by Joe Joyce
Ó Murchú gave a harrumph.
‘Christ,’ McClure sighed as they sat into the car and lit cigarettes. ‘Just as well we’re not looking for promotion in the foreseeable future.’
‘Maybe we should’ve told him about the Right Club and all that,’ Duggan ventured as he did a U-turn and headed back the way they had come.
‘You heard what the colonel said,’ McClure shrugged. ‘And it wouldn’t have been of any practical use to him or Mr Aiken. The Americans obviously know all about it already. And they might be none too happy to have us sticking our oar into it. Until we have something definite to contribute. Like Glenn.’
The thaw was now well established, turning the air raw with dampness and the streets into a shallow stream of muck. The few pedestrians about crossed the streets paying more attention to where they put their feet than to the sparse traffic.
‘I’m going to meet Glenn myself next time he contacts Gerda,’ Duggan said, deciding it was time to tell McClure. ‘That’ll speed things up. Get us the answers we need from him.’
‘Good idea,’ McClure said. ‘We’ll work out a plan.’
‘I already have one.’ Duggan spelled out what he intended to do.
McClure went into one of his silences. They crossed O’Connell Bridge and turned onto Bachelors Walk. Peter Gifford was just turning into Bachelors Way, leading down to Benny Reilly’s place in North Lotts. Duggan let the car coast to the pavement and told McClure why. ‘I’ll just go check with him for a moment,’ he said. McClure nodded.
Duggan tossed his half-finished cigarette away and went after Gifford. He found him hammering on Benny’s door. ‘Fucker’s disappeared,’ Gifford said, giving up as Duggan reached him.
‘Fuck,’ Duggan echoed.
‘Last seen in Hughes’s pub last night. Pissed out of his mind. Tried to pick a fight with some of the lads from the Bridewell. Singing, “Take it Down from the Mast, Irish Traitors”.’
‘They didn’t throw him in a cell somewhere?’
‘They threw him into the street. Hasn’t been seen since.’
‘Fuck,’ Duggan repeated.
‘Didn’t go home last night. No sign of him at his usual haunts.’ Gifford kicked the door of the garage for emphasis.
‘Hope he didn’t fall in the Liffey.’
‘No bodies washed up yet,’ Gifford said, cheering up as they turned away. ‘Anyway, life goes on, whether Benny remains in the land of the living or not. Sinead wants to meet this friend of yours. Give her the once over. See if she passes muster.’
Duggan couldn’t help laughing at the sudden change of mood. ‘We’ll get together at the weekend.’
‘No can do.’
‘She’s going home for the weekend?’
‘Yes,’ Gifford dragged the word out and raised the first two fingers of each hand into inverted commas. ‘She’s going “home” for the weekend.’ He dropped his hands. ‘Which means she won’t leave the flat for a minute in case anyone sees her. And I’ll be as limp as a wet rag by Monday.’
‘Better start building up your strength.’
‘We could do it tomorrow night. Before she goes.’
‘Sure,’ Duggan said. ‘I’ll let you know if that’s okay.’
They came back onto Bachelors Walk and Duggan pointed to the car. ‘Want a lift?’
Gifford lowered his head and squinted at the car. ‘You’ve got a passenger. And not one of the fairer sex.’
‘My boss.’
‘No thanks,’ Gifford shivered. ‘Two intelligence men together. That’d fry my brain.’
‘Check the morgue,’ Duggan said as he left him. He sat into the car and told McClure about Benny.
‘Christ,’ McClure muttered.
They remained silent until they passed the Four Courts. Ahead of them, the sky was lightening to the west, the first breaks appearing in the clouds.
‘You should have some back-up when you meet Glenn,’ McClure said.
‘I don’t think I need any,’ Duggan said, as casually as possible. ‘Especially now that we know that he’s not anybody’s agent. I mean, a real agent.’
‘Still. We don’t know that he won’t be armed.’
‘It’s unlikely.’
‘True. But there’s no harm in being careful.’
