When Shadows Fall (51 page)

“Ma’am,” he blurted in heart-seizure, “what the—”

“Take off your clothes,” she ordered.

“Ma’am?”

“Take off your clothes,” she snapped and pointed the pistol at his head. He gulped and then stripped as commanded. Adam watched in dazed numbness.

“Now get in there.” She gestured for Higgins to get behind the oak door, and once he was inside, she locked it. With a glance up the corridor, she said, “We haven’t much time. Put these on.” She helped Adam to get the constable’s jacket and trousers on, then she plucked Higgins’s cap from the ground and clamped it onto his head.

“Tara,” Adam warned her, “we’ll never away with this. I can hear people coming.” There were loud boots on the floor above them. Running feet.

“I know a quicker way out.” She took his arm and led him hobbling beyond the stairwell and farther down the corridor into almost pitch-darkness. An unlocked storeroom had an adjoining door that led to another stairwell, slick with dampness and disuse. Adam followed her awkwardly up the steps. It emerged onto the floor where the stationery office was. Around the next corner, they could hear men stampeding down the main stairwell to the cells, cursing and damning each other, James’s voice the loudest. She pulled Adam in the opposite direction.

“The next door leads outside. But we’ll have to get past the sentries. Close the buttons on that coat. You’re a policeman, remember? Walk like one.”

Adam, too wracked with agony to protest, tried to comply.

“What do you mean it’s locked?” James bellowed and kicked the door. “Open it, you blubbering lump!”

“But I can’t,” pleaded the man at the other side. “Listen to me, sir! Listen! They’ve escaped. Your secretary and the suspect. They’ve escaped. And he stole my clothes, sir. I’m naked, I’m—”

James scowled at the constables beside him. “What’s the idiot on about? My secretary?” Then he froze.

No.

Surely not. That was impossible. He clenched his fist.

“Sir, I can get fresh keys,” one of the constables offered.

“She’s got him out,” James wailed. “She’s got him out. I knew it! Damn your eyes, man, the prisoner is running for it. Search the entire building. For Christ’s sake, don’t let them get to the gates!”

The sentry at the guard gate brightened visibly as Tara approached.

“Miss,” he tipped his cap. The rain was pouring steadily, but he stepped out to acknowledge her. “Leaving us again?” He hesitated when he saw the slow-moving figure behind her.

Adam wore the police uniform well and had the cap’s brim pulled firmly below his eyes. But his legs were wobbling and an enquiring eye would have spotted the bruised, bloody marks around his mouth.

Yet the sentry seemed preoccupied by other thoughts. He glanced only once at Adam, grunted, “Sir,” and then gazed back at Tara with a look of some disappointment and not a little jealously. “You have a good day, miss.”

“Yes.” That was about the only word that she could manage. She resisted the urge to grab Adam’s arm and say, “Hurry up,” but instead walked quietly across the road towards the hackney cars. “I have absolutely no idea where we’re supposed to go now.”

Adam, breathing in his unexpected freedom, felt his senses reawaken. The pain eased a little, though the flesh wound where she’d shot him was starting to voice its indignation. “I’m going to need a change of clothes. And a bloody doctor.”

“Where? My house won’t be safe.”

“Neither will my flat. They probably have the address from Allister, the useful ass.” He signalled to the first hackney. “I know somebody who can help us. But I’m afraid you’re not going to like it.”

By the time James emerged into the courtyard of Dublin Castle, he had half a platoon of policemen running behind him. They made for the sentry gates, and James roared at the guards, waving his pistol.

“Look lively there, you lot. We’ve got a suspect loose in the grounds. Have you seen anything?”

The sentries came quickly to attention and shook their heads in apology. “He didn’t come this way, sir. Can’t have scaled them high walls neither, or we would have saw.”

“He’s dressed as a policeman. And I think there’s a woman with him. Tara, you know Tara?”

One of the sentries frowned, swallowed, and visibly quailed. “You mean Miss Reilly, sir?”

“Yes, damn you. Have you seen her?”

The sentry nodded in embarrassment. “She . . . she just left with a policeman, sir.”

James raised his hands in the air and let loose every foul sentiment he could muster in one breath. Then he turned back on the sentry. “Where? Where did they go?”

