Echoland (28 page)

Duggan looked beyond him and saw Gifford pass slowly between two trees in the distance. Harbusch was intent on what he was doing, tossing handfuls of bread pieces onto the water in a methodical way. When he had finished he scrunched the paper bag into a ball and put it into his pocket and turned towards Duggan.

Duggan stared straight ahead at the water and Harbusch walked
by within a foot of him. It was the closest Duggan had ever been to him, so close he smelled Harbusch’s aftershave. He flicked his butt across the path and into the pond and waited for Gifford.

‘Well, well,’ Gifford said. ‘I’ll have to include you in my report. You’re the only suspicious person Hansi has come anywhere near today.’

‘What’s he doing here?’

Gifford shrugged. ‘One of those ducks has got to be a German courier. Not the pigeons after all. And he’s on his way back to the Fuhrer with it now. Air mail.’

They walked along the path after Harbusch who had gone around a bend in the path and was now obscured by bushes.

‘Which one had a guttural quack?’

Duggan gave a short laugh. ‘Where’s Eliza today?’

‘In the Monument Café as usual. I decided to stick with Hansi since he was going a different way today.’

‘But why?’

‘Ours not to reason why. Ours but to follow and spy.’

‘I should go back and have a look at Eliza.’

‘Always to be recommended.’

‘In case the ducks were just a diversion.’

‘Good idea, Sherlock,’ Gifford agreed. ‘We wouldn’t want anyone to be able to say we were fooled by ducks.’

Duggan made his way back to the main entrance to the park and crossed onto Grafton Street and went down to the café. He stepped in and stopped as though looking for someone. Eliza was at a table at the back on her own. She had her purse open and was taking out coins and handing them to a waitress. Duggan left again and crossed the road and stood in a shop doorway, waiting for her to emerge.

He followed her along her expected route, down Grafton Street, into Nassau Street towards Merrion Square. She swung along at a
confident pace, attracting admiring glances, women as well as men getting out of her path. Duggan paid her little attention, still immersed in his own thoughts, a jumble of possibilities now overlaid with one big fear. The best way out of an ambush is to charge straight through it, he thought. Keep going. Don’t hesitate. Don’t stop.

He stopped at the end of Clare Street as Eliza crossed into Merrion Square and he watched her head towards her apartment, his decision made. Drops of rain began to fall and he went back into Greene’s bookshop and to the sub-post office counter at the back. He asked the woman behind the bars for a telegram form and wrote out a brief message: ‘Day off tomorrow. On morning train.’

He filled in his father’s name and address and the woman
counted
the words and told him the cost. As he paid her he hoped his father would be there when it arrived – his mother would fear the worst if she was the first to receive it. Telegrams nearly always meant bad news.

The rain was coming down heavily, a sudden summer shower, when he emerged, big drops bouncing off the road and the gutters already full. He waited under the shelter of the shop’s awning, half
listening
to two young women who were having an intense conversation about a manipulative co-worker. ‘She’s just a silver-plated bitch,’ one concluded. ‘All nice and shiny to your face. Cut you to ribbons behind your back.’

He put Timmy and his hints out of his mind now that his course of action was decided. Eliza will be drenched, he thought idly. There’s no shelter on the path alongside the park.

When the rain stopped he retrieved his bicycle from Kildare Street and cycled along Merrion Row and into the square. Sinéad’s desk was empty and he went upstairs taking the steps two at a time and opened the door to their room.

‘Oh, sorry,’ he stopped. Gifford was stripped to the waist, Sinéad
standing in front of him. She stepped backwards.

‘If only,’ Gifford sighed. His shirt was on the back of the chair, a cup and plate on its seat.

‘In your dreams,’ she said, reddening.

‘See?’ Gifford said to Duggan. ‘She can even see into my dreams.’

‘Shut up, you,’ she punched him hard on the shoulder. ‘Giggler was looking for you,’ she said to Duggan, picking up the cup and plate.

‘Who?’ he said but knew the answer even as he asked. Sullivan.

‘That fellow from your crowd who’s always giggling.’

‘Did he leave a message?’

‘No, just asked if you were here. Said it was nothing important.’

Was Sullivan checking up on him? he wondered.

‘You’re looking a bit raggedly today,’ she said. ‘Hard night?’

‘Just busy.’

‘Out with his duckies,’ Gifford said. ‘The feathered kind.’

