A June of Ordinary Murders, page 35
Suddenly, Bracken swung a heavy fist at the man who had been holding his horse’s reins. He shouted something that Swallow could not catch. The horse and car lurched forward, knocking against the man. He grabbed at the animal’s harness for support, but Bracken wrestled him forward to the open ground.
‘Ye blackguard,’ Bracken spat. ‘Would ye try to take me horse?’ He kicked the man twice, hard, in the back and ribs. Then he kicked him again and hauled him to his feet. The man staggered to Pomeroy’s side and raised his hands over his head, moaning in pain.
Lafeyre had broken the shotgun at the breach. He hurled the cartridges far away into the furze, then he threw the weapon to the ground and went to where the wounded gunman was lying on the grass. The blood was coming in spurts from his leg. From the corner of his eye Swallow saw the shadow – now bareheaded – pick himself up and sprint to the bank of high ground to disappear from sight.
Lafeyre ran an expert hand along the wounded gunman’s leg.
‘Take the coat off one those fellows,’ he told Lily, gesturing to Pomeroy and his driver. ‘Tear out the lining. I need two or three long strips to make a tourniquet, hurry.’
He drew a penknife and sawed at the wounded man’s trousers. Lily slashed the lining on the driver’s jacket, using one of the picnic knives. She handed two strips of the material to Lafeyre. He lashed them around the wounded man’s upper leg, hauling on the ends before tying two firm knots into place.
Lafeyre snapped at Pomeroy who had clamped a handkerchief to his bleeding forehead.
‘Delay for even a little while and your man will die from blood loss. Put him into your car and get him to the infirmary at Maryborough as quickly as you can.’
Swallow jerked his Webley Bulldog towards the attackers’ car. He shouted at the other two.
‘You heard that. Get him into the car and get to hell out of here before I change my mind and shoot all three of you.’
Pomeroy’s gun lay on the grass where he had fallen. Swallow opened the magazine, ejected the ammunition and threw it as far as he could across the high bank. Then he flung the weapon itself into the furze in the opposite direction.
Pomeroy’s forehead was still bleeding from where the Burgundy bottle had hit him. But he took the injured gunman’s legs while his companion lifted him under the arms.
By now the pain from the man’s shattered leg was coming through. He screamed as they put him on the floor of the open car. The driver cracked the horse’s reins to start the vehicle moving across the grass and back on to the roadway.
Swallow emptied the spent shells from his own revolver and reloaded the chambers.
Bracken was nursing a bruised hand.
‘Jesus Christ, I didn’t bargain on this. We could have all been killed, murdered. Let me get home out of here … come on. I have a safe way back to the town that’ll keep us off the roadway. We have to move fast.’
‘There isn’t time to take care of this stuff.’ He gestured to the picnic things on the sideboard that he had earlier let down from the car. With a sweep of his arm he tumbled the food, crockery, glasses and cutlery into the grass.
He let down the step and quickly helped Lily and Maria to board the car. Swallow and Lafeyre followed. He touched the pony’s flank with his whip and picked up speed as soon as they reached the track he had chosen across the back of the heath.
‘In the name of God and his Holy Mother,’ he shouted to Swallow as the car bucked and rattled beneath them. ‘What’s goin’ on here? I thought ye told me ye were from the Board of Education. There’s nothin’ much to do with education about that business back there, is there?’
‘Police business,’ Swallow shouted back, ‘I can’t tell you any more than that. I’m sorry for getting you involved, Mr Bracken.’
Bracken spat over his shoulder into the ditches flying by. ‘Ah dammit, you should ‘a told me what you were at before we set out. I’d have brought me own shotgun along. And who are them bastards back there?’
‘To tell you the truth, I’m not sure myself,’ Swallow said. ‘And even if I knew, you might be better off not hearing it.’
‘Well, you’re a fair shot with that big revolver, anyway,’ Bracken retorted.
‘You’re well able to take care of yourself as well, Mr Bracken, from what I saw,’ Swallow said.
Bracken nodded grimly. ‘Ah, sure I did a bit o’ boxin’ in the army. I was in the Leinsters over at the Crinkill barracks near Parsonstown. And I’m not past it yet, if I have to deal with a couple of blackguards.’
