Echoland (21 page)

‘That lot up there,’ she raised a thumb at the ceiling. ‘They’re coming and going all day. The place is beginning to smell up there. I’ve told them they can make their own tea if they want to.’

Duggan didn’t know what she was talking about.

‘Petey says it’s all your fault, upsetting our little …’

‘Little what?’

‘Love nest,’ she looked away, embarrassed. ‘You know what he’s like, Petey.’

‘Oh, I do,’ Duggan laughed. ‘I know what he’s like.’

The switchboard beside her buzzed and she put on her
headphones
and raised her eyes to heaven as she said an exaggerated, ‘Yes, sir, immediately sir.’ She dialled a number, shoved in a plug and said, ‘Ringing for you now,’ and added another exaggerated ‘
sir
.’

Duggan leaned against the door jamb and gave her an inquiring look.

‘That’s them,’ she said, as she took off the headphones. ‘They’ve run an extension from the boss’s office up to your little room. He’s not a bit happy about it, the boss. Even more crotchety than usual.’

She glanced quickly at the switchboard in case someone might’ve heard her.

‘I didn’t know we’d gone into full … active service mode,’ Duggan said.

‘At least you washed your face this morning,’ she gave him a sly smile.

‘What?’

‘Your bandage is looking the worse for wear.’

He fingered it and could feel it curling at the edges.

‘I’ll give you a new one,’ she got up and led him into the kitchen. He sat down by the table while she got out the first aid box and then pulled the old bandage off with a quick tug. He winced.

‘How’d you not notice that when you were shaving?’ she dangled the bedraggled bandage before his eyes. ‘Maybe you haven’t started shaving yet.’

‘Hah,’ he laughed and jutted his chin out. ‘Feel that.’

She ran her index finger along his jaw line and raised an eye at him and smiled.

‘Maybe I don’t need another one,’ he said as she began to cut a
strip off the roll. ‘Be less conspicuous without it.’

She examined the dark bruise on his face and pursed her lips. ‘Maybe.’

‘Yeah, we’ll leave it.’

She rolled up the bandages and put them back in their box. ‘D’you want a cup of tea?’

‘No, thanks. I better go up and see what they’re doing up there.’

She’s right, he thought as soon as he opened the door. It was beginning to smell, like a changing room after a match, a mixture of sweat and cigarette smoke. As well as Sullivan and Gifford there were four others there he didn’t know. Special Branch men, he thought. They were all older, tougher looking. One was holding a phone, another two were reading newspapers, leaning against the wall, their jackets off, revolvers exposed.

‘Attention,’ Gifford shouted as he came in. One of the others glanced up at Duggan and snorted. Gifford shook his head and said to Duggan, ‘No respect. The help you get these days.’

The fourth and oldest Branch man leaned back in the only chair in the room and swiped his hand at Gifford’s head. ‘Fuck up,’ he said, as Gifford ducked.

‘Say no more,’ Gifford rolled his eyes.

No point trying to talk to Sullivan here, Duggan decided. ‘We’ve got to report back,’ he said to him, indicating the door.

As Sullivan followed him towards the door, Duggan indicated with a nod of his head to Gifford to follow them. He went out, unsure if Gifford had got the message.

He led Sullivan downstairs and asked Sinéad if they could use the boardroom on the ground floor. ‘Of course, general,’ she smiled sweetly.

Duggan sat at one side of the mahogany table and Sullivan went to the other. ‘Not bad looking,’ he said as he pulled out a chair and sat
down. ‘Your man Gifford says you have a thing about her.’

‘He has a thing about her.’

‘Ah,’ Sullivan said with an air of satisfaction. ‘A little bit of
competition
. I hope you’re winning. Don’t let the side down.’

Duggan shook his head as the door opened and Gifford came in and sat down at the head of the table. Sullivan looked surprised and glanced at Duggan.

‘What was that you were saying about the more subtle methods of the police?’ Duggan asked Gifford.

‘Ah don’t mind them,’ Gifford laughed. ‘They’re just the muscle. You don’t need a sledgehammer to break down doors with them around. Just tell them there’s raw meat inside and they’ll go through the door head first.’ He looked at Sullivan and said by way of
explanation
. ‘Culchies.’

‘Okay,’ Duggan said to Sullivan, ‘tell us all about it.’

‘Want to know what she had with her tea?’

