A Hunt in Winter

by Conor Brady

  ‘I’d just like to fill you in on what happened in Berlin,’ Swallow said. ‘I think we’re nearly home and dry on the Alice Flannery murder.’

  ‘I got the gist of it from your messages,’ Mallon answered. ‘Mossop kept me up to date on it. You’ve brought this fellow Carmody back, I know.’

  ‘Carmody’s in the Bridewell now, or in Mountjoy. I’ve enough to keep him in custody for as long as it takes. I’ll do a full written report of course, but in summary Carmody will give evidence of Stefan Werner threatening the girl because she wanted to claim compensation for the accident in the restaurant.’

  ‘It’s circumstantial,’ Mallon said. ‘You’ll need more.’

  ‘There’s more, chief. Werner left the restaurant early on the night Alice Flannery was murdered, and he made her tell him her address. And it turns out that Werner has a record of violence.’

  Mallon nodded.

  ‘Well, that’s more persuasive. So what do you intend to do next?’

  ‘I’ll do like you said, chief. I’ll get some sleep and then I’ll bring Mr Werner in as a suspect for murder.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Mallon said. ‘I’ll get the warrant organised. There’s two magistrates sitting in the police courts all day.’

  ‘There’s one other thing to tell you, Joe.’ Mallon attempted a humourless smile. ‘There’s some news in that could please you in the light of what we’ve been talking about.’

  ‘It’ll be a change to hear something good,’ Swallow said.

  ‘I thought about telling you this at the start of our conversation,’ Mallon said, ‘but I knew you’d want to get things off your chest about Kelly and Smith Berry, so I decided to hold back a little bit until you’d had your say.’ He paused. ‘Charlie Vanucchi came back on the Nellie Byrne murder with a name for Pat Mossop.’

  ‘So which of his fellows is it?’

  ‘It’s none of them. But Vanucchi told Mossop the identity of the man who was with Nellie before she was killed. Now he’s our prime suspect.’

  ‘So who is it?’ Swallow asked, professional interest asserting itself in spite of his exhaustion.

  ‘You’re not going to believe this, but it might change your plans a bit. It’s a fellow we both know. It’s Kelly.’

  ‘Kelly?’ Swallow could not believe his ears. ‘Kelly? Nigel Kelly? Major Nigel Kelly? So what are we doing about that information?’

  Mallon looked at the wall clock.

  ‘Right now he should be in the Bridewell, I imagine. “Duck” Boyle and Mick Feore and half a dozen men in backup collected him from his bed, or more accurately from the bed of one of his lady friends in Mount Pleasant, a little earlier this morning.’

  His smile broadened just a fraction.

  ‘So I imagine that we’ll get our interview with Mr Smith Berry very soon. Very soon indeed.’

  Chapter 40

  It was a rarity for two suspects to be held separately but simultaneously in the city in two parallel murder investigations. Nobody in G-Division could recall such a thing happening before.

  Swallow had got four hours of passable sleep, a hot bath and a change of clothes at home in Thomas Street before returning to the Castle in the early afternoon.

  ‘You look a bit better all right,’ Mallon commented drily. ‘I’ve got your warrant for Werner. I’ve put a few men across at the Bridewell in case any of the crowd from the Upper Yard try to do anything dramatic about Kelly. But Johnny Vizzard is waiting in Exchange Court to go with you to the New Vienna.’

  Vizzard was the newest recruit to G-Division. He would be a good G-man in time, Swallow reckoned, but he was still raw. Assisting in an arrest for a murder case would be a learning experience for him.

  ‘What’s happening with Kelly over at the Bridewell, chief?’ Swallow asked.

  He chided himself silently as he asked the question. The uppermost thought in his head was more to do with nailing the secret service man than bringing the Alice Flannery murder investigation to a successful conclusion. He was allowing emotional distress to cloud his professional judgement.

  ‘It’s peculiar,’ Mallon said. ‘I thought he’d be screaming blue murder. He wants word to be sent to the Upper Yard for his people to come and get him out, of course. Mossop is playing for time and doing nothing. But Kelly’s sitting there calmly, it seems, answering Mossop’s questions, being very reasonable and denying everything.’

