‘The woman never even mentions his name in these letters.’
‘Come on, how many priests did she know at UCD?’
Donaldson’s tight lips grew even tighter.
‘She was pregnant, Sergeant. Sadly we know that was true. As for the rest, a woman in that sort of trouble might come up with any kind of story. Shame does strange things, particularly to women. She may not even have known who the father of the child was. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman has fantasised about a good man being the father of an illegitimate child. Monsignor Fitzpatrick has no doubt about Father Byrne’s integrity. He is a fine man and a fine priest. He knows him. The man lived in his house!’
Stefan stared at the inspector. He had already heard this. Hadn’t another policeman said the same thing to Susan’s father? But he doubted it could have been said with such conviction. He struggled to keep the word ‘bollocks’ in his mouth, but there wasn’t another word that would do.
‘I didn’t pick the questions, sir. I just need to ask them. And the man I need to ask is Father Byrne, sir. He’s the only witness there is now.’
‘I understand. That’s exactly what I’ve said to the monsignor.’
‘Does than mean Father Byrne is coming back to Ireland?’
‘Not in the foreseeable future.’
‘Then shouldn’t I be going to him in Danzig?’
‘I hardly think we’ll be sending you to the Baltic, Sergeant Gillespie.’ Donaldson laughed. Reluctant as he had been to enter into this, it was done. It hadn’t been so hard after all. Detective sergeants could be controlled.
‘Monsignor Fitzpatrick will speak to Father Byrne. He can telephone him if necessary. I suggest you draw up a list of questions and we can send them straight off. If the letter is sent via London the air mail system will have it in Danzig in less than twenty-four hours. Let’s deal with this speculation head on, Sergeant. Let’s get it out of the way and clear the air.’
It was not often that real determination showed in Inspector Donaldson’s face, but Stefan recognised it when he saw it. There would be no argument. If the inspector had, even for a second, wondered about the relationship between Father Francis Byrne and Susan Field, Monsignor Fitzpatrick had demonstrated, with infectious infallibility, that there really was nothing to wonder about. The list of written questions was an empty gesture. It meant that the investigation had already reached a dead end.
There was a mug of tea waiting on Stefan’s desk when he returned. Dessie MacMahon didn’t have to be in Donaldson’s office to work out what was happening. The inspector knew there was a priest in it now all right; he was as agitated as hell. Hadn’t he been to Mass twice that day already? But it wasn’t the first thing Dessie said when Stefan returned.
‘
Stefan ignored the smile that went with it; Dessie didn’t miss a thing.
‘When?’
‘An hour ago maybe. She waited a bit, then she had to go.’
For once Stefan was glad Hannah hadn’t stayed. Everything she might have anticipated about the way Francis Byrne was going to be treated had just happened. If anything it was worse. Not only had Donaldson decided that Susan Field never did have an affair with the priest, the man would be questioned by post. Stefan had two bodies, two murders, and nowhere to go. He reached across the desk for a file. It wasn’t there. He had been looking at it when the summons from Inspector Donaldson came. He looked round, puzzled, then saw some sheets of paper on the floor. He bent and picked them up. As he put them back he peered at the desk again. Things were not where he had left them. His desk was the exact opposite of the tip that was Dessie’s. He knew where everything was; except now it wasn’t, not quite.
‘Here’s an odd thing, Sarge.’ Dessie leant back. ‘Billy Donnelly.’
‘What about him?’
‘Six months for getting his cock out in a jacks.’
‘You said. That’s not so odd, is it?’
Stefan was still looking down, frowning.
‘Have you been looking for something over here, Dessie?’
‘You think I don’t know better than that?’
‘Why are these papers all over the floor? Everything’s in the wrong — ’ He smiled; it was simple enough. ‘Did you leave Hannah here on her own?’
‘I’ve got the report on Billy.’ Dessie got up, ignoring Stefan’s question. ‘Here. “The defendant approached the detective and said, isn’t that a fine big one. It’ll give you the horn.” Jesus wept!’ He was laughing.
‘She’s gone through everything.’
‘You know who it was, Sarge?’ Dessie still wasn’t listening.
‘Who what was?’
‘The detective in the jacks.’
‘What do I care who was in the bloody jacks?’
‘It was Jimmy Lynch, keeping the Free State’s toilets safe.’
It was about as far from Special Branch work as you could get.
Billy Donnelly wasn’t feeling great. He could take his drink but he’d drunk himself senseless through most of that afternoon. He couldn’t remember what he’d said to his barman when they opened the pub, but Derek Blaney had walked out and said he wasn’t coming back. He would, but he’d leave it a couple of days to make his point. The dreary, familiar campery in the bar that night had made Billy want to take the lot of them by the scruff of the neck and kick the shite out of them till they said something, anything different. He felt he’d been listening to the same empty conversations all his life and what lay ahead was just the same thing, over and over, night after night after night. And he was right. But he had drunk himself into a stupor and out the other side now. He was sober and wished he wasn’t. The knock on the door was the last thing he needed, but he had no anger left to hurl at the unwanted visitor. He opened the door. Stefan Gillespie stood there.
Billy didn’t bother to protest. He hadn’t got the energy. He walked back to the bar and sat down. He left Stefan to close the door as he came in.
‘I thought we were done.’
‘I didn’t.’ Stefan sat down opposite him.
‘Tell me about the letter.’
‘There wasn’t a letter.’
‘Tell me about Jimmy Lynch then.’
‘He’s a gobshite, the same kind of gobshite you are.’
‘He put you inside.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Eighteen months hard labour. You were out in six.’
‘I was lucky.’
‘No one’s that lucky. Jimmy put you in there and Jimmy got you out.’
‘That what he said?’
‘What did he want?’
‘I thought he was just doing his job, locking up queers.’
‘Then maybe I should take a leaf out of Jimmy’s book. I’ll put in a report that you approached me in a public urinal. I’ll have Dessie MacMahon back me up on it. It’ll be the usual thing, gross indecency. It’ll be your third time.’
Billy didn’t answer. He was remembering those six months.
‘Three years at least, maybe more with the wrong judge.’
Stefan waited for it to sink in.
‘That’s hard labour too. You’re not getting any younger.’
‘You’re not Jimmy Lynch, Mr Gillespie.’
‘I won’t break your arms first if that’s what you mean. But I will put you away if I have to.’
‘What the hell does it matter to you? Vincent’s dead, isn’t he?’
‘What was in the letter Vincent sent you?’
