Michael Russell - The City of Shadows

‘No, I haven’t seen Lynch again.’

It was an answer, but she could hear it wasn’t the full answer.

‘You just heard?’

‘He’d been released. There were no charges against him. There was nothing to stop him leaving the country. He took the mail boat on Saturday.’

‘He wasn’t wasting any time then.’

‘That’s how it looks.’ Stefan shrugged.

‘You think that’s just a convenient coincidence?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘You’re the detective, aren’t you? You’re the one who was going to ask him what happened when Susan went to see him. Isn’t there something a bit odd about the fact that he’s suddenly not here any more? No questions, so no answers, when that’s the last place we definitely know she was going.’

He couldn’t even begin to talk about Hugo Keller and Adolf Mahr, or about the spat that was going on between Special Branch and Military Intelligence. He didn’t know what any of that meant anyway, and if he found out it was hardly likely to be information he could tell anyone else, even Hannah. There were a lot of things going on that might explain Hugo Keller’s abrupt departure. It certainly seemed as if the leader of the Nazi Party and the Garda Special Branch wanted him out of the way. Whether that had anything at all to do with Susan Field’s disappearance five months ago it was impossible to say; it was hard to believe it could do. It really did feel like a coincidence, but even while Stefan thought that he questioned it. As Hannah had put it, it was a very convenient coincidence.

‘You’re not going to tell me everything, are you?’

‘I am going to find out what happened to Susan.’

She smiled. ‘All right. That’ll have to do. For now. I’ll have to put up with it and trust you. But don’t lie to me, please. Will you promise me that?’

‘I’m not going to lie.’

She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded.

‘The letters did help though?’ she said.

‘I’m sure it won’t be hard to identify the priest.’ He was trying to find something positive to say, a way to leave all the secrecy and evasion behind.

‘It’s the only place left now, isn’t it? Now that Keller’s gone.’

‘It’s one place.’ He was silent for a moment. There was a question about the letters, Susan’s last letters, that was still in his head.

‘There are things in the letters … I’m talking about how she felt, the last few times she wrote. She was in a very dark place. It doesn’t always sound like that. She was still making jokes, but you know what I mean.’

Hannah was surprised. ‘I’m not sure I do.’

‘She was very unhappy, more than that,’ Stefan continued.

‘Is this mail boat territory again?’ She was tight-lipped.

‘No. Dark places can be dangerous.’

‘Is that from the Garda psychology manual?’

‘When I’m not a guard I’m a human being. Only part-time of course.’

He let his irritation show and it seemed to make her rein in her own.

‘Are you telling me you think she killed herself?’

‘I need to look at it all. I have to try and understand her. You can only have so much emptied out of you sometimes. Not everyone can take it.’

Hannah was looking at him harder as he spoke. She could see that he wasn’t trying to explain anything away. He was talking about himself.

‘I’ve thought about it, of course I have,’ she said more calmly. ‘I still think I know her though. I don’t believe she ever had suicide in her head.’

‘All right,’ he replied. ‘When will you go to Lennox Street?’

‘I’m going straight there.’ She was pleased to have something to do.

They got up and walked through Bewley’s to the street.

‘Do you live in Dublin?’ Hannah asked unexpectedly.

‘I’ve just got a couple of rooms. It’s not much, but it’s better than the Garda barracks. That’s where you’re meant to be if you’re single — ’

‘Your son’s in Wicklow though.’

They came out into Grafton Street and stopped.

‘He lives with my parents. My wife died.’ He said it simply enough, because it was a simple fact about his life. He was used to saying it.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry — I hadn’t — ’ She looked away.

‘It was two years ago.’

‘It must be hard for him, you being away.’

‘It’s hard for both of us. But you do the best you can.’

They were very ordinary words, but she felt their weight.

‘Phone me at Pearse Street when you can.’

‘Yes, I’ll phone you later.’

He smiled and walked quickly away. She watched him go, until he finally disappeared into the crowds further down Grafton Street, then she turned to walk up to Stephen’s Green to get the tram to Lennox Street.

Stefan Gillespie walked through the empty rooms at twenty-five Merrion Square. There was nothing to see that hadn’t been seen. It was a mess, what with the searching downstairs and hurried packing upstairs, and more policemen than you’d wish on anybody. But of course there was nobody to care one way or another now. He could sense that Hugo Keller wouldn’t miss what he had left behind. There was valuable equipment in the clinic and the basement; that was money. But upstairs only a few rooms had been inhabited. Stefan had no sense that this was a home. There were no pictures, no photographs; the furniture was no more than functional. He was standing in the room that had been Keller’s bedroom now, looking out at the gardens in the middle of Merrion Square. On the unmade bed were clothes that had been pulled from the wardrobe and chest of drawers and never packed. Dessie took out a packet of Sweet Afton and slowly extracted a cigarette.

‘Liam Dwyer was still on duty when your man came back from the Shelbourne. Jimmy Lynch was with him. About half an hour later a car came across the square from the German consulate. Keller brought a suitcase out and Jimmy did the honours with another one. Then the car took Keller off. I’d say they must have driven straight to Dun Laoghaire for the mail boat.’

‘Who was driving?’

‘From what Liam says, probably your man Adolf Mahr.’

It didn’t make much sense, but it wasn’t a surprise.

‘If I was director of the National Museum, I’d have classier pals,’ continued Dessie.

‘But if you want a job done you’re maybe better doing it yourself.’

‘You mean getting him out, Sarge?’

‘He knew he’d be going, I’d say the moment we walked in here.’

Dessie waited for a moment. ‘You’d think after us and Special Branch the place deserved a rest.’

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

Garda MacMahon lit the cigarette and held it between his fingers, not smoking it, just smiling. Stefan knew the expression well enough. It always gave Dessie a little bit of pleasure to know more than his sergeant did.

‘I was in O’Donaghue’s for a pint on Sunday, on my way home like.’ He drew on the cigarette. ‘And I thought I’d walk back through the square afterwards. Jesus, I swear to God there was two more of them at it in here.’

‘At what?’

‘They were searching the place. They weren’t the best. They had the sense not to turn the lights on, but they were flashing a torch all over the place. They broke in at the back. There’s a window into the cellar smashed.’

‘It couldn’t have been Lynch. He’s got the key.’

‘No, they weren’t Special Branch.’

‘So who were they?’

‘I walked down Fitzwilliam Lane and waited for them to come over the back wall. From the laughter you’d think they were at it for a lark. They went into Baggot Street, and along Fitzwilliam Street, and into a house in Fitzwilliam Place. I’ve got the number here — ’ Dessie fished in his pockets.