Michael Russell - The City of Shadows

‘That’s admirable, Sergeant. I still don’t see — ’

‘I’d like to find Hugo Keller.’

‘Easier said than done now, I imagine.’

‘So what’s in it, Captain? The book.’ Stefan wasn’t going to let go.

De Paor lit another cigarette that he wouldn’t smoke. He looked across at Lieutenant Cavendish, who shrugged. The captain said nothing.

‘Look, Keller’s door is where my investigation into Susan Field’s death stops,’ continued Stefan. ‘It’s a dead end. But it’s a very busy one. It’s got Special Branch pulling Keller out of a Garda cell and dumping a woman they don’t know at a Magdalene Laundry. It’s got the director of the National Museum driving Dublin’s favourite abortionist to Dun Laoghaire after a Nazi shindig at the Shelbourne. It’s got detectives beating up all sorts of people, including other detectives. And it’s got Military Intelligence breaking into crime scenes and following Special Branch men all round Dublin, not to mention me. Now whatever Jimmy Lynch is up to, you don’t really expect me to believe you’ve got orders to spy on Special Branch, do you? I think you’re doing it off your own bat. Or have I got it all wrong?’

The captain threw his cigarette into the fire and stood up.

‘Do you think there’s going to be a war, Sergeant?’

‘Are we expecting the English back?’

‘In Europe, I mean.’

‘Not according to Herr Hitler. Isn’t that the last thing he wants?’

‘Your family’s German, Mr Gillespie.’

Stefan was surprised. It was clear they had checked up on him.

‘It’s always useful to know who people are, Sergeant.’

‘I see. Well, my grandmother was German.’

‘You follow these things?’

‘Up to a point, Captain.’

‘So is it the last thing Herr Hitler wants?’

‘I’d say that depends who he’s talking to,’ smiled Stefan.

Cavendish laughed. ‘Spot on!’

‘And what do you think about the Nazis?’ continued the captain. Stefan was conscious he was the one who was being asked questions now. ‘Do you have an opinion?’

‘My mother still gets Christmas cards from her cousins. For the last two years they’ve come with swastikas on them. She doesn’t put them up. I’m not looking for Hugo Keller because he’s a Nazi. That’s his business.’

‘Everywhere there are Germans, there’s a Nazi Party,’ said de Paor, now turning to look out towards the street. ‘We’ve got our own here, as you know, run by Herr Doktor Adolf Mahr, when he’s not doing a thoroughly admirable job on the archaeology front, as director of the National Museum. You were at their Weinachsfest bash, of course, at the Shelbourne.’

‘I didn’t get an invitation though.’

‘Maybe next year.’

‘I’m not sure I couldn’t find something better to do.’

‘Everyone likes the flags and the uniforms, don’t they, Mr Gillespie? We’ve a bit of a soft spot for all that ourselves, trench coats and Sam Browne belts. But there’s a little bit more to it as far as the Nazi Party is concerned. Every German who’s living in Ireland, working, studying, is expected to belong to the Party. Choice is not an option. There’s the Hitler Youth too, just like the Boy Scouts they say, lots of hiking and cooking sausages on an open fire. But you don’t join the Party for the craic. I’m not so sure the craic would be that good. There are jobs to be done. You have to earn your keep.’

‘And what was Keller, the Party abortionist?’ asked Stefan.

‘When you take away the cultural evenings and the women’s baking circle, it’s all about information. The first thing is information about Germans in Ireland. If they’re not in the Party, why aren’t they in the Party? If they’re against the Party, who are they, who do they spend their time with, who are their friends, what family have they got back in the fatherland? Then there’s all the stuff about us. Who’s who? Who thinks Adolf Hitler is the cat’s pyjamas? Who thinks he’s a loudmouthed gobshite? Who thinks the new Germany’s heaven on earth? Who thinks it’s the road to hell? Who wants the government closer to Germany? Who wants to keep quiet ties across the channel? Where are the socialists and communists? If the time came, who’d plant the bombs below while they dropped them from the sky?’

‘You mean O’Duffy and his Blueshirts? They’re finished surely?’

‘Kaput as our friends would have it. No, the Blueshirts are old hat. They never counted for much anyway, did they? It’s the IRA that’s cosying up to the Nazis now. De Valera may have forgotten that England’s difficulty is Ireland’s opportunity, but they certainly haven’t. Dev may have dumped the IRA but some of the friends he left behind have got their eyes on the war no one thinks will happen. Mahr’s probably got a longer list of those fellers than we have. Not that you’d want to be heard saying it in polite society.’

‘So you’re spying on the spies,’ said Stefan.

‘I’m sure Herr Mahr would be shocked, genuinely shocked, to hear you use the word spy. I’ve had dinner with him several times. He’s a man with a great love for Ireland. And a real admiration for Dev too. They all think there’s something coming down the road though, any Nazi you speak to, and by the time the brandy bottle’s been round the table a few times you get a whiff of it. And somewhere what’s coming means England getting its just deserts. Mahr is doing what he’s meant to do, collecting information and sending it home. And I’m sure he feels he has got the interests of both Germany and his newly adopted home at heart.’

‘And Keller was a part of all this?’

‘Keller’s a different kettle of fish, Sergeant. I doubt he’s any more of a Nazi than he needs to be. Information is a business for him. He’s earned a good living here providing certain services the state prohibits. Along the way he’s collected a lot of information, about all sorts of people who’ve availed of those services. Abortion’s the main thing, but there are others, from the simple provision of contraceptive devices to treating sexual diseases you might be reluctant to refer to your own doctor. Herr Keller didn’t come cheap, so a lot of the people he dealt with matter. But that’s not all. A lot of people owed him favours. Blackmail breeds blackmail and what you can’t get that way you can pay for. There’s a market for everything.’

‘So he was selling information to Special Branch too?’

‘Let’s just say there was some you-scratch-my-back in play.’

‘It’s all a bit beyond Jimmy Lynch, isn’t it, Captain de Paor?’

‘I’m sure it is. You need to get the tail and the dog in the right order of wagging however. Keller wasn’t working for Lynch, Lynch was working for Keller.’

‘And no one in Special Branch knows?’

It was Cavendish who shook his head and answered.

‘I’m sure Keller fed him enough information to keep it all sweet. So if anyone asked Lynch about Keller he could say he was his pet informant.’

Stefan took this in. It raised a lot more questions about Jimmy Lynch.

‘So how far would he have gone to protect Hugo Keller?’

‘It wouldn’t be the first time he’s buried someone in the mountains,’ continued the lieutenant. ‘He pulled the trigger in the execution of two RIC men in Cork in 1920. During the Civil War, he shot a Free State soldier outside Portlaoise. Those are the ones for publication. Part of Detective Sergeant Lynch’s proud war record. But there are others. There was a lad outside Mullingar, who was supposed to have told the police about an IRA ambush; that was mistaken identity. And a seventy-year-old farmer in Kildare who had a row with him in a pub. I don’t think he says much about those two now. They just disappeared. The bodies were never found.’