‘I’d rather do it alone,’ Duggan said, concentrating on the road ahead and hoping that McClure was not going to insist on sending someone with him. ‘I’d like to keep this operation as small as possible. Keep Gerda’s involvement within the circle of people who already know about her. She’s very nervous about people discovering her true identity.’
McClure said nothing until they stopped at the barrier to headquarters and waited for it to be raised. ‘What about your Special Branch friend? Does he know about her?’
‘No.’
‘You trust him?’
‘Yes,’ Duggan let the clutch up.
‘Does he know about this operation?’
‘No.’
‘Maybe he could back you up.’
In their office Sullivan was whistling some jaunty tune that Duggan thought he should know but couldn’t name. ‘You did it,’ Duggan nodded to himself. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Thank you,’ Sullivan bowed his head in formal acknowledgement.
‘When’s the wedding?’
‘There’s no hurry.’
‘But she won’t get the widow’s pension if she’s only a fiancée.’
‘Ah, would you stop that,’ Sullivan said. ‘That joke’s worn thin.’
What joke? Duggan wondered, refraining from pointing out that it was Sullivan himself who had ascribed that motive to Carmel. But things had clearly changed and he thought he knew why. He smiled at the thought, covering it with another question. ‘When did you pop the question?’
‘In the restaurant. It’s overpriced if you ask me. But it worked out very well. The waiter noticed me doing it and next thing two glasses of champagne arrived on the house. They did it very discreetly. No fuss. Nobody said anything.’
‘Carmel was impressed?’
‘Yeah,’ Sullivan laughed. ‘Especially as she thought I’d arranged it all beforehand.’ He paused. ‘Listen, we’re going out to celebrate at the weekend. You should come along. I’ll get you another date with one of Carmel’s or Breda’s friends.’
‘Thanks. But I might have a date myself.’
‘Even better. Bring her along.’
‘It might be a bit soon for that,’ Duggan said. ‘It might frighten her off to meet all you lot in one go.’
Sullivan narrowed his eyes. ‘This is a real date? Not with your homo friend?’
‘That joke’s wearing thin too,’ Duggan said. ‘He’s got his girlfriend staying with him for the weekend.’
Sullivan widened his eyes. ‘How’d he manage that?’
‘His charm, I suppose.’
‘What about his parents?’
‘He lives in a flat.’
‘What about her?’
‘What about her?’
‘She’s willing to stay with him for the weekend?’
Duggan nodded.
‘How’d he manage that?’
Duggan shrugged and his phone rang. The orderly on the switchboard said in a flat voice, ‘your batman’.
‘Speak of the devil,’ Duggan said to Sullivan as he waited for the call to be put through.
‘No new stiffs in the morgue,’ Gifford said on the phone.
‘That’s good.’
‘Unless he’s still floating down to sea.’
‘Will you drag the Liffey from’ – Duggan paused – ‘I don’t know, where does it start? From there down to the bay and back again.’
‘I’ll just go get my fishing net, general.’
‘By the way,’ Duggan said, looking at Sullivan. ‘One of the staff officers here wants to know the secret of your success with women.’
‘Well, finally,’ Gifford snorted, ‘military intelligence gets around to seeking answ
ers to matters of real importance.’
‘What’ll I tell him?’
‘Tell him to change uniform. Join the Garda Síochána, a body of men whose uniform stands for uprightness, helping old ladies and children across the street. Not like that mucky green thing worn by lowlifes who hide behind ditches and snipe at innocent people.’
Duggan replaced the receiver and said to Sullivan, ‘He says join the guards. Women can’t resist their uniform.’
Sullivan rolled his eyes.
Duggan reached over and lifted the receiver of the special phone and listened to its hum for a moment.
‘Still working?’
Duggan nodded. ‘But our man’s gone missing.’
‘Another great plan down the Swanee,’ Sullivan said in a contented tone.
‘We’ll see.’ Duggan pulled a newspaper over and the phone rang. ‘A lady for you,’ the switchboard operator said.
‘Paul?’ Gerda said, her voice hushed with excitement. ‘He’s called.’
‘And?’ Duggan prompted.