Duggan nodded. ‘Everything.’

Sullivan went through his morning following Kitty Kelly to Mass in Westland Row church, then across the road to the newsagent and asking if there was anything for her.

‘How was the shopkeeper with her?’ Gifford intervened.

‘What d’you mean?’ Sullivan asked, looking at Duggan as if
seeking
his support for a refusal to answer his questions. Duggan ignored him.

‘Was he friendly? Did he seem to know her well?’

Sullivan shrugged. ‘Just the usual. Another lovely day missus. Great weather we’re having. That sort of—’

‘He called her missus?’

‘No, I don’t know,’ Sullivan admitted. ‘It was just that kind of talk. You know what I mean.’ He paused and thought about it for a
moment. ‘No, he didn’t call her missus. Then she asked him if
anything
had arrived yet. He said, no, not yet. And she bought a paper and left.’

‘Which paper?’ Gifford asked.

‘The
Irish Press
.’ He paused, waiting for another question.

‘Then what?’ Duggan prompted him.

‘Then she went back home, to her flat. And I came back here and reported to the captain. And about half an hour later she went out again. Walked down to Grafton Street and went into Bewley’s.’

‘Did she see you follow her?’ Duggan asked.

‘No. She never looked back.’

‘But she saw you in the shop?’

‘I don’t think so actually. We were both standing at the counter. She never looked at me.’

‘But she left before you?’

Sullivan nodded.

‘So she would’ve turned and passed by you?’

Sullivan looked at Gifford as if to say, what is this?

‘And she could have had a good look at you then? Without you seeing her do it?’

‘Maybe,’ Sullivan conceded.

‘It’s just that we probably need someone else on her now. Can’t take any chances.’

‘I already suggested that to the captain,’ Sullivan said. ‘He’s trying to find some more bodies to take over.’ They waited for him to
continue
. ‘She went to one of the tables at the back of Bewley’s, sat facing the stained glass window, her back to the room. A few minutes later another old woman came in and joined her, sat down on the bench opposite and they got a pot of tea.’

‘What did she look like?’ Duggan asked.

‘Another old woman,’ Sullivan shrugged. ‘White hair, small, a bit bent. She had a walking stick. Moved slowly. A bit of a limp. They nattered away for a while.’

‘Seemed to know each other well?’ Gifford interjected.

‘Yeah. Then the other woman got up and left and I thought that was it. I was trying to catch the waitress’s eye and pay for my coffee, get ready to go, when I saw your man Goertz come in. I thought it was a coincidence, that he just happened to come into Bewley’s at the same time. But then he walks over to your woman and sits on the bench where the other woman had been. You could’ve knocked me over with a feather.’

‘You’re sure it was him?’ Duggan asked.

‘As sure as you are,’ Sullivan retorted. ‘It was the fellow you
followed
from Hempel’s house. You said he was Goertz.’

‘Seemed to know each other well, too?’ Gifford interjected again.

‘Not as well as the two women, I’d say. He had a coffee and a
cherry
bun. Cut it into four pieces. She seemed to do most of the talking. I couldn’t see her face but he spent a lot of time listening, eating the bun. Very slow, deliberate movements. Didn’t do much talking. Then when he was finished he stood up, bowed a little to her and walked out right by my table. He was as near to me as you. I could’ve got up and grabbed him.’

Gifford laughed. ‘Maybe you should’ve. Saved us all a lot of
trouble
.’

‘But he might’ve been armed and I wasn’t,’ Sullivan said. ‘Where would I’ve been then.’

‘Dead,’ Gifford said, flat-toned.

‘So you followed him,’ Duggan dragged them back on track.

‘Up Grafton Street, along Stephen’s Green, down Baggot Street, all the way to Raglan Road.’

‘He didn’t see you?’

‘Never looked back. Anyway I kept well back.’

‘He didn’t stop anywhere?’

‘No. Kept going. Not too fast, businesslike.’

‘Was there anyone watching his back?’

‘What?’ Sullivan said.

‘Anyone looking after him. You know what I mean?’ Duggan shrugged.

‘No, I don’t think so.’ Sullivan paused. ‘Jaysus I don’t have eyes in the back of my head.’

‘I thought you lads had three hundred and sixty degree vision,’ Gifford smirked, ‘and could see in the dark too.’

