‘Not really. I don’t know why he’d be covering up buggery and abortion, but that’s all I’ve got now. Till yesterday I thought you did it.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Because of Hugo Keller. He was doing the abortion.’
‘But not the buggering.’
‘No.’ He had to admire Lynch for his expressionless face. He had thrown Keller into the conversation again to see what response he got. It was nothing, almost nothing. But Keller was the Special Branch sergeant’s weakness. How much did Stefan really know and how much was bluff?
‘How did you know about Fitzpatrick’s letters, Jimmy?’
‘Is it letters or murder, what are you on now?’
As bluffs go, it wasn’t one of Jimmy Lynch’s best. Stefan smiled and ignored it.
‘You found out from Sean Og somehow, that’s what I think. Wouldn’t that be it?’
The detective didn’t answer, but it was answer enough.
‘When Broy brought you into Special Branch, Sean was already a guard. I’d forgotten that. He wasn’t an obvious candidate for the Broy Harriers, was he? He was a pro-Treaty, Fine Gael man. You got him in.’
‘We took different sides in the Civil War. So? Aren’t we meant to put all that behind us now? Besides, we went through a lot together before that, fighting the Tans.’
‘Camaraderie, that’s nice to see, Jimmy. Was he ever a Blueshirt?’
‘If he was he’d keep pretty quiet about it now.’
‘I heard he went on a Garda pilgrimage with General O’Duffy.’
‘A lot of guards did that. It’s how you got promoted then.’
‘Well, if any of them try to kill me I’ll add them to the list. In the meantime, if you looked at the back of Seanie’s wardrobe I’d be interested to see what colour the shirts are, because I’d say he was there when that gang of Blueshirts went to Billy Donnelly’s to get the letters, Monsignor Fitzpatrick’s dirty letters. And when they didn’t get them, someone sent him back to kill poor old Vinnie, to keep him quiet. What do you think, Sergeant?’
Lynch held Stefan’s gaze but he was uneasy now. ‘You’d have to ask Garda Moran, not me.’
‘Come on, he told you about the letters. He must have done. And you worked out who might have them. Maybe you’re not such a bad detective after all, when you put your mind to it. You traced them back to Billy Donnelly, and you put him in the Joy until he delivered them.’
‘I thought this was about Sean Og trying to kill you.’
‘I’m short on evidence, I told you.’
‘So?’
‘I’ve got a lot more on you than I have on him. I’ve talked to your friend Keller.’
‘Yes? Where is the old bastard now?’ He made it sound like he wanted to send a postcard and all he needed was his change of address.
‘He’s not easy to get hold of,’ replied Stefan. Again Hugo Keller alive somewhere was more useful than he was dead in Danzig. ‘But I’ve got chapter and verse on what you sold him down the years. I’ve seen the book. Remember that book you wanted so much? I know why now. He kept very meticulous notes. I even know how much he paid you. I know which bits he passed on to our esteemed director of the National Museum and the Nazi Party na hEireann too, and which ones he kept for a little private blackmail.’
Detective Sergeant Lynch’s body tensed. He’d just run out of banter. This was all too close to home.
‘That’s a lot of bollocks.’
Stefan smiled. If all Jimmy Lynch could do was bluster, he had him.
‘Right. And when I take it all to the Commissioner, it’ll be your bollocks.’
*
The green door between Coyne’s cycle repair shop and Verecchia’s ice cream parlour in Dorset Street opened straight on to a flight of stairs. It led to a flat on the second floor of 47a that was a Special Branch safe house. Sean Og Moran knew it well enough. He had a key. Sometimes he’d met an informant there with Jimmy. Sometimes there was a man his sergeant wanted questioned, who had to be kept there till he coughed up. Sometimes there was an informant who needed to lie low. There might even be an IRA man on the double-cross who had to hole up. He didn’t ask too much. Jimmy never liked that. And it was Jimmy who’d got him his job. He owed a lot to Jimmy. If his sergeant wanted him to know something, well, he’d tell him.
Sean Og’s ribs were hurting like hell. The doctor had bound him up but there wasn’t much else he could do. He had to take it easy; it would take time. He wasn’t worried about Stefan Gillespie. No one had seen him. What was the word of a guard already on suspension against a Special Branch man’s anyway? Special Branch looked after their own. He might have to come up with some explanation. He’d just say Gillespie had a grudge against him. They bumped into each other and got into a fight. That’s as much as he’d need. Jimmy didn’t have any time for the Protestant gobshite either. Sean Og had been drinking steadily since the previous night. It was partly pain and partly because he didn’t know what else to do when things went wrong.
As he walked into the bare kitchen there was only a lamp on. Jimmy Lynch was sitting at the table. There was a bottle of Powers and several glasses. The room smelt as it always did — of stale air, cigarette smoke and greasy newspaper from the chipper. He didn’t notice Stefan Gillespie at first.
‘Jesus this rib’s giving me some gyp.’
‘We’ve got a problem, haven’t we, Seanie?’
Moran saw Stefan, sitting in an armchair. ‘What’s he doing here?’
‘Sit down.’
The big guard did as he was told. Lynch pushed a glass at him.
‘What’s he said?’ Sean Og reached for the bottle and a glass.
‘This is yours, I think,’ said Stefan as he got up and joined them at the table. He put the Accles and Shelvoke captive bolt pistol down in front of Moran.
The guard turned to Lynch uncertainly, then smiled.
‘We got in a fight, that’s all, Jimmy. We can work it out.’
‘You think so?’ There was nothing warm in the reply.
‘Who’s going to believe him?’ Sean spoke as if Stefan wasn’t there.
‘Me. I believe him. You were going to fucking kill him.’
Moran was puzzled. He didn’t expect Jimmy to talk to him like that.
‘And then there’s two people with holes in their heads that you buried out in the mountains at Kilmashogue. The little queer and the woman you picked up from Hugo Keller’s clinic. Why, Sean? What did they do to you?’
‘We can put it right. We always did. In the old days.’
‘This isn’t a fucking Tan or some RIC informant! It’s not a war!’
‘That’s not true, Jimmy. There’s more than one kind of war.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘There’s the war against God.’
Lynch stared at him. It came from nowhere. It meant nothing to him. But Stefan already knew where it came from. It was shorthand, but he had heard it before. Sean Moran looked at Stefan directly for the first time. He spoke softly now, as if he was explaining something entirely reasonable.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Gillespie, but what you tried to do to the monsignor, you couldn’t be allowed to do that. Why couldn’t you leave him alone? He’s been chosen and you’re trying to hurt him. If you understood the danger — ’
Lynch was staring at them as if they had suddenly started talking to each other in another language. Stefan nodded as the big guard spoke.
‘I do understand, Sean. I’ve heard the monsignor speak.’
‘Then you know — ’
‘Well, I know what he believes.’
‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t meant to kill you then.’ He smiled at Stefan, as if the thing had been resolved now. If Stefan knew about that, he must believe too. He must be all right.
‘What the hell are you two on about?’ interrupted Lynch.
‘It’s not so different from the Tans and the English, Jimmy.’ Sean Og turned towards his friend again. ‘It’s just the same. You remember what you told me when we shot those fellers in the war? Jesus, I still wake up sometimes
