to visit a few contacts, and a motorcycle escort would have attracted too much attention.'
'Looks like you got someone's attention,' I said.
'Evidently. Did Corporal Finch ask if you'd told anyone about meeting me here?'
'Yes he did. I was glad to be able to tell him I hadn't. He looks like a tough customer.'
'Otherwise you don't survive long in this business.'
'Slaine, why are you in this business?'
'Do you have a problem with women in the service, Billy?'
'No,' I said, thinking how complicated that question was for me. 'It's not unfamiliar ground. I know it can be tough. But I'm not talking about doing your bit for the war effort. I mean, why are you in the business of hunting extremists? Or Republicans, depending on your viewpoint.'
'Or Unionists. They have their own brand of extremists, as you know.'
'OK, I get your point. But why you?' She poured herself tea and stirred in a cube of sugar. I thought I could use some caffeine too, and joined her.
'You know that there used to be one police force for all of Ireland, before the partition,' she said. 'The Royal Irish Constabulary.'
'Sure. Up here it became the Royal Ulster Constabulary, and in the Republic, the Garda.'
'Right. My father was an RIC constable in Dublin. He never rose far in the ranks, he just did his duty and kept the peace of the city, much like your father does in Boston. Anyway, one spring day, he drew Sunday duty at Dublin Castle. You know what that is?'
'Yeah, it's where the British had their headquarters. Police, intelligence, government.'
'Yes. I was just a wee girl at the time but I swear I remember him leaving the house that morning, his buttons shined and his big shoes gleaming. But no sidearm. The RIC constables did not go armed, just like the bobbies in England. I remember that morning because I was so excited about my new Easter dress.'
'Was this 1916?'
'Aye, Billy. It was the Easter Rising, which so many of our kind celebrate in song. But to me, every Easter is bitter. You see, there was hardly anyone at the castle, so they only had one constable on duty. Other than a few clerks, the place was empty, except for my da, standing guard in the courtyard. The Irish Volunteers sent a flying column in. Through the gate they came, men running with rifles at the ready, charging right at Constable O'Brien.'
'What happened?' I could see the picture in my mind, since I'd seen so many illustrations of that day. Dublin Castle was small, a stone turret and attached building, right in the middle of the city.
'He did his duty. He stood his ground. He held up his hand, palm toward the gunmen, and ordered them to stop. Can you believe that? Can you imagine yourself unarmed in Boston, a gang of armed men charging you?'
'No, I can't. What happened?'
'They shot him dead. I learned later that one bullet pierced his hand.'
'I'm sorry. That must have been terrible.'
'Oh, that's not even the really terrible part. Do you know your history? Do you know what happened then?'
'At the castle? No.'
'I'll tell you then. Nothing. Those brave Volunteers who had just gunned down an unarmed man stood in the courtyard, looking at the great stone fortress, and saw no one else. It was theirs for the taking. Having come that far, all they needed to do was take a few more steps and they could have held it. But they didn't. They turned and ran, leaving my poor da dead on the cobblestones, for nothing. They killed him for nothing, and they lost the great prize. That's why I'm in this business, Billy. If they had taken the castle and won the day, I would have been a little girl who'd lost her father in that great battle, and that's all. But I grew up despising the rabble who killed without thought, and then ran from victory. I hate them for what I lost, and for what they lost. I can't bear the thought of them.'
She drank her tea, made a face, and set the cup down. 'It's cold,' she said. I couldn't argue.
'Who was that on the phone when I came in?' I wanted to get back to the here and now, and leave the dead of 1916 in peace. It seemed to me that those who'd died in that fight had at least been spared the agony of witnessing civil war, assassinations, bombings, and the divided loyalties that the struggle had brought about.
'Major Cosgrove. He's anxious to hear about your progress. Have you learned anything since yesterday?'
'I'm certain the BARs were not driven south into the Republic. That was a ruse. Jenkins's truck was delivered empty to Warrenpoint a few hours after the theft. So the weapons are still close by, somewhere between Ballykinler and Warrenpoint.'
'That's not good news. Anything else?'
'A lot of little things but nothing that makes sense yet. About this case, anyway. Once I get a look through your files, I might be able to put two and two together. The problem is, everything here is so complex. It's not just tracking down suspects, it's thinking about their religion and their politics. It makes everything ten times more difficult.'
'What about Negroes in America? Don't you have to think about race in the same way? Doesn't that complicate things for the police? You don't have any Negro parishioners in your church, do you? '
'No. But we understand where the lines are drawn. And we don't murder each other just because we're different.'
'Really? Don't you mean they don't murder you because you're different? What about your Ku Klux Klan?'
'It's not my Ku Klux Klan! And that's different.' It seemed like everyone over here wanted to slot me into some group so they'd know who I was. It didn't strike me as a useful system.
'No, it isn't. The only difference is you've grown up with all those rules and you understand them. You know how to navigate the boundaries of skin color in your own land so that it seems natural to you. Then you come here, saddled with your preconceived notions, and wonder why you have such a difficult time. It would be the same for me if I went to Boston, don't you see? Here, I understand where the lines of religion and class are drawn. I know how to step around them when I need to. I can deal with the extremists when I must, because I understand each side. I see each side and feel for them, more's the pity.'
See each side. Slaine's words faded away until that phrase was all that was left. See each side. Ballykinler and Warrenpoint. The start and end point for the delivery truck's route after the arms theft. See each side. Why? Something was wrong, something was nagging at me about each side of that trip. What?
'Wait a minute!' I snapped my fingers as it came to me. 'The BARs aren't anywhere near Warrenpoint. It wouldn't make any sense.'
'What?'
'Listen. Red Jack shot Eddie Mahoney the night of the theft, right outside Clough. We agreed he needed Mahoney to help load the weapons at the depot, right?'
'Yes. So the same would hold for the unloading?'
'It would have to, especially given the short turnaround time. The truck was dropped off about 3:00 a.m. near the Warrenpoint ferry. I was assuming that since the truck was found in the Republic, Red Jack would have had help at that end with the unloading. But that wasn't the case.'
'So you're thinking he needed Mahoney's help to unload? Then he killed him. But why would he? It still doesn't make sense.'
'Mahoney was investigating Taggart on behalf of the IRA for skimming funds.' I decided it would be best to keep the details to myself. I didn't want the heavy hand of the security forces interfering with my investigation of the murders of Pete Brennan and Sam Burnham. But I needed Slaine to believe my theory of the crime. She did.
'The guns are very close then.'
'I'd guess within ten miles of Clough, if my calculations are right about driving time at night.' I watched her eyes narrow as she thought this through. It seemed to trouble her, as if it signaled something else to worry about.
'There's one other thing. Major Cosgrove told me to inform you that we had a report of a German seaplane landing in Lough Neagh. The RAF shot it down over the Irish Sea. There were no survivors but it had been gaining