  ‘Did he come quietly when they lifted him?’

  ‘There was a bit of excitement when they arrived at his lady friend’s house at Mount Pleasant. The two of them were still in bed, it seems. The E-Division lads managed to slip the lock on the back door and in they went. Quick as flash, Kelly was out of bed, naked as the day he was born, out on the landing with a bloody big Mauser pistol in his hand. The two lads on the stairs thought their last moment had come. He told Mossop it was the uniform that saved them. If they were in plain clothes he’d have concluded they were Fenians out to do for him and he’d have blazed away.’

  ‘And you’ve heard nothing from Smith Berry or anyone about their man being dragged off to the Bridewell?’

  ‘Not a word. I don’t know what to make of it. They probably don’t even know yet that we have him. I’m expecting Mossop here at around five o’clock with a report on the interview. And I’m calling a full crime conference at six. I think you should sit in if you can.’

  ‘I’ll do that, chief. I’d hate to miss hearing about how that bastard likes it over there staring at the walls of a cell.’

  Mallon’s mouth formed a wintry smile.

  ‘There’s one other thing you’ll be interested to hear. And it pretty well cooks Kelly’s goose, I believe.’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Mick Feore found Nellie Byrne’s post office book in his jacket pocket.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Swallow exclaimed. ‘How does he explain that?’

  ‘Well, as I said, he doesn’t. He’s just saying nothing, insists he hasn’t done anything, and says he’s happy to co-operate if his people in the Upper Yard are sent for.’

  Mallon stood.

  ‘All we can do is see what develops. You go and do what you have to do with Werner.’

  He crossed the Lower Yard to Exchange Court and found Johnny Vizzard waiting for him in the crime inspector’s office.

  ‘This won’t be difficult and it won’t take too long,’ Swallow told him. ‘I’ve a warrant to take this fellow Werner into custody on suspicion of Alice Flannery’s murder. He’ll be no great problem. He’s not expecting us, and he’ll protest that he’s busy running his restaurant. We may need to persuade him that he hasn’t any choice about coming back here with us. And I should tell you that behind the veneer he has convictions for assault and violence on the continent. He’s unlikely to cause a row at the restaurant, but we’d need to be on our toes all the same.’

  ‘I’m your man, Inspector,’ Vizzard said eagerly. ‘First time I’ve had anything to do with an arrest for murder. Anything I need to watch out for?’

  ‘Watch out for yourself,’ Swallow answered. ‘It’s a bit different with murder all right. You know that when you take someone into custody it’s not like any other offence. When it’s murder, you’re very likely bringing them on their first steps to the gallows. You’ve got to be sure you’ve got the right man.’

  ‘I know you’d be sure you’ve got the right man, Inspector,’ Vizzard said confidently. ‘That’s your reputation. Everyone in the force knows that.’

  It was ironic, Swallow thought. He had a reputation, he knew, as a man who didn’t make mistakes. He was not just good at his job. He was a first-class detective. Thorough, focused and committed. But none of that counted in the minds of the masters of his fate in the Upper Yard. They thought nothing of his loyalty or his service. He was just a cog in their machine. When it suited their purpose, the privacy of his home, the welfare of his wife or the life of his unborn child could all be set aside.

  They exited Exchange Court onto Dame S
treet. The afternoon light was starting to fade and the gas lamps were already burning in Dan Lowrey’s Music Hall opposite the Palace Street gate. In a few hours the theatre would be buzzing as patrons flocked in for the evening show. Tonight’s performance was Dion Boucicault’s melodrama of murder, innocence and love, The Colleen Bawn. It always drew packed houses. Swallow sometimes reflected on the paradoxical juxtaposition of one of Dublin’s leading entertainment venues with the grim granite gateway to the Castle across the street.

  It was a short walk up South Great George’s Street to the New Vienna. The lobby, with its mahogany panelling and brass fittings, was warm and enticing, as always. A young man in a waiter’s dress suit looked up from the desk when Swallow and Vizzard walked in.

  ‘I’m sorry, gents, lunch is finished. Would yiz like to put yer name down for a table for dinner later? Startin’ at seven o’clock.’

