Whatever Happenened to Molly Bloom? (29 page)

‘We are, sir, we are,’ said Mr Conway and, folding his arms, sat back while Inspector James Kinsella took Tom Machin’s place in the witness box.

Jim Kinsella had served as a witness in many a High Court trial and had come prepared for all and any questions that might be put to him, not by a feral defence counsel or a ruthless Crown prosecutor but by a coroner who had something to hide and fifteen jury men uncontaminated by much knowledge of the law.

Upon the narrow ledge of the witness box he arranged his notebooks and a single file card upon which he had jotted down the order of events. He took into his right hand the Bible offered by Mr Rice, repeated the familiar oath and touched his lips to the binding of the Book. He stated his name, address and rank as an officer in the Dublin Metropolitan Police and the number of years in which he had served, then glanced at Roland Slater who, with a nod, sanctioned him to begin.

Briskly the inspector guided the jury through his involvement in the arrest of Leopold Bloom. He took them into the bedroom, described the position of the body and the condition of the room. He precluded any interjection from Bloom’s counsel by stating the precise time the coroner had arrived and how, at that juncture, he had gone down into the half-basement kitchen to speak with the victim’s husband.

‘Speak of what, Inspector?’ Slater asked.

‘Cat’s meat,’ Kinsella answered. ‘Mr Bloom was concerned about the welfare of the cat who, it seems, had not been fed.’

‘The liver?’

‘Yes,’ Kinsella said. ‘I did not interrogate Mr Bloom at this stage nor, to my knowledge, did Inspector Machin, beyond confirming Mr Bloom’s story that he had gone out to buy meat and had returned to find his wife dead. I did, however, ask Mr Bloom about the front door to the house, whether it had been locked when he’d gone out. Mr Bloom said it had been left unlocked. I also observed that the fire had not been set. Mr Bloom explained that he had intended to do that when he returned from the butchers.’

‘Did you ask Mr Bloom if he had murdered his wife?’ Mr Conway inquired.

‘No, the question was not put to him.’

Mr Conway turned again to his fellow jury members, one of whom, Tarpey, whispered something to him.

‘Do you have another question, Mr Conway?’ Slater asked.

‘We’re wondering why Mrs Bloom didn’t attempt to get out of bed if there was a stranger in her room.’

‘No shred of evidence has been found to corroborate an opportunistic attack by a stranger,’ Roland Slater said. ‘There is no rational motive. True, a motive is not essential if we’re dealing with a mad man but a deranged person would surely have left some trace of his presence when he broke in.’

‘I may have an answer to the juryman’s question,’ Kinsella said. ‘After Mr Bloom had been taken off to Store Street station I remained in Number 7 Eccles Street to conduct a more detailed search than Sergeant Gandy had been able to do in the confusion of discovery and arrest. The house at Number 7 is, as you’ve seen for yourselves, no small property and has a number of unoccupied rooms on the upper floors. I came to the conclusion it would be perfectly possible for some person to hide in one of the empty upstairs rooms and remain undetected. The front door, however, has a metal draught board – you’ve seen that too, I believe – which creates a deal of noise when the door is opened or closed, a sound perfectly audible to any person who might be hiding upstairs.’

‘Are you saying there
was
an intruder upstairs?’ Slater put in.

‘No, sir. All I’m saying is that the evidence – the physical evidence – does not rule out the possibility that some other person was present in the house.’

‘There are no witnesses to support this conclusion, Inspector,’ Slater said. ‘Police enquiries in the neighbourhood have turned up no one who saw a stranger enter or leave Number 7 Eccles Street around the time the murder was committed.’

‘Sir,’ Kinsella said, ‘with due respect, we don’t know
when
the murder was committed. We know from Constable Jarvis’s testimony only when the murder was reported, not when it was discovered. Dr Rule stated that the body had been dead for upwards of thirty hours before he made his examination. In my opinion, it’s not beyond the bounds of possibility that Mrs Bloom did
not
die between the hours of seven and eight o’clock but several hours earlier.’

‘Do you have evidence to support your claim, Inspector?’

‘No, Dr Slater, no direct evidence.’

Neville Sullivan was on his feet at once. ‘If the officer has no evidence for casting doubt on my client’s veracity then I suggest … no, sir, I demand that his ridiculous hypothesis be stricken. If we’re going to allow half-cocked theories to be entered into the record I’ll have no alternative but to call for an immediate adjournment on the grounds of culpable neglect on the coroner’s part.’