Half an hour of fast driving later they drew into the railway station at Maryborough. Swallow had half expected to encounter some of Major Kelly’s agents waiting for them, but the platform was empty. There was nobody in the waiting rooms apart from two women with a small child.
Swallow paid Bracken his fare and added a further shilling as a tip.
‘Ah, sure it’ll cover the cost of me hat,’ Bracken grinned, pocketing the money.
The four travellers stepped down from the car. In the distance Swallow heard the whistle of the approaching Dublin train.
THIRTY-SEVEN
‘We did well to make it back without any further encounters with your persecutors from the Upper Yard,’ Lafeyre said, sipping at a stiff whiskey. They were seated in the drawing room of his house on Harcourt Street.
‘I’d guess that Major Kelly and his gang mightn’t be so keen to get in your way again after what happened out on the heath,’ he said with unconvincing jocularity.
‘If that fellow with the shotgun ever walks again I suspect it’ll be with a bad limp. And as for your shadow with the Derby hat, I doubt if he’s stopped running yet.’
Scollan had met them at King’s Bridge with the brougham. Once the train came to a halt, Swallow had scanned the platforms and the station concourse to see if he could spot anyone who might be waiting, whether to shadow them or to confront them, but there was no surveillance that he could detect.
‘It wouldn’t take Kelly’s people long to work out what we’ve learned at Greenhills House,’ Lafeyre said. ‘They know that we’ve had access to the records. That’s what sent Pomeroy and his gang after us.’
‘I’m surprised the registry books weren’t already destroyed,’ Swallow mused. ‘Pomeroy and his people would have understood the significance of records linking a public man like Fitzpatrick with two young children committed to their care.’
Lafeyre grimaced. ‘I suspect it’s precisely because they did understand it that they held on to the records. And it’s why they came after us. That sort of information is valuable. You can be sure that Mr Pomeroy and his associates were able to get their money’s worth out of Fitzpatrick over the years, knowing that they had the goods on a wealthy businessman.’
Swallow had a mental image of two young children in Greenhills House, an inconvenience to the parents who had brought them into the world and a source of profitable extortion for Pomeroy. His exhilaration at the breakthrough in the investigation gave way to a sense of anger.
He raised his glass to his lips. The spirit showed amber against the evening light from the windows giving onto Harcourt Street.
He was tired. The strain of the day’s events and the knowledge that he had brought them unwittingly into danger bore in on him.
‘I’m truly sorry for putting Lily and Maria in harm’s way,’ he said. ‘I’ll acknowledge that the idea of impersonating an education inspector was taking a chance. But I never imagined that there’d be an attempt to injure or kill anyone.’
Lafeyre shrugged. ‘I went along with the impersonation idea. I can’t say I approved of it, but it was relatively harmless. I wouldn’t have anticipated what we encountered either.’
‘It’s a detective’s job, or part of it, to anticipate the unanticipated,’ Swallow said quietly.
‘There isn’t any point in flagellating yourself,’ Lafeyre said. ‘The issue is what happens next.’
‘I want to isolate McDaniel the butler and question him,’ Swallow replied after a pause.
‘All the threads of this business lead back to Merrion Square. Mallon has marked my cards that Fitzpatrick will be away from the house tomorrow afternoon. That would be the time to go in. Mind you, he didn’t offer to give me a warrant. He won’t take that risk.’
‘You see this butler fellow as the key to this?’
‘He’s an army deserter who’s wanted for a murder more than 20 years ago. He’s vulnerable. And I think he knows a lot.’
Lafeyre smiled. ‘It sounds as if Mallon wants it both ways. But there’s a route around the warrant problem, if you really wanted it. It mightn’t be wise but it would be legal.’
‘What have you in mind?’
‘I’m a Justice of the Peace, remember,’ Lafeyre said. ‘I have most of the powers of a magistrate. What’s relevant in this case is that I can issue a search warrant on information sworn before me by a police officer.’