  Swallow showed his warrant card.

  ‘We’re not for dining, son, I’m afraid. Detective Inspector Swallow and Detective Officer Vizzard. We’d like to see Mr Werner please.’

  The young man rose from the desk.

  ‘I’ll tell him yiz are here. Yiz can take a seat.’

  Swallow and Vizzard stayed standing as the young man went into the dining room. A minute later he was back.

  ‘Mr Werner said to tell yiz he has someone wit’ him and yiz are to wait. He won’t be long.’

  He resumed his place at the desk. Swallow watched him laboriously copying out menu cards for the evening dinner. But there was no sign of Stefan Werner. After a couple of minutes, Swallow called to the waiter at the desk.

  ‘Will you go and see if Mr Werner is ready? It’s police business and we haven’t got all day.’

  The young man looked embarrassed.

  ‘I can’t do that, sir. He said he wasn’t to be disturbed.’

  Swallow knew instantly. He would have twigged it earlier, he later reflected, were he not so tired from his travels and emotionally astray. He snapped at Vizzard. ‘Get around the back, quick. You might just get him in the laneway.’

  Swallow sprinted across the lobby into the dining room, along the short corridor and down to the office where he had previously interviewed Werner. He flung the door open. The room was empty. He spun on his heel. A man in a chef’s uniform emerged from the kitchen door opposite.

  ‘Police,’ Swallow told him. ‘Where’s Werner?’

  ‘Mr Werner? Sure, he’s just gone,’ the man answered, a puzzled look on his face. ‘He went out the back way.’

  Swallow pushed past him into the lobby and onto the street. South Great George’s street was busy. He scanned the pavements. There was no sign of Stefan Werner.

  Across the street, a steam tram bound for Rathmines was pulling away from its stop outside Pim’s department store. On instinct he sprinted across the street, stretching his speed to its limits as the vehicle gathered momentum. Its next stop would be at Aungier Street, beyond the intersection with Stephen Street. His wind would not bring him that far in time to catch it, he knew.

  Then the double-decked vehicle jerked to a halt with a hiss of steam and a squeal of its metal brakes. Pedestrians turned to see what was happening. From where he stood, Swallow could see that a messenger delivering groceries or packages of some kind had tumbled from his bicycle, momentarily bringing the traffic to a halt. He started to run again. He jumped as the vehicle moved off and grabbed the rail above the open platform at the back.

  Stefan Werner was sitting on the side bench in the lower saloon, his coat wrapped tightly around him, a black bowler hat jammed forwards in an effort to conceal his face.

  Swallow hauled himself into the saloon. He drew his Webley with one hand and held his warrant card aloft with the other. There were gasps from passengers as he made his way along the saloon. A woman screamed.

  ‘Police!’ he shouted. ‘I’m a police officer. There’s no danger.’

  He reached towards where Werner sat and pointed the Webley at his chest.

  ‘Stefan Werner,’ he said loudly, ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Alice Flannery.’

  Chapter 41

  There was an air of something close to elation as John Mallon stepped up to chair the crime conference at Exchange Court. Every member of G-Division had known since the morning that Major Nigel Kelly, the detested chief of the Upper Yard’s secret service office, was in custody in the Bridewell. When word spread that Swallow had Stefan Werner in the cells at Exchange Court for the Alice Flannery murder, the atmosphere became almost exuberant.

  ‘As you know, men, we’ve got suspects in custody for the two murders,’ Mallon told the score of G-men and uniformed constables who had gathered.

  ‘A senior member of the secret service department has been identified as having been at the scene of Nellie Byrne’s murder at Chapel Court, Gloucester Street. And the late Alice Flannery’s former employer, Stefan Werner, was arrested in connection with her death this afternoon by Detective Inspector Swallow.’

  A quiet murmur of approval ran around the room. Stephen Doolan whispered to Swallow, ‘Well done.’

  Tired constables nodded in quiet satisfaction. The weeks that had followed the murders, with no progress of any kind, had challenged morale and dampened spirits. Every man would feel better with things looking up.

