'What did you do?'
'I showed her the material our people in Dublin sent up. Copies of birth certificates, baptismal records, the whole lot. She didn't like it much, but it quieted her down.'
'Sounds like a thorough background check. I'm surprised they haven't asked you to join the security services,' I said.
'Oh, well, it was nothing really. Child's play compared to your job, I'm sure, Lieutenant Boyle. Is there anything else I can do to help?'
'Do you still have the file on Adrian Simms?'
'No, no reason to keep it. Mrs. Simms asked for it, and I gave it to her.'
'OK. One more thing. I don't have a picture, but another man I'm looking for is about your age, a bit taller, balding, with dark brown hair.
Sharp, prominent chin. Very lively eyes, always on the lookout.'
'Do you have a name?' McBurney asked as he sat up straight, his eyes narrowing. I could tell he recognized the description.
'Yes, but I doubt it means anything. Does the description fit anyone you know?'
'A few chaps, certainly. All customers of the bank, and I can't divulge information concerning them.'
'I could arrange for the government to insist.'
'I doubt that even your connections at Stormont Castle would produce any results, Lieutenant Boyle. There are Royal Black Knights everywhere, you know.'
He smiled when he said it but it wasn't a nice smile. We weren't talking about women anymore, so our bond was broken, and I had been warned.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
I stood on the sidewalk outside the bank, zipping up my jacket against the chill. I still had a long drive ahead of me, down to Newry along the border, to see where the delivery truck used in the BAR theft had crossed over. I hunched up my shoulders and turned my face into the wind, wondering who my description of Red Jack Taggart had reminded McBurney of. I doubted a renegade ex-Bolshevik IRA fighter would ever have stepped foot in that bank without a Thompson and an empty sack.
I felt someone walking close behind me, to my right. I turned and saw Bailey from the bank. He nodded a greeting and subtly motioned me to follow him. He quickstepped ahead of me, looking more nimble than he had in the bank, where he'd moved from one brass doodad to the other at a snail's pace. We passed an RUC station, a solid three-story stone building that dominated the street. I followed him as he turned on Barrack Street, leading me past another imposing gray granite three-story structure, this one set back from the street in a small square. ARMAGH GAOL, the sign said. There were black iron bars on the windows and a high fence surrounded the place. Finally, he turned into a more pleasant street, leading to a long stretch of green grass and wide paths. A bunch of guys in white were playing cricket. They all yelled at one point though it didn't look like anything had happened. I trudged along in Bailey's wake until he came to a bench, out of sight of the street and the cricket players.
'Let's set ourselves,' he said. He puffed out his cheeks and sighed. 'I never like walking past the gaol, but it was the quickest way here, and this is a nice, quiet spot, away from prying eyes. Micheal Bailey is my name.' He said it in the Gaelic fashion, mee-hawl .
'Billy Boyle,' I said as we shook hands. 'Pleased to meet you. Gives me a chance to thank you for getting that door open.'
'As soon as I heard your name, I knew you had no chance of getting by Mrs. Turkington. She doesn't take kindly to Catholics, unless they're cleaning something, and then she's never happy with the result.'
'But why did you help me, Micheal? What if you'd gotten in trouble?'
'I'll tell you, Billy. There are two reasons. The first is the month I spent in that gaol, for saying my name in Gaelic. It was right before the War of Independence, and soon enough they needed room for prisoners who done more than speak out of turn, so I was out on the street. Thin as a rail and black and blue from the beatings. So naturally I'd help a fellow like you out.'
'What's the other reason?'
'I reckon you're asking about the American lad they took away.'
'Who took away?'
'It was yesterday, about this time. I was leaving work, since I start my day at dawn, and I was on my way to O'Neill's for a pint. A Yank was walking toward me, whistling a tune. He looked happy, not a care in the world. Then a copper stepped out from a store and put his hand to my chest, and told me to stay put. A car pulled over and I could see someone beckon to the Yank. Quick as a flash the door opened and someone pushed the Yank in. The car drove off, and the copper told me to keep my mouth shut if I knew what was good for me. There was another, about twenty yards down the sidewalk. It was a trap, laid out by the RUC, which is nothing that should surprise me, except that they took a Yank! Well, that's a new one.'
'You didn't report it to anyone?'
'Are ye daft, boy? I'm telling you, aren't I? Who else should I go to? The British Army? It'll be more than a month in gaol if anyone finds out what I've told you, so mind what you say about it.'
'Is this the American they took?' I handed him the photo of Peter Brennan.
'Aye, that's him. You've been looking for him then?'
'Found him this morning. Dead. What kind of car was it?'
'An Austin-gray, I think. That's a pity about the Yank, it is.'
'More than a pity, Micheal, a crime. Did you recognize either of the men who took him?'
'Aye, I know one by sight, but I won't even say his name. If he heard I talked, my home would be burnt with the missus and me inside.'
'Andrew Jenkins.'
'I didn't speak that name.'
'OK. Recognize anybody else here?' I showed him the pictures of Adrian with Sam, and Eddie Mahoney.
'That's the other fellow, right here.'
'Which one?'
'The constable. Only he wasn't in uniform yesterday.'
'He's the one in the car?'
'No, he was the one who pushed your Yank in, and got in after him.'
'Adrian Simms.'
'If that's his name, then that's him.'
Adrian Simms. Blackballed out of the Royal Black Knights. Working with Andrew Jenkins. Kidnapping and maybe murdering Pete Brennan. But why? How had he gotten hold of the Austin used by Red Jack? Who had pulled the trigger on Pete?
'Anything odd going on at the bank lately?'
'How do you mean, odd?'
'I don't know. Out of the ordinary. Large deposits, strangers visiting McBurney, anything unusual.'
'No, it's the same boring business every day. Wait! About two weeks ago McBurney did give me a few hours off. Told me to go home early. That's unusual.'
'Was anybody else told to go home?'
'Now that you mention it, one of the newest tellers. He told her she was looking peaked, and she should leave at noon. That was strange. He's not one to worry about anyone's health but his own.'
'Is she Catholic?'
'Oh no, boy, that wouldn't do, not in a Protestant bank. It's one thing to have a papist clean the floors, it's another to have one count out your pound notes. Oh no!' He got a chuckle out of that. 'But she was new, hadn't even been with us a couple of months.'
I gave him my description of Red Jack Taggart, and asked if it sounded like anyone he'd seen.
'Now that's a strange thing to be asking, if you don't mind my saying.'