“I saw them get into a hackney, sir. I didn’t see which street it went—”

James was already running back towards the Castle, and he shouted orders at the constables behind him as he went. “I want cars, trucks, motorcycles. Sweep the goddamn streets. Sweep them! All right? Just bloody find them!”

The hackney moved over the bridge, into Sackville Street, and up towards Parnell Square. The rain had eased, an eye in the storm. Tara glanced at Adam’s wounds and clasped her eyes.

“I can’t do this,” she whimpered. “I can’t do this. Where are we going?”

“To find the only person I know will help me,” Adam said. “Can you please trust me and stay on my side?”

“I don’t know.” She shuddered. “I’ll stay with you, Adam, but only to see you safe. But our business is not resolved. You do know that?”

“I know,” he nodded. “I know.”

“And what I now know about you, Adam . . . that has not gone away.”

The driver glanced round anxiously. “You all right, sir? You look like, God knows. Get in a fight?”

The bruises on Adam’s face were starting to colour horrifically. He shook his head. “Fell down some stairs. Clumsy, eh?”

“Where you want me to take you, sir? The hospital?”

“Parnell Square will do fine.”

He dropped them off at the eastern side of the square. Tara gave him his fare, and once he was gone she looked at Adam. “Where now?”

“There’s a hotel nearby. A friendly one. Follow me.”

Trying to disguise his injuries as best he could, he led her to Vaughan’s and pushed in the door to the gloomy lobby. The young male at the reception glanced up and swore when he saw the constable’s jacket.

“It’s not mine,” Adam explained quickly. “I’m afraid I don’t know your name. But I’m in need of some help. Bowen’s the name. Adam Bowen.”

The young man immediately stiffened. “I’m Billy,” he said. “Billy McDonagh. I know you. I mean, I’ve heard of you.”

“I’m looking for the big fellow, Billy. Has he been in?”

“You know the big fellow, Mr. Bowen. He’s out and about.”

“That’s fine. But I’m going to leave a message for him. Give it to him the minute he comes in.”

“I can do that, Mr. Bowen. Are you—are you hurt?”

“I’m in a spot of bother, yes. So I’m going to be lying low. I’ll give you the address. Got paper?”

Billy handed him a desk pad and pencil. Adam scribbled down in haste:

Bowen Hall, on the Rathmichael road, near Puck’s Castle.
Compromised. Need doctor.

Adam folded the paper and pushed it across the desk. “I’ve got peelers looking for me, so make sure he gets that message soon. All right? I won’t survive the night otherwise.”

“Yes, sir.” Billy swallowed nervously. “I will.”

“Good man.” Adam led Tara back outside and glanced up the street. “We’re going to need another hackney.”

She glared accusingly at him. “The big fellow. I know who that is. I know, Adam! How could you—”

He closed his eyes briefly, staggering a little. “Not now, Tara. This body of mine is in trouble.”

“And where do you want to go now? Bowen Hall? I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s a family property. A ruin, but it’s about the only place I can think of where we’ll be safe from them.”

“
We?
I’m not part of this, Adam.” She cut off when she saw again the wracked look on his face, his skin now shockingly pale. The blood from his bullet wound had started to seep through his jacket. “Adam, all right. I’ll call one of the cars across the street.”

They climbed into the back. It was a long drive through the city towards Shankill and Rathmichael. Adam settled himself as comfortably as he could. He took Tara’s hand and squeezed it. After a moment, she sighed and squeezed back.

“We’ll be all right now, Tara,” he whispered. “We’ll be all right.”

Back at Vaughan’s, Billy McDonagh opened the piece of paper and read it. Then the footsteps came. The door to the lounge opened. Billy pressed the message to his chest.

“He said it was for the big fellow. He said—”

“I heard everything he said, you fucking fairy.” Mulligan sauntered towards the desk. “Now give it to me.”

“But the big fellow—”

“I’ll pass it to the big fellow.” Mulligan leered over the youngster and snatched the paper. He read it and smiled. “Bowen Hall indeed. Never made the connection before. But sure, what kind of Englishman would he be without a stately pile to his name?” He chuckled then. “’Twas burnt in the Fenian rebellion of 1867. My own grandfather had a hand in it. Been a ruin ever since. So that’s where the young Bowen and his traitor tart are headed now.”

Billy watched anxiously. “Larry, are you—”