behind his back, looking serious.
'You saved my life, Jimmy. You don't have to look quite so miserable.'
'I've given up smoking. It's playing havoc with my equilibrium.'
She went into her office and sat down. 'Was there anything special?' she asked. 'I've got a hell of a lot to do.'
From behind his back, Jimmy produced Gerard's notebook. 'I should have put this in as evidence, but I had a bit of a think about it and I decided not to. Not right away, like. There's things in here that could possibly cause some very bad blood, and in my opinion there's enough bad blood in the world already. If you think I'm wrong, then I'm ready to be reprimanded. I know gardai aren't supposed to think. Well, not to philosophize, anyway. But I thought you ought to have the chance to read it first. Seeing as I respect your opinion, like.'
Katie looked at him, not smiling, but feeling that she might at last have made some kind of breakthrough.
'Thank you, Jimmy,' she said, and took the notebook, and put it down in front of her.
'Well, then,' he said, obviously embarrassed. 'I just wanted to say that I'm glad I saved your life. Otherwise, you know, you'd be dead, like.'
She put a hold on her calls and took twenty minutes to read Gerard's notebook and then read it a second time. After the second reading she sat at her desk in silence. Then she put the notebook into her handbag, and closed it. Jimmy was right. Even if 'Crackers' Corcoran had been nothing but a wild theorist, there was enough bad blood in the world already.
? ? ?
At eleven-thirty the following morning she met Eugene O Beara and Jack Devitt in the Red Setter, a cramped triangular pub up at Dillon's Cross. During the whole of her time there, the rest of the clientele stared at her balefully, as if she were a nun who had walked in with dog shit on her shoe.
They sat in a small booth in the corner. The smoke was so thick it was surprising that nobody called the fire brigade. Even Jack Devitt's wolfhound was snuffling and coughing.
Katie said, 'We've found intelligence records in London that conclusively show that the man who abducted those fifteen women in 1915 and 1916 wasn't a British soldier at all. He was almost certainly a German from Munster in Westphalia known as Dieter Hartmann, and he wore a British uniform as a disguise. We're still searching for more information from the German government, and we'll let you know if we find out any more. I just want you to know that we also have evidence that the Crown forces in Cork went to extraordinary lengths to find him and arrest him. Once they almost had him, but he managed to escape and after that he was never heard from again.'
'We can examine this evidence?' asked Jack Devitt, solemnly.
'Of course, once we've finished with it. But you have my word that it's genuine.'
'Very well, then, Superintendent Maguire. I knew your father well, and if you give me your word that it's genuine, then I accept it. Although I have to admit to a certain sense of anticlimax.'
Katie gave him a tight smile. 'Keeping the peace is a never-ending anticlimax.'
Eugene O Beara suddenly let out a loud, staccato laugh, and then-just as abruptly-stopped. 'You're a good woman, Katie Maguire, for a cop.'
Just before one o'clock, she met Eamonn Collins in his usual seat at Dan Lowery's. His minder Jerry was having a seance at the opposite table with a bowl of fish chowder.
'Hallo, Eamonn.'
'Hallo yourself, Detective Superintendent Maguire. You look very fetching today. I always say that black always becomes a woman, nuns and widows especially.'
Katie said, 'I thought I'd let you know that I've decided not to press any charges against you relating to the crucifixion of Dave MacSweeny. Lack of evidence, as well as the fact that my principal witness is lying on a slab in St. Patrick's Morgue.'
Eamonn took out a very white handkerchief and blew his nose. 'Not to mention the minor embarrassment that it might have caused yourself, of course?'
'Let's just say that Dave MacSweeny deserved everything that ever happened to him, and more besides.'
'So we're friends again, are we, Katie? Just remember, if you ever need another favor, at any time, you know who to call on.'
'Actually, I would rather sell my soul to the devil.'
'Oh, come now! You know how much you need decent upstanding criminals like me. God knows what state this city would be in, otherwise.'
Katie stood up. 'I'll have you one day, Eamonn, I swear it, you jumped-up Knocknaheeny gobdaw.'
Eamonn raised his whiskey glass, and sang to Katie in a low, husky voice. ''Believe me, if all those endearing young charms, which I gaze on so fondly today?were to change by tomorrow, and fleet in my arms, like fairy gifts fading away!''
She left Dan Lowery's and was crossing MacCurtain Street when her cell phone rang. It was Sister O'Flynn from the Regional.
'Mrs. Maguire?' It was the first time that anybody had called her 'Mrs. Maguire' in a very long time. She knew then that it was bad news.