‘He’ll meet us at that place at eight o’clock.’
‘Great. Did he say anything else?’
‘No. It was very short.’ She was still whispering.
‘Okay. I’ll call around to you after work.’
‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘I’ve agreed to go out to eat with the girls from the digs.’
‘Can’t you skip it?’
‘They’ve been talking about this for a long time and I kept putting them off. They’ll think I’m a right bitch if I don’t come.’
‘Okay,’ he sighed. ‘I’ll pick you up at half-seven. Will it be over by then?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘Clerys restaurant.’
Duggan replaced the receiver and clapped his hands. ‘Another plan is working,’ he beamed at Sullivan.
‘That didn’t sound like work,’ Sullivan smirked.
‘It’s work, all right. God never closes one door but he opens another.’
‘You know we’re on standby here tonight? In case the bombers come again.’
‘I know,’ Duggan said with a hint of impatience. ‘But this is more important.’
Sullivan gave him a sceptical look.
Gifford was doing his impersonation of a corner boy again, standing with a sneer on his face at the corner of Bachelors Walk and O’Connell Street. He spotted Duggan’s car behind the swarm of bicycles and the row of carts and horse-drawn cabs waiting at the junction and sauntered down and got in just as the line of traffic began to move.
‘Anything?’ Duggan asked.
‘Not a thing. You’d think the place had been deserted since the dawn of time.’
‘He’s cleaned it out?’ Duggan glanced at him.
‘Don’t know. I couldn’t see in. We’ll come back when it’s dark. See if there’s any light inside. Maybe find him hiding in the tea chest.’
Duggan turned his attention back to the traffic on Eden Quay, ready to speed up and change gear at the first chance to get past everything that was keeping them to a cycling pace. He saw his opportunity on Amiens Street and raced away with a roaring engine.
‘Tut, tut,’ Gifford murmured. ‘Getting impatient are we?’
‘Listen,’ Duggan ignored him. ‘I need your help tonight.’
Gifford listened in silence until Duggan had finished telling him the bare outline of the plan. ‘Very fishy,’ Gifford observed.
‘What is?’
‘That none of your lads are involved.’
‘There’s a reason why not many people know about it. And why it has to be kept that way.’
‘You sure you’re not off on another of your solo runs, are you?’ Gifford gave him a squint-eyed look. ‘That’s going to get a poor innocent policeman into trouble?’
‘No, nothing like that.’
‘Nothing to do with your mad relatives?’
‘Nothing,’ Duggan laughed.
‘And this woman who’ll be with you? She’s not your cousin?’
‘Jesus, no.’
‘She’s the mysterious girlfriend? That some of your fellows want our fellows to follow?’
‘Look,’ Duggan said. ‘I can’t tell you at the moment. But I’ll explain later.’
‘Need-to-know, huh,’ Gifford nodded to himself. ‘So that I can’t reveal anything when I’m caught and tortured.’
Duggan laughed. ‘You’ve been going to too many pictures.’
‘I’ll get to meet her later? The girlfriend?’
‘Maybe. But you’ll meet her tomorrow night anyway. Is that still on with Sinead?’
‘Yeah. She can’t wait.’
They went by Fairview and under the railway bridge onto Clontarf Road and the sky brightened out over the bay.
‘Very flattering, I suppose,’ Gifford said in a discursive tone. ‘That the security of the state rests on my ability to follow this guy through empty suburban streets all on my own without him seeing me.’
‘He won’t expect to be followed,’ Duggan said, remembering how Glenn had hurried away from his last meeting with Gerda without a backward glance.
‘Why not? In my vast experience people up to no good are always twitchy about their surroundings.’
‘This guy isn’t. He’s just,’ Duggan searched for the right word, ‘an amateur. He’s not a criminal. Not a spy. Just someone out of his depth.’
‘Like yourself.’
‘Ha, ha.’ Duggan turned off the coast road.
‘Out of his depth in what?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out exactly.’