Swallow realised that Lafeyre was technically right. The medical examiner had been appointed as a Justice of the Peace to facilitate searches for evidence when he was working on criminal cases with the police. The authority was rarely invoked, but Swallow knew there had been instances where it had.
He shrugged.
‘Well, my career prospects wouldn’t be described as great at the moment anyway. So it probably doesn’t make much difference whether I’m wise or foolish at this point.’
‘How would Mallon react, do you think? He’s the only one you need to worry about,’ Lafeyre said. ‘From what you say he’d have to express disapproval officially, whatever his real sentiments.’
Swallow smiled. ‘I think he’d be happy to pull a fast one over the crowd in the Upper Yard. If you’re prepared to sign the warrant, Harry, I’m willing to go into the firing line.’
Lafeyre nodded. ‘Then it’s best done sooner rather than later.’
‘I agree.’
‘So what’s the sequence from here?’
‘I’ll start with questioning McDaniel. Then I’ll want to search for possible murder weapons and seize any personal effects belonging to Sarah Hannin that might give us some clues or evidence.’
‘What you want from me is a warrant to enter and search in the belief that you may secure evidence concerning a felony, specifically murder?’
Swallow knew that Lafeyre would be punctilious in the drafting of the warrant.
‘Yes,’ Swallow nodded. ‘Fitzpatrick is to depart from Merrion Square at 12 noon.’
‘I’ll draw up the warrant in the morning,’ Lafeyre said. ‘It’ll be dated for June 26th if you’re sure you want to do this tomorrow.’
‘I’m sure,’ Swallow said. ‘If anyone raises the alarm it will take the crowd in the Upper Yard that bit longer to respond and pull me out. Because that’s exactly what they’ll do, at gunpoint if necessary.’
‘How will you get your manpower together without raising suspicions in Exchange Court?’ Lafeyre asked. ‘You won’t want word of your plans to get to Boyle or Mallon.’
‘I’ll be able to muster a few men,’ Swallow replied. ‘I’ll get Pat Mossop and Mick Feore, maybe young Shanahan and Collins. I think I can probably get Swift too. And Stephen Doolan should be able to round up a few uniformed lads for me.’
Lafeyre looked doubtful. ‘Not an overwhelming show of force, I’d say.’
‘It’ll have to do. All of those G-men are good even if some of them are a bit inexperienced. And I’d always count on Stephen Doolan where there’s work to be done. I’ll assemble them at the morgue at 11 o’clock tomorrow morning. I’ll formally apply to you for the warrant and we’ll aim to be at the Fitzpatrick house for 12.30.’
Lafeyre refilled the whiskey glasses. He added water to his Tullamore and pushed the jug to Swallow.
‘What are the priorities once you get into the house?’
‘We’ll have Doolan’s men do the searches. The G-men will secure the house and the staff. I’ll take Pat Mossop with me and we’ll question McDaniel. He’s the first target as I see it.’
Lafeyre sipped at his Tullamore, turning the plan over in his head.
‘After that, we’ll just have to see who else will come into the net,’ Swallow said.
He drained his whiskey.
‘That was welcome,’ he nodded at Lafeyre. ‘Now I’ve to go and visit my squad members to tell them they won’t be paying their usual Sunday morning respects to the Lord. I don’t expect I’ll be very popular in some houses tonight.’
Detective Pat Mossop rented rooms over a poulterer’s shop on Aungier Street. He answered Swallow’s knock on the side door in his shirt sleeves, holding a handful of playing cards. A small, brown dog came up behind him, wagging its tail. In the background Swallow could hear the squeals and calls of the young Mossops.
Mossop invited him to come through for a cup of tea or a glass of lemonade. There was a card game underway in the cooler outdoors of the poulterer’s yard behind the shop. He would be welcome, Mossop insisted, but he declined. There would be a poor reception from Mrs Mossop, he reckoned, when it emerged that he wanted her husband on duty at 11 o’clock on his supposed rest day.
‘Were there any new developments, Boss?’ Mossop asked. ‘Did anything come in during the day?’
‘Nothing you weren’t aware of, Pat,’ Swallow told him. The less the Book Man knew about events at Greenhills and on the Heath the better. ‘Go on with your game now.’ He laughed. ‘Just don’t let yourself be beggared by those young card-sharps out there.’