  ‘But we still need all the evidence we can get on these two cases,’ Mallon said. ‘Neither of the suspects has made a confession. We’re relying on circumstantial evidence and any additional witness testimony we can get. On the positive side, it doesn’t seem that there’s any connection between the two deaths, so we’re not dealing with some sort of a madman.’

  Another murmur of satisfaction susurrated around the parade room.

  ‘So, Mallon continued, ‘first we’ll review what we have on the Nellie Byrne murder. Detective Collins, if you please.’

  Martin Collins was the book man on the case. He was not the best book man in Exchange Court. That distinction was held by Pat Mossop, followed by Mick Feore. The really good book men not only recorded every item of information on an investigation, but also had a gift for spotting connections or patterns. It wasn’t Collins’s strongest point, but his murder book, the ledger in which every detail of the progress of the investigation was recorded, was invariably accurate and complete.

  ‘Murder of Helena Moyles, alias Ellen Byrne, alias Nellie Sweet, aged twenty-two years, Chapel Court, Gloucester Street, Dublin on Saturday 9 November last.’

  Swallow saw Mallon wince as Collins started his report with a ponderous and unnecessary recitation of the facts already known to every policeman in the room.

  ‘The deceased was a member of the unfortunate class that frequent this district,’ Collins intoned. ‘The remains were examined at the scene by the city medical examiner, Dr Lafeyre, before removal to the morgue at Marlborough Street. The post-mortem examination revealed that she had suffered multiple blows to the head and upper body.’

  He paused to draw breath before resuming his narrative from the murder book.

  ‘As a result of confidential information, a party led by Superintendent Boyle, E-Division, this morning executed a search warrant at an address at Mount Pleasant. A gentleman, identified as Major Nigel Kelly, was taken into custody. Detective Sergeant Feore found an item relating to the murder in his jacket pocket, to wit, one post office savings book held in the name of Helena Moyles. Constable Patrick Cummins C35 was on duty in the vicinity of the crime on the night in question. He encountered a man running from the deceased’s place of residence. The description matches that of Major Kelly.’

  That was stretching it a bit, Swallow told himself. Cummins’s description of the man fleeing the scene was so vague as to be almost useless. Yet he was not far wrong when he said that he thought the fugitive might have been a policeman. It was highly likely that he would have seen Kelly in or around the Castle on occasion.

  He flicked the next page of the murder book.

  ‘G
-Division intelligence indicates that the deceased was a known associate of members of the Irish Republican Brotherhood, better known as the Fenians. She was also known to keep company with members of the Hibernian Brotherhood.’

  ‘Thank you. Thank you, Detective.’ Mallon waved an impatient hand, silencing Collins. ‘The case is strong. I have a report from Detective Sergeant Mossop, who has been questioning the suspect in the Bridewell during the day. Cummins will visit the Bridewell shortly and will be asked to identify the suspect. If his identification is positive, I intend to have Major Kelly charged with murder right away.’

  Another murmur of approval went around the parade room.

  ‘Now, Sergeant Feore, would you please tell the conference about the state of play in the Alice Flannery investigation?’

  Feore would be brief, Swallow knew. He would speak from his notes rather than reading laboriously from the murder book.

  ‘The evidence to date is a bit circumstantial if you ask me, chief,’ he said, shrugging. ‘The principal suspect is Stefan Werner, a native of Berlin, proprietor and operator of the New Vienna restaurant on South Great George’s Street. He was seen leaving the restaurant shortly after Alice Flannery on the night she was murdered and after he had asked her for her address. His shoes match the size of the footprint left in the mud at the crime scene.’

  He glanced, perhaps apologetically, at Swallow. Every man in the room had tensed at Feore’s implicit distancing of himself from Swallow’s identification of Werner as the chief suspect. If the evidence against Werner was merely circumstantial, the case might not be as strong as they had been given to understand. Feore cast his eyes down unnecessarily, pretending to scan his notes.

  ‘As a result of information received from Kapitän Pfaus of Berlin CID, Detective Inspector Swallow travelled to Berlin to interview a witness, Michael Carmody, who has returned with him to Dublin. Carmody is on file here in DCR, but is willing to give evidence of hostility and threats from Werner towards the deceased. Details from Berlin police records confirm that Werner has convictions for violence in Germany and Holland.