‘Well?’
‘Apart from the fact that he’s made-up like a — ’ Stefan stopped.
‘Like a madam in a whorehouse.’ O’Rourke took a handkerchief from his pocket and applied it firmly to Byrne’s face, wiping away the pink cream that had been spread and plastered into the skin. Stefan had seen policemen more squeamish with the dead. As he scraped around the eyes the skin was dark and bruised underneath. There were cuts on the cheeks as well. He pulled the upper lip away. There were black gaps where teeth had been.
‘Look under his shirt.’
Stefan unbuttoned the jacket. He pulled away the shirt and collar. There were more bruises, cuts, weals. He pressed down on to the rib cage.
‘Broken ribs.’
They looked round as someone entered the room. There was a click of heels. Stefan immediately recognised his Gestapo interrogator, Klaus Rothe.
‘Kriminaloberassistent Rothe, Your Excellency.’
He stepped forward, holding out a report. As the bishop eyed him carefully the Gestapo officer looked sideways at Stefan, frowning. He was the last person he could have expected to find with the Bishop of Danzig.
‘The Kriminalkommissar extends his sympathies.’
‘And this is?’
‘The report into the accident, Your Excellency.’
‘I understand Father Byrne drowned.’
‘Correct.’
‘There was no crime then?’
‘Correct.’
‘So why is the Gestapo involved?’
It was hard for Rothe to suppress a smile as he gave what he felt was a very neat reply. ‘We take the death of a priest seriously, Your Excellency.’
‘And before he drowned, what do you think happened?’
‘Impossible to say, Your Excellency. There were no witnesses.’
‘I’m sure. And you are certain about drowning?’
‘Unfortunately, yes. There was a full medical examination.’
‘Take a look, Kriminaloberassistent.’ The bishop moved away from the coffin and gestured for the Gestapo man to step forward. He didn’t. ‘No other theories? He couldn’t have beaten himself to death by any chance?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t understand, Your Excellency.’
‘I’m sure you understand perfectly.’ Edward O’Rourke turned back to the coffin. He made the sign of the cross. As he left the room he screwed up the report he had just been given by Rothe and dropped it on the floor.
The Gestapo man was staring at Stefan again, about to speak.
‘I’m with him.’ Stefan followed the bishop out into the corridor.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Hannah had been waiting for Stefan in his room. ‘You knew about the pistol in December.’
‘I didn’t tell you because it was evidence we were holding back. You don’t throw these things around. It was part of another investigation as well. There were two bodies. The captive bolt pistol was the only thing Susan and Vincent Walsh had in common. I needed to know what that meant first.’
‘It meant she didn’t die, she was murdered. You knew that and you didn’t say it.’ She threw the letter from Father Byrne on the bed. ‘It didn’t take him long to work it out. It was a gun. It doesn’t matter what kind of gun, so somebody shot her. Was it Keller? Why would Keller shoot her?’
‘No. It wasn’t him.’
She looked at Stefan, shaking her head.
‘But you know who it was. You know and you haven’t told me!’
‘I think I know.’
‘Isn’t that enough!’
‘It’s not enough to prove anything. It’s a lot less now Francis Byrne’s dead.’
‘Who did it?’ She wanted the truth now. He would have to tell her.
‘It was a guard.’
First she was surprised; then there was a question. He could see it.
‘It’s not why I didn’t tell you. It was only when I talked to Byrne — ’
‘Who is he?’ She wasn’t going to listen to any more evasion.
‘You’ve met him. He took you to the convent. Sergeant Lynch.’
She stopped, remembering the December day she went to Merrion Square to see Hugo Keller; the interview room at Pearse Street; Mother Eustacia; DS Lynch. It felt a long time ago.
‘Did Father Byrne know that?’
‘He knew the man driving the car was a guard, that’s all. When the guard told him Susan was dead he believed it. And he ran. He left Jimmy to deal with the body. He was a guard, wasn’t he? It could have been true. Maybe she was dead. If she wasn’t, he shot her in the head to make sure — ’
‘He killed her. Like an animal!’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘He worked for Keller. When there was a mess, he cleaned it up.’
‘So it was Hugo Keller who told him to do it?’
‘He could have done. I don’t know. ’
‘I think you
She walked across the room and picked up her coat.
‘You know where he is, Stefan, don’t you?’
‘It’s not that simple,’ he said.
‘Why not?’
‘Francis Byrne was going to have it all out with Hugo Keller. I don’t know whether he got there or not, Hannah, but I’ve seen what they did to him. Keller’s got a lot more police pals here than he had in Dublin, not to mention the SS. It’s not just one Special Branch man taking kickbacks. Every Gestapo officer in Danzig is Jimmy Lynch with bells on. And they don’t do it for the money, they do it all for love. Keller’s too dangerous.’
She was standing by the door, pulling on her coat.
‘Recording angels have been in my family a long time.’
He knew he wouldn’t stop her. She’d find where Hugo Keller was, one way or another.
‘All right, we’ll go. But I’ll take the gun.’ He held out his hand.
Stefan and Hannah got off the tram by the railway station in Langfuhr. There were new street signs as they crossed the main road, the recently renamed Adolf-Hitler-Strasse. They turned into Eschenweg. That was the address Francis Byrne had given Stefan. It was quieter here. Small apartment blocks lined the suburban street at first, with the ever-present swastikas hanging from almost every window. At the far end of the street there were several bigger, older houses with red-tiled roofs and tidy gardens. The last house, on the corner with Mirchauer Weg, was a lot less tidy. Trees and uncut bushes screened it from the road. There was no gate; it lay among the weeds that sprawled across the garden, rotting where it had been thrown a long time ago. The house reflected the garden. The paintwork was peeling; a length of gutter had come away from a wall and hung down almost to the ground; the broken shards of roof tiles crunched underfoot as Stefan and Hannah walked up the steps to the front door. Even from the outside it reminded Stefan of the empty, dilapidated rooms upstairs at Keller’s house in Merrion Square. He stood at the top of the steps, still unhappy about what they were doing.
The door was slightly ajar. Hannah stepped past him and pressed the bell. It rang loudly. There was no movement inside the house. They waited. She pressed the bell again. There was still no response. Stefan pushed