Mick Feore, a single man, lived in a half-board lodging house not far away in Digges Lane. Swallow knew that his landlady was a constable’s widow who was accustomed to police messengers calling at unexpected hours. She had no idea where her lodger might be, she told him. But she would deliver the message. He would be at the City Morgue in the morning.
He retraced his steps to Kevin Street where he could send a telegraph message to Kilmainham, instructing a beat man to deliver a duty order to Stephen Doolan’s house at Mount Brown.
His last call for the evening was at Exchange Court.
Eddie Shanahan and Martin Collins were ‘live-in’ men. Newly appointed G-men were required to billet in the detective building for at least a year, sleeping in the dormitory on the top floor. ‘Live-in’ men could not be off the premises any later than 11 p.m. without special permission or unless they were on outdoor duty.
What some might consider a restrictive regime was, in fact, usually welcomed by young officers. The accommodation and messing was good value at seven shillings a week deducted from pay at source.
Shanahan was out with permission, but Collins was already lying in his cubicle in the top-floor dormitory, smoking a cheroot and reading a newspaper. He jumped from the bed when Swallow appeared.
‘Eleven o’clock in the morning at the City Morgue? I’ll be there, Sergeant. And I’ll have Eddie Shanahan with me.’ Swallow surmised that Collins was still smarting from the fiasco of ‘Tiger’ McKnight’s supposed dying declaration. He seemed anxious to please.
Grant’s was in darkness by the time Swallow reached Thomas Street, but a light on the first floor told him that Maria was not in bed. He climbed the stairs and found her seated in the parlour. She had just finished counting the day’s takings.
She looked drained. Her forehead was furrowed. Worry lines had formed along her cheeks. He saw something between anger and hurt in her eyes.
‘You must be very tired,’ he said. ‘It’s been a long day.’
She nodded and raised her hand to her forehead, kneading her brow between thumb and forefinger.
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t get in earlier,’ he said awkwardly. ‘I had to make arrangements for tomorrow.’
She shook her said. ‘Don’t apologise. It’s your work, I know. I’m sure that after what happened today you have to take action quickly. Did you…’
She gave a little sigh, as if reluctantly releasing her emotions. He moved forward to where she sat, extending his arms. She raised a hand to stop him where he was.
‘I’ll be fine in a moment. I’m probably a bit in shock after today. I can’t get out of my mind what happened … what nearly happened. My sister might have been killed or injured, or it could have been you, or Harry.’
She took her hand from her face.
‘I don’t think I can be involved any more in all of this.’
‘It’s not going to happen again,’ he said gently. ‘It shouldn’t have happened. I know I’m to blame. But I’ll never again allow any situation like that to come about. I’d ask that you consider what I’m trying to deal with here. There are two women and an innocent child murdered.’
She sighed again.
‘It isn’t just about what happened today.’ Her tone had hardened. ‘It’s the uncertainty of everything. I don’t know what’s to happen with our lives. I don’t know why or how we got ourselves into this situation. But it’s too difficult for me, just drifting along like this. I won’t endure it and you can’t expect me to. What happened today just … brought things to a head for me.’
He felt unable to respond. ‘I don’t know … Maria … I have no idea what to say.’
Her eyes lit.
‘Well that’s a great part of the problem, Joe. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what to do. So if you can’t make up your mind, I’ll have to make up mine. I think perhaps it’s time you considered making some new arrangements for your accommodation … and for your life.’
Sunday June 26th, 1887
THIRTY-EIGHT
Sunday was to see the peak of the heatwave. By the time Swallow’s squad assembled at the Marlborough Street morgue the sun was already starting to bake the city pavements. All of Ireland was sweltering. Later in the day a record temperature of more than 33 degrees would be noted 50 miles inland at Kilkenny Castle.
Swallow absolved himself from any religious duties. Shortly after 10 o’clock he left Thomas Street and walked to the Castle. John Mallon’s house was in the Lower Yard, facing the Chapel Royal and the Record Tower. When he rang the bell, Mallon himself opened the door.
