to avoid, so the Archbishop politely declines … which turns out to be the wrong answer.’

  ‘What do you mean, the wrong answer?’ Thomas asked.

  ‘Just to make sure the Archbishop knows how important it is to help, he’s told that if he doesn’t, he’ll be arrested on charges of plotting with these men, the Church’s property will be seized and the credibility of the clergy destroyed forever when he’s found guilty of treason and hung for his crime.’

  ‘Walsh said this to the Archbishop?’

  Father McNeill laughed and then began choking, spitting a mouthful of blood on the floor before wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

  ‘Walsh has got nothing to do with this. He just happened to be in the city at the same time and helping him was a good way for the Archbishop to show his willingness to do the right thing. No, this goes much higher than Walsh. Much, much higher.’

  The two priests stared at each other, and Thomas could sense that Father McNeill suddenly felt in a stronger position, even though he’d still realise that a wrong word could lead to another fist in his face. The Chancellor had always believed that information was power and he certainly gave the impression of knowing more than Thomas. He could have wasted time thinking about who had approached the Archbishop – how ‘high’ did it go – but it would only distract him from what he’d come for in the first place, and time was running out.

  ‘I need you to help my brother,’ he said.

  Father McNeill looked at him with amazement, leaning back slightly and trying to put himself out of range of Thomas’ arm.

  ‘I have something Walsh wants and I can help him get it, but the price is Mick.’

  ‘You’re a fool, Thomas. You are well in over your head as it is. Get out while you still can.’

  ‘Well, here’s the deal, Angus. I’m going to go home now and I will do one of two things. I will either get Mister Walsh what he wants or I will let it be known what you’ve been up to. By my reckoning, you’ll have about two or three hours at most to get out of the city after that. And trust me when I say that what these people will do to you won’t be pleasant.’

  ‘You’re making a big mistake, Thomas,’ Father McNeill said.

  ‘Just do it, Angus. Go and speak to Walsh now. If you don’t, you’ll regret it.’

  There was silence for a few minutes and Thomas could feel his heart racing. What if the Chancellor said no? He had nothing left to offer and nothing else to threaten him with. The Church wouldn’t care whether Mick lived or died. He knew that and he also realised that they might call his bluff. Would anyone believe him if he revealed what the Church had been up to? He was just one voice and might not be heard. He could tell Padraig Clarke but then he’d have to admit his own role and the fact he’d been spying on the meetings and he knew the Brotherhood were an unforgiving group.

  It didn’t help that he had to plead with Father McNeill. The simmering animosity that had always existed between the two men loitered in the room and the fact that Thomas had also attacked the Chancellor didn’t help his argument. Part of him was now cursing the fact that they had never got on and that he had made little or no effort to be friendly, but he didn’t think it would have made any difference.

  ‘Okay,’ Father McNeill said at last.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Thomas, trying not to sound surprised.

  ‘I will speak to Mister Walsh and I’ll tell him you’ll help him, but that’s as much as I can do. I can’t promise you that he’ll agree.’

  ‘Just tell him I can help him find what he’s looking for.’ Thomas started to walk towards the door when Father McNeill spoke up.

  ‘Since you know just about everything now, you may as well know this too. It was Monsignor Dolan who kept me informed about your brother. I knew where he was all the time.’

  Thomas stared at the Chancellor, who grinned, revealing bloodstained teeth. Then he rushed forward and punched him one final time.

  27

  TEA AND SYMPATHY

  Kate felt like she’d been stuck in Eileen’s house forever. It had only been four days since she’d seen Mick and found out what he’d done but it felt like an eternity. Minutes dragged towards each hour and every new day seemed to take an age to arrive. Thomas had visited her that same night and made her promise to stay in the house until he was sure it would be safe for her to leave the city. After what had happened to his brother, being chased and captured on his first day at work, he didn’t want to take any chances with her. Kate appreciated the fact that he seemed to care, but she noticed he blushed when she thanked him. He did that a lot, she realised, presuming he wasn’t used to daily contact with women.

