Michael Russell - The City of Shadows

As Stefan looked out at the city, Edward O’Rourke seemed to be doing the same thing, but his eyes didn’t see very much. He was weighing the consequences of what had happened. Then, quite abruptly, as they crossed the river, he started to talk about Francis Byrne. He didn’t look round. Stefan wasn’t really sure the words were addressed to him at all.

‘I met Francis at the Eucharistic Congress in Dublin. They assigned him to me as a guide. He had good German and an interest in genealogy. My family fled Ireland after the battle of the Boyne. They ended up in Russia, fighting for the czars. It was the family business. My father intended me for a general but the way things have turned out in Russia I probably made a wise decision to turn my hand to something else. Francis ended up spending more time arguing about the future of the Church than looking into my family tree. We disagreed about a lot but he was very bright. I liked him. When I left, I offered him a job, if he ever wanted one. I didn’t hear from him for nearly three years, and then unexpectedly he appeared in Danzig. He wasn’t the same man though. Somehow all his vitality had gone; along with all his curiosity, all his passion. But I didn’t see how troubled he was. There is a high price to pay for that now. It was only when he came to me yesterday …’

O’Rourke stopped as suddenly as he had started, and he said no more. They drove across the river on to the Speicherinsel. In Milchkannengasse they pulled up outside Grund amp; Co, funeral directors.

A considerable amount of the undertaker’s art had already been expended on Father Francis Byrne. His face was an unnatural, almost clownish pink. His hair had been oiled and combed back in such neat, stiff lines that it looked like a wig. He was wearing a dark suit and clerical collar that had certainly not accompanied him into the dark waters of the Mottlau. The coffin he lay in was lined with white silk, which only accentuated the pinkness of his flesh. He looked like a mannequin from the windows of Freymann’s department store. Herr Grund scurried behind the bishop with a combination of fawning obsequiousness and ill-disguised fear. It was a privilege to have such an eminent personage on his premises, but the corpse had been brought by the Gestapo. O’Rourke bent over the body of the priest. He made the sign of the cross on his forehead and prayed silently. As he straightened up he turned to the undertaker. ‘Leave us alone, please.’ The words were said quietly and graciously. The undertaker hesitated. The bishop’s stern eyes said what his words had not. ‘Now piss off.’ The undertaker bowed, walking deferentially backwards before leaving the room.

‘Well?’

‘Apart from the fact that he’s made-up like a — ’ Stefan stopped.

‘Like a madam in a whorehouse.’ O’Rourke took a handkerchief from his pocket and applied it firmly to Byrne’s face, wiping away the pink cream that had been spread and plastered into the skin. Stefan had seen policemen more squeamish with the dead. As he scraped around the eyes the skin was dark and bruised underneath. There were cuts on the cheeks as well. He pulled the upper lip away. There were black gaps where teeth had been.

‘Look under his shirt.’

Stefan unbuttoned the jacket. He pulled away the shirt and collar. There were more bruises, cuts, weals. He pressed down on to the rib cage.

‘Broken ribs.’

They looked round as someone entered the room. There was a click of heels. Stefan immediately recognised his Gestapo interrogator, Klaus Rothe.

‘Kriminaloberassistent Rothe, Your Excellency.’

He stepped forward, holding out a report. As the bishop eyed him carefully the Gestapo officer looked sideways at Stefan, frowning. He was the last person he could have expected to find with the Bishop of Danzig.

‘The Kriminalkommissar extends his sympathies.’

‘And this is?’

‘The report into the accident, Your Excellency.’

‘I understand Father Byrne drowned.’

‘Correct.’

‘There was no crime then?’

‘Correct.’

‘So why is the Gestapo involved?’

It was hard for Rothe to suppress a smile as he gave what he felt was a very neat reply. ‘We take the death of a priest seriously, Your Excellency.’

‘And before he drowned, what do you think happened?’

‘Impossible to say, Your Excellency. There were no witnesses.’

‘I’m sure. And you are certain about drowning?’

‘Unfortunately, yes. There was a full medical examination.’

‘Take a look, Kriminaloberassistent.’ The bishop moved away from the coffin and gestured for the Gestapo man to step forward. He didn’t. ‘No other theories? He couldn’t have beaten himself to death by any chance?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t understand, Your Excellency.’

‘I’m sure you understand perfectly.’ Edward O’Rourke turned back to the coffin. He made the sign of the cross. As he left the room he screwed up the report he had just been given by Rothe and dropped it on the floor.

The Gestapo man was staring at Stefan again, about to speak.

‘I’m with him.’ Stefan followed the bishop out into the corridor.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Hannah had been waiting for Stefan in his room. ‘You knew about the pistol in December.’

‘I didn’t tell you because it was evidence we were holding back. You don’t throw these things around. It was part of another investigation as well. There were two bodies. The captive bolt pistol was the only thing Susan and Vincent Walsh had in common. I needed to know what that meant first.’

‘It meant she didn’t die, she was murdered. You knew that and you didn’t say it.’ She threw the letter from Father Byrne on the bed. ‘It didn’t take him long to work it out. It was a gun. It doesn’t matter what kind of gun, so somebody shot her. Was it Keller? Why would Keller shoot her?’

‘No. It wasn’t him.’

She looked at Stefan, shaking her head.

‘But you know who it was. You know and you haven’t told me!’

‘I think I know.’

‘Isn’t that enough!’

‘It’s not enough to prove anything. It’s a lot less now Francis Byrne’s dead.’

‘Who did it?’ She wanted the truth now. He would have to tell her.

‘It was a guard.’

First she was surprised; then there was a question. He could see it.

‘It’s not why I didn’t tell you. It was only when I talked to Byrne — ’

‘Who is he?’ She wasn’t going to listen to any more evasion.

‘You’ve met him. He took you to the convent. Sergeant Lynch.’

She stopped, remembering the December day she went to Merrion Square to see Hugo Keller; the interview room at Pearse Street; Mother Eustacia; DS Lynch. It felt a long time ago.

‘Did Father Byrne know that?’

‘He knew the man driving the car was a guard, that’s all. When the guard told him Susan was dead he believed it. And he ran. He left Jimmy to deal with the body. He was a guard, wasn’t he? It could have been true. Maybe she was dead. If she wasn’t, he shot her in the head to make sure — ’

‘He killed her. Like an animal!’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘He worked for Keller. When there was a mess, he cleaned it up.’

‘So it was Hugo Keller who told him to do it?’

‘He could have done. I don’t know. ’

‘I think you need to know, Detective Sergeant Gillespie,’ Hannah said, her voice trembling. ‘And so do I. If you won’t find out, I shall.’

She walked across the room and picked up her coat.

‘You know where he is, Stefan, don’t you?’

‘It’s not that simple,’ he said.

‘Why not?’

‘Francis Byrne was going to have it all out with Hugo Keller. I don’t know whether he got there or not, Hannah, but I’ve seen what they did to him. Keller’s got a lot more police pals here than he had in Dublin, not to mention the SS. It’s not just one Special Branch man taking kickbacks. Every Gestapo officer in Danzig is Jimmy Lynch with bells on. And they don’t do it for the money, they do it all for love. Keller’s too dangerous.’