She raised her eyes at the two of them. ‘If you want tea you can come and get it,’ she said to Duggan as she left.

‘Sorry if I interrupted …’ Duggan said.

‘Sadly not,’ Gifford pointed at his shirt. ‘Got drenched in that shower. Hansi kept going so we sloshed our way back.’

‘Eliza got drenched too.’ Duggan stood at the window, looking across at the Harbusches’ flat.

‘Stop, stop,’ Gifford joined him. ‘They’re both over there taking off their wet clothes. No wonder Hansi is impervious to everything. He’s in seventh heaven all the time.’

‘Do you think we could get into Miss Kelly’s flat?’

‘Ah, a little breaking and entering. Just what I need to calm my fevered brain.’

‘Can it be done?’

Gifford thought about it for a moment. ‘Need a lot of planning. And a lot of people on standby. And someone who knew his business.
Not like the eejit we had the last time.’

‘Who’d have to approve it?’

‘My super,’ Gifford said. ‘But we’d have to make a strong case. It’d tie up a lot of manpower. We’d have to have our burglar on standby, teams to follow Hansi and Eliza and Kitty. And we’d need them all out at the same time. A lot of people could be hanging around a long time waiting for the right moment.’

‘Yeah,’ Duggan agreed. ‘And it’s unlikely she’d leave anything lying around about her real identity.’

‘Do our betters care that much about Hansi anyway? They’re much more interested in your friend Goertz.’

Gifford left the window and took his shirt off the chair. ‘Could I hang this out the window? Would Hansi see it as a signal of
surrender
? Call in his paratroopers? Or would the neighbours kill me for turning the square into a tenement?’

‘Probably all of those,’ Duggan offered. He turned away from the window too. ‘I saw Nuala at last,’ he said and gave Gifford an edited account of his meetings with Nuala and Timmy, including everything except the details of Timmy’s dealings with the Bradley family.

‘Culchies,’ Gifford shook his head when he had finished. ‘I always knew you ate your own down there. What do you do to your enemies?’

‘Eat them without butter,’ Duggan said without humour,
wondering
what Gifford would think if he had told him the whole story. ‘It’s a standoff. Neither will give in first.’

‘Hmm,’ Gifford walked around the room in thought. ‘Our friend Billy Ward could be the man to ride to the rescue. Break the
deadlock
.’

Ward’s bruises had lost their angry look and settled into a dark purple, a stage behind Duggan’s own fading bruise. He touched it
unconsciously as he and Gifford entered the interview room. Duggan sat down across the table from Ward and took his time lighting a cigarette. He left the packet open and his lighter beside it in the centre of the table. Gifford leaned his shoulder against the door, arms folded.

‘There are a few details I’d like to clear up for my report,’ Duggan began at last, starting the strategy he and Gifford had worked out on their way to the Bridewell. ‘You and your friend grabbed Bradley on Wicklow Street in the same way we first met and you took him to the same garage. But you were lucky this time. He had the money on him. Five hundred pounds in cash. And the guards didn’t come knocking on the door.’

Ward stared back at him, trying to look impassive.

‘So you could move on and count the money at your leisure.’ Duggan paused to take a deep drag. ‘What I want to know is whether you handed over the money to your quartermaster. All five hundred pounds.’

Ward blinked a couple of times.

‘All five hundred pounds,’ Duggan repeated. ‘And how you explained why Bradley was walking around with five hundred pounds in his pocket.’

‘Because he’s a spy,’ Gifford offered. Ward glanced at him in surprise.

‘Even spies don’t walk around with five hundred pounds in their pockets, do they?’ Duggan shook his head. ‘In envelopes addressed to the daughter of a government TD?’

‘Trying to bribe the government,’ Gifford said.

‘Not a very smart spy then,’ Duggan laughed. ‘Wasting money
trying
to bribe a backbencher with no power.’

‘He confessed,’ Ward said.

Duggan hid his delight with incredulity. ‘To trying to bribe Timmy Monaghan?’

‘To being a British spy,’ Ward said with a touch of smugness.

‘A voluntary confession?’ Gifford asked.

‘He didn’t hold out very long,’ Ward gave a hint of a smile.

Duggan had a hollow feeling in his stomach. He knew how quick Ward was to use his gun as a blunt instrument. ‘What did he confess to?’

‘To being a British spy.’

‘Who was he spying on?’

Ward shrugged and asked if he could have a cigarette. Duggan pushed the packet and lighter closer to him.