  She kept hoping he would visit again, if only to break the monotony of each day, but no one ever appeared at the door. Eileen’s time was occupied with her kids, though once or twice she had nervously asked if everything was okay. Kate didn’t know how she even could begin to tell her story and she wasn’t sure that Eileen would either care or understand anyway, but since it did not have a happy ending, she didn’t want to speak about it. She told Eileen she was fine and that seemed to be enough reassurance for the other woman to go back to what she had been doing before.

  Thomas had told her it would take about a week to arrange everything. He wanted to be sure that when she did go, he would not be left with the burden of worrying whether or not she was safe. Kate realised that she would miss the priest. She’d always presumed all of them would judge, condemn and keep their distance from her, but he had done none of those things and she was glad. She knew it was because of his brother that Thomas had been like that, but it still felt nice to be treated as a normal person. She would thank him again before she left and she didn’t care how red his face turned when she did.

  Mick still occupied most of her thoughts, however. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t forget what had happened to Agnes Flaherty, it wasn’t easy just to change her feelings for him. She wanted to fill her head with happy memories of everything they did together but instead all she seemed to feel was a gnawing pain in her stomach. She was never going to see him again. He was probably dead already, she realised. Walsh wouldn’t have wasted any time in getting him back to Ireland and she kept trying to picture him lying in bed, a cigarette in his mouth and laughing, to try and push out the image of him swinging from a rope.

  Kate blessed herself as she thought of Agnes. The girl was probably the same age as her and Walsh had said she was beautiful. What must she have felt as they took a knife to her face? Kate shuddered at the thought. Maybe they started on James and she had been forced to watch, suffering as the love of her life had his ear cut off, his screams as painful to her as any physical blow they might have delivered to her. Yet, even as she saw what they did to James, could she have realised they were going to do the same to her? She was a girl, after all, and Charlie Flaherty’s daughter, too. She had known these men, had seen them many times in her home plotting and planning with her father, or even just drinking tea and smoking and telling jokes that were probably too rude for a young girl to hear.

  Kate stood up and busied herself making a pot of tea, even though she was the only one in the house. She needed to do something, otherwise the thoughts swirling in her head would drive her crazy.

  Yet Agnes Flaherty was never far from her mind. She guessed that the couple would have been barely alive by the time it c
ame to taking their tongues out; Kate swallowed hard at the thought. They’d probably have been out of their minds as well, horribly mutilated and in constant pain, all of which was compounded by the fact they’d seen the other suffer as well. They would have both prayed for death to come and ease their pain. He would have asked God to take her and she would have done the same for him. It would have been their last act of love, to have pleaded that the other’s suffering would be over. At least that’s how Kate imagined it would have been, though she realised they would most likely have used up any prayers for themselves.

  ‘Mick couldn’t have known.’ Kate kept telling herself that over and over again, her voice rising in anger to fill the whole house, because she could see him walking side by side with Agnes, the sound of the cottage door closing ringing in his ear, and she imagined the girl’s voice, excited and relieved to be outside, at least for a few minutes and she would have filled the air with hopes and regrets and thanks to Mick for this small act of kindness. All the while he would have pretended to be listening, knowing he was leading her towards something terrible.

  ‘Mick couldn’t have known,’ she said again. It still didn’t mean he wasn’t guilty, she decided, and she could understand why Charlie Flaherty had wanted his revenge. Wouldn’t her father have done the same? Though, she wasn’t actually sure what the answer to that really was since he had no idea of her life in Glasgow and had never shown any inclination to find out.

  Kate thought back to the first time she had met Mick, closing her eyes and picturing the scar on his shoulder that looked like a map of Ireland. She had loved that scar and she would miss it, just as she would miss the rest of him as well. It did matter what he had done and she just couldn’t forget what she’d been told, but how do you stop loving someone just like that? The feeling had crept up on her so unexpectedly. She had never thought she’d find it in this city, and she’d resigned herself to the life she led, her main concern trying to stay alive from day to day, but he had offered her hope. Perhaps there was a life out there for her that would let her escape, and for a couple of months at least she’d been able to pretend that this was the case. Every day they had made love or slept beside each other, or talked of everything and nothing, making grand plans or just talking nonsense, had seemed to her like the life she deserved to have. Now, that hope was swinging from the end of a rope in Galway and it still left her heart feeling crushed.