They fell silent as they turned into the road where Benny Reilly lived and Duggan slowed down. The road was wet, the children’s ice slide now a sheen of water. The trees dripped onto patches of dirty snow on their sheltered sides. Benny’s van was still parked in his driveway. There was no sign of life in the house, no smoke from the chimneys, but no telltale milk deliveries on the doorstep or letters hanging from the letter box either. It was difficult to tell through the shine off the ground floor window if the curtains were open or closed.
‘So he hasn’t taken off in the van,’ Gifford said as they turned into the next road and came to a halt, the engine idling.
‘What do we do now?’ Duggan mused.
‘Fucked if I know,’ Gifford smiled. ‘You’re the boss. I’m only riding shotgun.’
‘We could take a look at his barn.’
‘I can’t imagine Benny hiding out in the hay,’ Gifford said. ‘But if the horse is gone we’ll know he’s ridden off into the sunset. We might even hear Gene Autry singing a song.’
That’s about it, Duggan thought. Benny had taken the opportunity he’d given him to make a run for it. No doubt, he’ll turn up sooner or later and the guards will get him for black marketeering but that doesn’t matter to me. As far as catching Goertz is concerned, he’s just another dead end.
Duggan sat in the Prefect in the gloom of Sackville Place at the side door of Clerys department store, eager to get going. He looked at his watch: it was five minutes to half-seven, only three minutes since he’d last checked it. He’d had the whole afternoon to plan the meeting, go back over everything he knew about Glenn, and figure out what they wanted to know from him. Which wasn’t a lot now that they knew the source of the letter from Churchill to Roosevelt and about Tyler Kent and the Right Club. It was good to be going into a rendezvous knowing most of the answers, only needing to fill in more details. And, with luck, get some more documents.
A group of women came out the door of Clerys, silhouetted against the dim light of O’Connell Street, handbags hanging from elbows. One broke away and Gerda came towards him, waving back over her shoulder as one of them called something after her. She sat in and asked, ‘Am I late?’
‘Dead on time,’ he leaned over to kiss her but she held him back with a hand on his chest and then leaned forward to give him a peck on the cheek.
‘They told me how to treat you,’ she giggled. ‘How to reel
you in. Like a big fish.’
He caught sight of the others still watching and then turning away and leaving the laneway. ‘Didn’t you tell them you’d already done that?’ he laughed at the image of himself flopping helplessly on a river bank.
She put an arm around his neck and pulled him to her and kissed him deeply. When they finished he held her face in his hands and rested his forehead against hers and looked into her deep eyes. ‘Ready?’
She nodded and he started the car and stopped at O’Connell Street to let a bus go by, its blue-lit interior giving it a ghostly presence. There was no sign of Gerda’s friends. ‘They’re going to the Adelphi,’ she said in answer to his query. ‘To the new Errol Flynn picture.’
He turned towards the bridge.
She leaned her head on his shoulder. ‘I bought another blanket for us today,’ she said. ‘It was the last day of the sale.’
He squeezed her knee with his spare hand and then took it back to change gear as he accelerated down Pearse Street. They were silent as they went by Westland Row and the gasworks and over the hump of the bridge at Grand Canal harbour, its dark warehouses and chemical works hulking in the added blackness of their own shadows. After the bridge at Ringsend he passed close to the anti-aircraft battery in the park: there were no signs of activity there but he knew they were on full alert tonight, the first clear night since the last bombing.
He took the coast road, following the map he had memorised in the office the previous evening, and the night brightened with a half-moon blotting out the stars. Its reflection glittered on the distant sea, barely visible beyond the stretch of sand, like something half seen, half imagined. She raised her head from his shoulder to watch the flashes of the lighthouses: from Poolbeg, beyond to the Bailey, out to the distant Kish lightship, and around the sweep of the bay to Dun Laoghaire.
‘You think they’ll come back tonight?’ she asked, still looking out to sea.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘It’s a perfect night for it if they want to.’
She kept her face to the sea and he counted off the roads running inland until he approached the right one and slowed down.
‘You all right?’ he asked.
She nodded but he didn’t see her, looking the other way for the turn.