‘Who was he spying on?’ he repeated as Ward lit the cigarette.

‘Ireland,’ Ward said, as if the answer was obvious.

‘So who was the money for?’

‘I don’t fucking know, do I?’ Ward said. ‘Informers probably.’

‘Timmy Monaghan’s daughter? She’s an informer?’

‘No, no,’ Ward backed off. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know who it was for.’

‘Why was he spying?’

‘Money, I suppose.’

‘You didn’t ask him?’

‘I don’t talk to British spies.’

‘Was it your idea to ransom him for your lads in Belfast?’

‘No, no,’ Ward said with a hint of pride. ‘That’s an army council decision. Only they could make decisions like that.’

Duggan nodded. ‘So you told the army council you had captured a British spy and awaited orders on what to do next.’

‘Not directly, of course,’ Ward said. ‘I told my superior officer who passed it up the line. You know?’

‘Yeah, I know,’ Duggan said, one soldier to another. ‘And you gave him the envelope address to Nuala Monaghan. With the five hundred pounds in it.’

Ward concentrated on his cigarette.

‘Or maybe there wasn’t five hundred pounds in by then? A bit less maybe?’

Ward said nothing.

‘Or maybe there was no envelope at all? No money at all?’

Duggan stubbed out his cigarette in the metal ashtray, watching Ward all the time.

‘Maybe you gave it back to Timmy Monaghan?’ he suggested.

‘Yeah,’ Ward said.

Duggan gave him a slow smile and shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You didn’t give it back to Timmy. You and your friend kept the money. And you presented your army council with a so-called British spy. But you didn’t tell them about the money. Or how you came across Bradley in the first place.’

‘All very interesting,’ Gifford tapped his watch, ‘but we have a deadline to get this report finished.’

‘I know, I know,’ Duggan waved him aside without turning away from Ward. ‘You saw a handy way of killing two birds with one stone as they say. A little bit of lucrative freelancing on the one hand. And a coup for your army council on the other hand. But you haven’t told them the truth, have you? You haven’t told them you were working for a Fianna Fáil TD. You haven’t told them you’ve made five hundred pounds out of it. And,’ he paused for effect, ‘you didn’t tell them who Bradley really is, did you?’

A brief expression of surprise showed on Ward’s face.

‘Because you don’t know who he really is.’

‘Come on,’ Gifford said. ‘We can’t spend all day explaining the facts of life to this patsy.’

Ward didn’t take his eyes off Duggan.

‘Timmy Monaghan told you someone had kidnapped his
daughter
,’ Duggan said. ‘That was a lie. She was never kidnapped at all. And
he didn’t tell you who Bradley is. That he is her daughter’s boyfriend.’

Confusion mixed with alarm on Ward’s face.

‘They’re due to get married soon. Timmy doesn’t approve of him,’ Duggan shrugged. ‘Doesn’t want his daughter marrying one of the old enemy. You know how these things go. So he used you to try and frighten him off.’

The cigarette in Ward’s hand had burned down unnoticed to his fingers and he dropped the butt in the ashtray.

‘Ah, let’s go,’ Gifford said impatiently.

‘It’s only fair we tell him what he’s got himself into,’ Duggan said, without taking his eyes off Ward.

‘A right fucking mess,’ Gifford laughed.

‘If the IRA kills Bradley all hell will break loose,’ Duggan
continued
. ‘Timmy’ll forget about his objections. You’ll have murdered a family member of one of the government. And you know what’ll
happen
then.’

Ward sucked his finger where the cigarette butt had burned him.

‘The government’ll come down on your people like a ton of bricks. Internment will be the least of it. The death penalty for
anyone
caught with a gun will be back. Like you. And your army council will want to know why you got them into this mess. How you came across Bradley. Why you didn’t tell them who Bradley really was. And what you did with the money. Actually,’ he paused, ‘they probably won’t give a fuck about the money at that stage. The least of their problems.’

Duggan sat back. Ward dropped his gaze to the table. His
cigarette
butt smouldered in the ashtray, sending up a column of acrid grey smoke between them in the silence.

‘There’s only one way out of this,’ Duggan said at last. ‘Tell us where we can find Bradley.’

Ward gave a quick shake of his head, without conviction.

‘Okay,’ Gifford straightened himself. ‘You know the score now Billy.’ He turned to Duggan. ‘Let’s get out of here, leave him to his own. Let them suspend him in Tintown. By the neck.’