The other two ignored him. ‘I had to keep back even further when we got to the end of Baggot Street. There were very few people on the footpath and I had to run up to the corner when he turned into Raglan Road. Just in time to see him going into a driveway.’

‘Then what?’ Duggan prompted.

‘Then, I decided I needed help, so I had to go back to Baggot Street to find a phone and called the office. The captain told me to try and keep a discreet eye on the house and wait till we got some more people there. I went back but didn’t go into Raglan Road, just kept an eye on it from Pembroke Road. He didn’t come out of the house again. That’s it.’

‘Who’s there now?’ Duggan asked Gifford.

‘A couple of lads. Covering front and back.’

‘So what do we do now?’ Sullivan asked.

‘Wait.’ Duggan said.

‘We’ll have a cup of tea,’ Gifford got up.

Nothing moved on Pembroke Road as the dawn crept up, sweeping it clean with the fresh light of the new day. They had the car windows
open and the excited chatter of birds filled the cool air. Duggan was in the driver’s seat, McClure beside him, watching the group of men standing at the corner of Raglan Road about fifty yards ahead of them. One of the men left the group and walked towards them and Duggan recognised the Superintendent in full uniform. He went around the bonnet to McClure’s window.

‘All set now,’ he said.

‘Remember,’ McClure said. ‘Tread carefully. Very carefully. No gun play unless absolutely necessary. He won’t try and shoot his way out.’

The Superintendent nodded. ‘I’ve warned them. We’re not
looking
for IRA fellows who’ll come out with everything blazing. And that they’ll spend the rest of their lives in court if they mess this up.’

‘Too right,’ McClure sighed. The house which Sullivan had seen Goertz enter belonged to an up-and-coming barrister with no known connections with any political organisations or sympathies with Germany. There had been a lot of debate during the day whether to stake it out and hope to confirm that Goertz was there or to move in as early as possible.

The Superintendent was back at the group of men and they all disappeared around the corner into Raglan Road. Duggan was about to open his door and follow when McClure took out his cigarette case and offered him one. Duggan lit both and they settled back and smoked in silence, staring at the empty road. The sun was beginning to touch the tops of chimney pots on the opposite side and nothing moved in the total stillness. There were no sounds other than the birdsong.

‘Okay,’ McClure said at last, when they had nearly finished the cigarettes. They walked down the path, tossing the butts on the ground ahead of them and stepping on them as they passed. They rounded the corner and went into the driveway of the house.

Lights were on in most of the windows and the hall door was ajar but there was no sign of anyone. Their feet sounded loud on the
gravel
as they crossed and went up the steps, McClure leading. He pushed open the hall door and a revolver pointed at his head. The Special Branch man behind the door lowered it as soon as he recognised him and pointed to the first doorway.

‘Preposterous,’ the lawyer was saying as they entered. ‘The very idea is simply preposterous.’

The Superintendent turned as McClure came in. ‘This is Captain McClure,’ he said, passing the buck. ‘From military intelligence.’

‘Are you the person responsible for this outrage?’ the barrister demanded. He was ageing prematurely, balding and developing a paunch. He was wearing a colourful silk dressing gown, his hands clenched in the pockets.

‘I’m sorry for the intrusion,’ McClure said. ‘We’re acting on
information
that a man we wish to interview was seen coming to your house.’

‘A German spy?’ the barrister put all the derision of his courtroom tradecraft into the question.

‘These are unusual times,’ McClure said. ‘And you’ll appreciate that we have to pursue all leads. In the national interest.’

The man harrumphed. ‘Well there are no German spies here.’

‘Just the family and the maid,’ the Superintendent said. Oh, fuck, Duggan thought, wishing he wasn’t there.

‘My children are upstairs in bed crying. They probably won’t be able to sleep for months after this. They were already upset enough with all this talk of war.’

‘My apologies, sir,’ McClure said. ‘And thank you for your
assistance
.’

‘You haven’t heard the last of this,’ the barrister said and then looked beyond McClure at the door.

A young woman in a white nightdress down to her ankles had come in with one of the Special Branch men.

‘What is it, Molly?’ the barrister demanded.

‘There was a man called to the door this morning, sir,’ she said. ‘A foreign gentleman.’

‘What? Why wasn’t I told about this earlier?’

‘I didn’t think it was important, sir,’ she stammered. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

‘Not important? In the middle of the war?’