‘Contain yourself, Mr Sullivan. Contain yourself,’ said Dr Slater. ‘I’m no fonder of wild guesses than you are. Now, before Mr Sullivan does himself an injury, may I ask Inspector Kinsella to explain his reasons for doubting Bloom’s claim that his wife was alive when he left the house for the butcher’s shop?’

‘I’ve reason to believe and will, in fact, offer proof that Mr Bloom did not spend the night in bed with his wife. In conversation with Mr Bloom, Mr Bloom declared that the cat—’

‘The cat? The cat?’ Neville shrilled. ‘We’ll be calling the damned cat as a witness next?’

‘One more word out of turn, Counsellor Sullivan, and I’ll have you removed from my court. Sit down at once and be silent,’ Slater snapped, then, less than affably, turned to the G-man. ‘When did this conversation take place? Before or after Bloom had been cautioned?’

‘Before,’ Kinsella replied. ‘Mr Bloom told me that the cat had been fed before Mrs Bloom and he went to bed about half past ten. Mr Bloom repeated the same thing in his sworn statement to Superintendent Driscoll, a statement that’s already part of the evidence.’

‘What’s admissible as evidence, Inspector, is for me to decide,’ the coroner said, then to the jury, ‘Bloom’s statement
is
sworn testimony, however. Any deliberate attempts to distort the truth must be taken seriously when you come to consider a verdict. Inspector Kinsella, have you uncovered any such attempt on Bloom’s part.’

‘I have, sir,’ Kinsella said. ‘Mr Bloom’s claim that he went to bed with his wife at half past ten o’clock on Wednesday evening is untrue. Mr Bloom was not in bed with his wife at half past ten. Bloom wasn’t at home at half past ten, nor at half past eleven.’

The coroner waited until the buzz in the courtroom died down before he said, ‘Do you know where Mr Bloom was at half past ten on the night preceding the killing?’

‘In the vicinity of Nancy O’Rourke’s house in Upper Tyrone Street,’ Kinsella said. ‘I cannot place Mr Bloom there at ten thirty but I can place him there an hour later, that is, at eleven thirty.’

‘For the benefit of the jury will you explain what goes on at Mrs O’Rourke’s house,’ Slater said.

‘It’s a brothel,’ said Kinsella bluntly.

‘Are you implying that Mr Bloom was enjoying the company of women within O’Rourke’s establishment?’ Slater said.

‘To the best of my knowledge Mr Bloom did not enter O’Rourke’s. However, between eleven and eleven thirty he was seen on the street outside the house.’

‘Do you have a statement signed by O’Rourke to that effect?’

‘I question if Mrs O’Rourke would be a reliable witness,’ Kinsella said. ‘I do, however, have two witnesses who can place Mr Bloom in Upper Tyrone Street in the hour before midnight.’

‘Are the witnesses in court?’

‘They are, sir,’ Kinsella said.

‘Have you located a witness or witnesses to say where Mr Bloom was in the hours
after
midnight?’

Kinsella hesitated. ‘I do have a witness who may shed light on Mr Bloom’s whereabouts after midnight.’ He paused once more. ‘A witness who may, in fact, have been in Number 7 Eccles Street at the time of the murder.’

‘Is that person in court today?’

‘She is, sir, yes.’

‘And the name of this person?’

‘Gertrude MacDowell.’

‘What is her connection to the case, Inspector?’

‘She is Mr Bloom’s friend. In fact I think Bloom intended to run off with her,’ Jim Kinsella said. ‘In a word, elope.’

The uproar in the court room was deafening.

Bloom was on his feet. Blazes Boylan was on his feet too, frantically searching the faces on the benches around him.

In the gallery Milly Bloom thrust herself against the rail with such force that only Dr Paterson’s arm about her waist prevented her plunging into the body of the court, while Maude Boylan, motionless as a statue, stared straight ahead. Then, aided by court officers, the coroner brought the morning session to an abrupt conclusion by announcing a break for lunch.

TWENTY FIVE

K
insella moved like shot off a shovel. He dug three half crowns from his jacket pocket and, catching Jarvis by the sleeve, slipped the coins into the constable’s palm.

‘The girl,’ he said, ‘that girl. Get her out of here as best you can. She has a friend with her, I think. Up there. The tall girl with the mop of dark hair. Take them both across to the barracks canteen and see they get something to eat. Yes, I know it’s irregular but I don’t want her mobbed by reporters. Keep her as cool and collected as you possibly can. Kid gloves, Jarvis, kid gloves.’

‘Sir,’ Constable Jarvis said and, stepping between the benches, introduced himself to Gerty and taking her by the arm led her out of the side door into a corridor already thronged with pressmen.

