altitude just east of the lough. And last night, on the coast near Bangor, north of Belfast, there was a confirmed sighting of a U-boat on the surface. We're searching now for signs that anyone was put ashore.'
'What does that mean?'
'It means something is happening. There may be two teams of German agents or commandos and the IRA Northern Command with fifty BARs on our doorstep. It means we need to get to work.'
Slaine rose and began gathering papers. As she opened her briefcase, I saw her hands were shaking. I reached out to hold the briefcase open and my fingers brushed against her trembling hand. She jumped, as if she'd been startled.
'I'm just trying to help. You've had a tough night,' I said softly, as if soothing a frightened child. She avoided my eyes. Then her hand returned to mine and grasped it, the warmth of her skin surprising me. The briefcase fell to the floor and her arms were around my waist, her face pressed against my chest. I felt her body beneath the wool uniform jacket press against mine and I was caught up in her scent. Her eyes looked up into mine, rich with tears that seemed ready to be released.
Two raps sounded on the door, and before the knob turned we were apart, picking up papers that had fallen to the floor, forcing our bodies away from each other out of fear they'd fly together again.
'Ma'am?'
'Yes, Corporal Finch?'
'We found a few pieces of the device,' he said, his eyes darting back and forth between us, finally settling on Slaine as she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. 'It was a timer, set to go off during the night. Plastic explosive, under the bed. Sarge was in a chair, right next to it.'
'Who had access to the room?' Slaine was all business now, the sharp officer questioning her noncom. Finch didn't show resentment at having to deal with these questions coming from a woman. He looked like a hard case but he gave her the respect she must've earned. I wondered what life was like for her, forever punishing killers and fools.
'Just about all the hotel staff, since any of the passkeys would work. We're going through the list of employees and questioning them but frankly our only hope is that someone saw something and will tell us. Whoever set the explosive isn't going to volunteer the information.'
'Focus on whoever knew we were coming here. Cyrus called from Portadown around noon. Find out whom he talked to.'
'Yes, ma'am. Lieutenant, if you don't mind my asking again, are you positive you didn't speak to anyone about your purpose in coming here?'
'I'm sure,' I said. The curse of his own weapons upon him, I heard Grady O'Brick say to Lynch's back. 'Positive.' Had I said anything to Grady? He'd gotten a face full of Sergeant Lynch but was that encounter enough to set off a chain of events that placed a bomb under Slaine's bed hours later? No, it couldn't have been. But I had said something else to Grady, back at his house. That I was going up to Belfast the next day with Sergeant Lynch and another officer. But I never mentioned where they'd be staying, I was certain. Maybe Grady had mentioned his run- in with Lynch at the pub. The walls had ears here, they'd told me.
I'd ask Grady about it later, but I decided not to share this tidbit. There was no way I was going to subject him to a single question from the likes of the late Sergeant Lynch's crew. He had no more fingernails left to give.
'The boys are on it, ma'am,' Finch was saying to Slaine. 'I'll drive you to Stormont.'
'Right,' she said. 'I'm afraid I'm not thinking clearly. Let's go.' She gave me a look. A message that she'd been temporarily deranged? Or that there was more where that had come from? I had no idea, and felt a sinking feeling in my stomach when I realized I wasn't sure which I wanted it to be.
The corporal carried her overnight bag. Slaine seized her briefcase and stuffed her revolver into her uniform jacket pocket. I followed them to the main lobby, where they went to the manager's office, currently in use as an interrogation chamber. A cleaning woman sat in a straight-backed chair, facing two large British soldiers who stood before her. Their jackets were off, their sleeves rolled up. The three of them looked up as we entered, the faces of the two men blank, the woman's pleading.
'I've told them, miss, I don't know a thing about what happened. 'Tis true, I swear.'
'Mrs. Delaney,' one of the men said, consulting a clipboard. 'She last cleaned the room yesterday.'
'And?' Slaine asked, no trace of pity wasted on Mrs. Delaney.
'She went home when she was done at 1400 hours.'
'Did you see any strangers about, Mrs. Delaney?' Slaine asked, now in a pleasant tone of voice, as if they were discussing the weather.
'Of course, 'tis a hotel. But you mean skulking about, pretending to be staff? No, I didn't, miss, I swear.'
'Do you have a time clock here?'
'A what, miss?'
'How do you account for your hours? Do you simply come and go?'
'Oh, no, we have to see Mr. McGregor in the morning and then when we leave. He signs us in and out.'
'Verified with McGregor?' Slaine asked the man with the clipboard. He nodded yes.
'Let her go unless you've heard of a thirteen-hour timer. The bomb went off just past three.' She turned on her heel and strode out of the room, shaking her head. Finch shot the two men a dark look and followed her. I waited until Mrs. Delaney got up and walked her down the hall.
'They didn't mistreat you, did they, Mrs. Delaney?'
'They asked their questions rough, I don't mind saying, but they never so much as touched me. Not that they wouldn't if they were told to. A nice young American lad like you shouldn't associate with them ruffians, if you don't mind me saying so.'
'I'd rather be back in Boston myself but those ruffians are our allies.'
'Boston, is it? I thought you had Irish in you; it shows on your face, it does. I turn here, dear, it's the servants' entrance. They don't want us traipsing in and out through that grand lobby of theirs.' She patted my arm and descended a staircase that led to the rear of the hotel. As she opened the door I heard an engine start, and voices rising above the sound. I took the stairs and stepped outside. Delivery trucks stood at a small loading dock, the familiar name of Jenkins printed on the side. Crates of potatoes and beets were being carried in. Beyond the loading dock was a garage with three large bays, spaces for two vehicles in each. Backing out of one was the Ford Fordor staff car Sergeant Lynch had driven in yesterday. Corporal Finch must have called for it from the front desk. It made sense that they'd have it parked in the garage; it was distinctive, and there'd be no percentage in advertising their presence by parking it out front. A guy wearing a blue coverall was at the wheel, probably a mechanic or janitor. I watched the scene for a minute: employees walking by the garage, coming and going to work. Jenkins's men finished unloading and the two of them leaned against the truck, smoking, in no hurry to rush back for more heavy lifting.
The garage doors were open. I walked over and went in, no one paying me much mind. The first bay held only one vehicle, a Rolls-Royce being waxed by two kids using elbow grease, too focused on getting a glossy shine to notice me. I walked to a workbench where a telephone was mounted on the wall. There was no dial so it must have been a house phone. Next to it was a clipboard hanging from a nail pounded into a stud. Greasy fingerprints stained the pages but the entries were readable. There were columns for vehicle description, license plate, bay number, and guest name and room number.
Next to the Ford Fordor entry was the name Miss S. Howard, Room 314. Who was S. Howard? Did Slaine use a false name? Probably; she had a price on her head. I pulled the sheet from the clipboard and made my way out of the main lobby.
'Lieutenant, we've been waiting,' Finch said impatiently. I ignored him and got in the back with Slaine.
'What was your room number? The room Sergeant Lynch took?'
'It was 314. Why?' I handed her the sheet.
'Howard was the name you used, right? This was hanging in full view of dozens of people. No one even noticed me take it. All someone had to know was what your car looked like. There's not many of those driving around the countryside.'
'Damn! We always use false names when booking rooms. And we always have the car parked under cover when we can for that very reason. And now it's gotten poor Cyrus killed.'
