Michael Russell - The City of Shadows

Stefan made no attempt to explain away what had happened. He couldn’t. He didn’t want the contempt in Hannah’s voice directed at him.

‘What were you going to ask Mr Keller?’

‘If my friend had arrived for her abortion, what happened then, oh, and who the priest was who paid for it all. That would have been a start.’

‘And do you imagine he’d have told you?’

‘I don’t know. That’s when you walked in.’

‘I don’t think your conversation with Keller would have lasted long.’

‘Why not? I’d just paid him for an abortion. I would have been happy to say that very loudly and very publicly. All I needed was information.’

‘The events of this evening make it clear Mr Keller isn’t without friends. He’s also a criminal who keeps a revolver in his desk drawer.’

‘I hadn’t thought about him shooting me. Perhaps I should have.’ She was laughing at him. It didn’t seem there was much she was afraid of.

‘So you’ve got a man, the priest. An appointment for a miscarriage. Let’s assume she went. You don’t think he’d have gone with her?’

‘They’d stopped seeing each other. She didn’t say he was going.’

‘Then there’s Keller, who’s unlikely to tell anybody anything. And Susan, who no one’s seen since July. It’s hard to know what it really says.’

‘I think I know.’ She held his gaze, unwavering now.

‘What’s that?’

‘It says Susan’s dead.’

He didn’t answer. Instead he reached across the table and took Hannah’s hand. She nodded. It was answer enough. She had known for a long time now, however much she had tried to persuade herself it couldn’t be true. Even as she spoke the words she still hoped Stefan would tell her she was wrong. And it would have been easy for him to. It was what he was meant to do as a detective, at least till there was evidence to prove otherwise. And there was no evidence at all, of anything. Not that anyone had really looked for any yet. But he had a sense of where looking was going to lead already. It was the total absence of facts that made pushing aside Hannah Rosen’s simple statement hard. Hannah knew her friend. It wasn’t a fact but it was as close to one as made no difference. He couldn’t tell her he didn’t understand what Susan Field’s silence was. It was the silence of the grave.

The lights were still on in the house at twenty-five Merrion Square. It was almost ten o’clock. The uniformed officer Stefan Gillespie had left there was still on the steps. Garda Liam Dwyer had the collar of his coat turned up, his cap pulled down. Smoke hovered in front of his face. He was cold and hungry and pissed off. He should have ended his shift three hours ago.

‘I can’t let you go in, Sarge, sorry.’

‘Who says?’

‘Sergeant Lynch. It’s a Special Branch operation now.’

‘A serious business then, Liam. Is he inside?’

‘They’ve gone for a pint.’

‘I can see why they would. It’s thirsty work keeping the nation safe.’

‘No one goes in. That’s Sergeant Lynch’s orders.’

‘So what’s Jimmy Lynch up to in there?’

‘How do I know? I’m out here.’

‘There’s no fooling him, is there, Dessie?’

‘He’s got Special Branch orders, he needs to be on his toes, Sarge.’

‘You can piss off, Dessie. I’ve been here since this afternoon.’

‘Maybe they’ll bring you back a bottle of stout,’ laughed Dessie.

‘I hope you’re not thinking about putting in for any overtime from Inspector Donaldson when you get back to Pearse Street.’ Stefan shook his head with a look of mock concern. ‘He’s not happy about those two at all, especially Detective Sergeant Lynch. I’d say he had the holy water out when they left the station, and maybe the bell, book and candle. Will we go back and tell him you’re taking your orders from Special Branch now, Liam?

Garda Dwyer felt that a little more cooperation would be no bad thing.

‘They’ve been looking for something, Sarge,’ he said quietly.

‘Jimmy and Sean Og?’

‘And the German feller. They were turning the place inside out.’

‘You know what they were looking for?’

‘I can’t see through the front door, not being a detective.’

Stefan smiled, but ignored the sarcasm.

‘Where’s Keller now?’ he snapped.

‘He went with them, Sarge. Not to the pub though.’

Stefan could see he knew where Hugo Keller was.

Dwyer smiled. ‘Any fags? I’m on my last one.’

‘I’m sure Dessie’s got some, Liam,’ replied Stefan.

Begrudgingly Dessie MacMahon pulled twenty Sweet Afton from his pocket. As he opened the packet, Stefan took it and handed it to Dwyer.

‘Hey, I’ve only just bought those!’

Liam Dwyer lit a cigarette from the stub in his mouth. He put the packet of Sweet Afton into his pocket and dropped the stub to the ground.

‘You’re not the gouger they crack you up to be, Dessie.’

‘So Keller’s not with Lynch?’ Stefan returned to the matter in hand.

‘He was off to the Shelbourne for a drink. There’s a Christmas party on, every German in Dublin. Jimmy Lynch said they’d see him back here.’

‘Well, it’s a pity we didn’t know there was a party. I’m sure the inspector would have told us to back off on the raid if someone had said. But they’re always the lads for a bit of Christmas spirit in Special Branch.’

‘How much longer do I stand here, Sarge? Can’t someone take over?’

Stefan laughed. ‘You’ll have to ask Sergeant Lynch that, Liam.’

The Shelbourne Hotel was warm and welcoming. Two flags still flew over the brightly lit entrance, looking out on to Stephen’s Green — the Nazi swastika and the Irish tricolour. As Detective Sergeant Gillespie and Garda MacMahon entered the frayed-at-the-edges splendour of the Shelbourne lobby the top-hatted doorman smiled. He also gave a quick, warning glance to the porter at his desk. He knew who they were. Detectives didn’t just call in there for a drink. The porter emerged from behind the desk with the same barely disguised combination of welcome and wariness.

‘Anything I can help you with, Mr Gillespie?’

‘There will be, Anto. When I’ve worked out what it is I’ll tell you.’

They walked towards the doors that opened into the dining room, which had been taken over for the evening by the German Christmas party. Stefan stopped and peered into the room. It was festooned with red and white and black swastika flags and red and white Christmas decorations. Inside there was a buzz of loud and cheerful German conversation. Men, women and children filled the tables and milled around amidst the debris of an almost completed meal. Just then a loud ‘Ho, ho, ho!’ boomed across the lobby. As Stefan and Dessie turned, they saw a fat, bearded figure in red, with a bulging sack over his shoulder, heading towards the dining room and the party. He was accompanied by a middle-aged elf in green and gold and a Brunhilde-like maiden, flaxen plaits and all, in German peasant costume. They also carried sacks of presents. The two detectives stepped back. Santa Claus and his companions burst into the dining room to the sound of applause. Children clustered round Santy as he fought his way through the crowd. Stefan turned to the porter, still hovering a little way behind them.

‘Hugo Keller, do you know him?’

‘Mr Keller, of course.’

‘Is he in there? I can’t see him.’

‘He’ll be in the bar. He was just now.’

They moved on towards the Horseshoe Bar.

‘It’s hardly likely Keller isn’t going to notice us,’ remarked Dessie.

‘I’d say you’re right.’

‘But aren’t we meant to be leaving him alone? Inspector Donaldson said the case is dead. And didn’t Lynch tell us to keep our noses out of it?’