‘Well, you’ve set the cat among the pigeons now,’ Machin said.

‘Boylan,’ Jim Kinsella said. ‘Put a man on him.’

‘What? Do you think he’s going to bolt?’

‘I don’t want him talking to Delaney.’

‘If he chooses to go to the Belleville we can’t stop him.’

‘There’s a sister in the gallery. Let me know if Boylan and she have any sort of conversation. Send a uniform. Make sure Boylan knows he’s being watched.’

‘Right. Is the jury sequestered?’

‘Slater won’t let them leave the building, I’m sure. He doesn’t want them staggering back pie-eyed.’

‘Bloom?’

‘He’s Sullivan’s problem, not mine.’

‘Is it true about the girl and Bloom?’ Tom Machin said.

‘It had better be,’ Kinsella said, then, when a hand descended on his shoulder, turned to confront Superintendent Smout and Assistant Commissioner O’Byrne.

‘Why,’ said the Assistant Commissioner, ‘have I not been kept abreast of developments, Inspector Kinsella? I was rather under the impression I’d made the significance of this case clear to you.’

‘I submitted my daily reports as usual, sir.’

‘Is that true, Smout?’

‘Every detail logged,’ the Superintendent said. ‘The Division’s books are always open, Mr O’Byrne.’

‘The Commissioner will not be happy at this turn of events,’ O’Byrne said. ‘Unless, of course, it’s a ruse to persuade Bloom to plead to manslaughter, though from where I sit that looks less likely than a finding of homicide and a full-blown trial. What else do you have up your sleeve, Inspector?’

‘No more than the evidence you’ve heard, sir,’ Kinsella said. ‘How that evidence is used is for the coroner to decide. I’ve brought forward the witnesses I believe to be appropriate to reaching a verdict with or without a confession from Bloom.’

‘This young woman …’

‘MacDowell.’

‘Yes,
is
she Bloom’s lover?’

‘I don’t think their relationship has been consummated.’

‘Odd. Damned odd. Pregnant wife having an affair and Bloom with a sweetheart on the side,’ said the Assistant Commissioner disapprovingly. ‘And that’s not to mention whatever went on at O’Rourke’s. By God, the newspapers will have a picnic when the coroner’s embargo is lifted. How, in heaven’s name, did you pick up on the girl?’

‘Information received, sir.’

‘From whom?’

‘It was just a hint, sir, that’s all.’

‘God, you’re tighter than a clam, Kinsella,’ O’Byrne said. ‘Still, I suppose that’s what we pay you for. Where round here might a man find a decent spot of lunch?’

‘The Tudor’s as good as any,’ Smout said.

‘All right,’ said Mr O’Byrne. ‘The Tudor it is. Would you and Driscoll care to join me, Superintendent?’

‘I would and I’m sure Mr Driscoll would too.’

‘So be it. We’ve an hour, haven’t we?’

‘Slightly less, sir,’ said Mr Smout and, with a nod to Kinsella, followed the great man out of the courtroom.

‘You’re a big chap, aren’t you?’ Cissy Caffrey said.

‘Six feet two, eyes of blue, that’s me.’

‘Hark at him,’ Cissy said. ‘Have you got a name?’

‘Constable Jarvis.’

‘I’ll bet that’s not what your mother calls you,’

‘You’d be surprised what my mother calls me.’

‘I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.’

‘Don’t start, Cissy, please,’ said Gerty.

‘Don’t start what?’ said Cissy. ‘It’s not every day I get a handsome fella in uniform standing me a dinner.’

‘Lunch,’ said Gerty. ‘It’s a lunch.’

‘If you’re not going to tell me your name I’m just going to have to guess,’ Cissy said. ‘You look like an Algernon to me.’

‘Cissy, please,’ said Gerty again.

‘My name’s Archie,’ Constable Jarvis said.

The appearance of two young women in Store Street barracks canteen created quite a stir. The catering sergeant’s protests had only been stifled by Archie Jarvis’s insistence that he was acting under instruction from Superintendent Driscoll, after which service at the corner table swiftly improved.

The constable was well aware that the mop-haired girl was flirting with him and he had no objection to playing along. Inspector Kinsella had told him to keep the cripple as calm as possible and not ask questions. She was very pale and frightened and, unlike her saucy chum, seemed to take no pleasure in the attention she received from the young police officers.

Miss Caffrey ate her mutton pie with a spoon. Archie saw nothing peculiar in that; his sister ate everything with a spoon. He watched Cissy crack the pie crust, dig into the meat and bring the spoon, dripping brown gravy, to her lips.