by Conor Brady
‘It was perfectly legal, and made necessary by your failure and his to produce official records under your control,’ Smith Berry shot back.
‘Legal, perhaps,’ Mallon said. ‘Necessary or appropriate, not at all. Inspector Swallow and his men have done all in their power to locate these documents. He and I have co-operated in every way possible with your officers. But you, sir, might equally well have consulted me before undertaking any such action against a senior member of G-Division who is also one of your most loyal and diligent servants in the struggle against subversion and crime.’
This time Swallow was sure he saw a flicker in Balfour’s eyes.
‘May I speak, sir?’ he asked.
Balfour nodded.
‘Sir, you are with us here in Ireland, I know, something less than two years. But you will know that Mr Mallon and the men he leads, of whom I have the honour to be one, are untiring in the discharge of their duties. It was nothing less than a betrayal of my loyalty, when I was absent on duty, out of the country, that Major Kelly and a group of his men should violate the sanctity of my home and manhandle my wife, causing her injuries that have led to the loss of the child she was carrying in her womb. Every man in G-Division is appalled and angered at this action.’
Balfour leaned forward.
‘I am aware of what happened, Swallow. And I regret it. But as I understand it your wife sought to obstruct Major Kelly in his search. What happened was an accident. Unintended and regrettable, but an accident nonetheless. Major Kelly was seeking to locate certain files which, I understand, you had been requested to produce.’
Swallow started to answer, but Mallon raised a silencing hand.
‘Sir, if I may,’ he addressed the chief secretary. ‘I am sure that Detective Inspector Swallow appreciates your expression of regret. And I am sure that you can understand his distress. His wife is yet in hospital and will require ongoing medical care and rest. I would prefer to return to the matter of Major Kelly’s detention, if I may.’
‘You may, Mr Mallon,’ Balfour’s tone hardened. ‘But nothing I have said should be construed as dissenting from Mr Smith Berry’s sense of outrage at the major’s arrest.’
‘Thank you, sir. But I believe it is important to state that the evidence against Major Kelly in respect of this particularly brutal crime is strong. He was identified at the scene by one witness, and I expect that identification to be confirmed by a constable on duty nearby on the night that the girl was killed. Moreover, the dead girl’s post office account book was found in Major Kelly’s pocket by one of my officers in the arrest party. Finally, we have evidence that Major Kelly had been a visitor to the dead girl’s accommodation on a number of occasions.’
‘Is that all, Mallon?’ Balfour asked.
‘I should add perhaps that the Dublin police have been the target of criticism from various quarters because of a number of murders and violent attacks on women in recent times. No doubt you’re aware of some of the comment in the press, sir. In the difficult times we live in, it is more important than ever, I suggest, that the police are shown to be capable and efficient in the discharge of their duties on behalf of the population.’
Balfour nodded.
‘Well said, Mr Mallon. And insofar as I can go, I agree with your sentiments. But there are wider considerations, and there are aspects to this matter of which you may not be aware.’
He gestured to Smith Berry.
‘Would you be kind enough to explain to the gentlemen what you have told me about Major Kelly’s excellent work?’
Smith Berry’s face showed a satisfied smile.
‘Certainly, sir. The facts are, gentlemen, that Major Kelly had recruited the deceased woman as a paid agent, an informer if you like. She was deeply involved with members of the so-called Irish Republican Brotherhood, the Fenians. She acted as an agent in the financing of guns and explosives. Major Kelly had, shall we say, socialised with her. He worked his way into her confidence and had accumulated a great amount of valuable intelligence on the Fenian organisation, its personnel, its structures and its intentions. This is information, I might add, that had not come in through G-Division’s intelligence system. Or, if it had, no action was taken about it.’
‘With respect, sir,’ Mallon said, ‘G-Division was well aware of the girl’s association with members of violent organisations. My judgement was that it was better to watch, to wait and to build information rather than rushing in to arrest a relatively minor individual.’
Mallon was gilding the lily, Swallow knew. What G-Division knew about Helena Moyles, alias Nellie Byrne, was that she kept bad company with Fenians and other subversives. The fact was that they had no knowledge of her role as an intermediary in the procuring of guns and explosives for the insurrectionaries. Kelly and his agents had somehow procured intelligence that G-Division had not. Mallon was on thin ice.
Waters spoke for the first time.
‘The amount of money that passed through the hands of this “relatively minor individual”, as you describe her, bought a great number of guns for the Fenians, Mr Mallon. How long would you have allowed that to continue?’
It was a skilful, tricky question, Swallow knew, put by a senior policeman with a lifetime’s knowledge of his subject.
‘I don’t know, Mr Waters,’ Mallon answered. ‘But I would say that if we had taken the girl out of circulation, it would only be a matter of days before the Fenians would have replaced her. And it might take some time for us to identify her replacement. I’d also say that what is really important is to know the Fenians’ intentions in regard to the weapons they have. And nothing in my intelligence reports suggests that they have any imminent intention of using them.’
Waters nodded thoughtfully. He understood that Mallon had a point, Swallow reckoned.
Balfour raised a hand.
‘There’s a lot of speculation here, and I haven’t all night to sit listening.’
He jabbed a finger towards Mallon.
‘I’m not going to waste time, Mr Mallon, and I’m not at all required to set out any reasons to you to justify my decisions. But I have heard much about you, and I have a high regard for the work you do. I believe it is better that I persuade you to my way of thinking rather than simply issuing a directive.’
He looked to Smith Berry.
‘The assistant under-secretary has taken the matter of Miss Byrne’s or Miss Moyles’s death very seriously. Notwithstanding her unfortunate station in life and her involvement with violent elements, she was entitled to live out her natural span of years, however long or short that might have been. Major Kelly has furnished Mr Smith Berry with a fully convincing account of the circumstances that led to Miss Byrne’s death. And while her demise was unfortunate, I have absolutely no doubt that she was the instrument of her own fate and that no blame whatsoever can attach to Major Kelly.’
Swallow could not contain himself any longer.
‘This girl was attacked savagely. Beaten to death, sir. She didn’t do it to herself.’
‘Do not be impertinent, Inspector,’ Smith Berry snapped. ‘Remember who you are addressing.’
Mallon raised a pacifying hand.
‘You’ll forgive Inspector Swallow’s distress, I know. He has been deeply affected by what happened to his wife when Major Kelly searched his dwelling place. But I would be grateful if you could set out the reasons why Major Kelly is to be exonerated. I cannot see any circumstances in which he can be considered blameless.’
‘That may be a failure on your part, Mallon,’ Smith Berry replied. ‘Perhaps you have not approached this matter with a sufficiently open mind. The fact is that Major Kelly was violently assaulted by the now deceased Miss Byrne when he went to visit her in pursuit of his intelligence-gathering duties. She was frequently inebriated, as you may know. When Major Kelly arrived at Chapel Court on the evening of her death, she told him that she believed he was a spy, and she made to stab him with a knife that she had concealed in her clothing. He pushed her away,
but she rushed at him in a fury. He pushed her away a second time and endeavoured to take the knife from her. When she attempted to stab him again, he grabbed the knife by the blade, sustaining a deep cut. He struck her on the head with his revolver and she fell, striking her skull on the fire grate. Major Kelly attempted to revive her, but she had expired. Concerned that his security could be compromised, he departed rapidly and reported the incident in full at this office.’
Mallon was silent.
‘Mr Smith Berry,’ he said quietly after an interval, ‘I have no doubt that these are the facts as you have been told. But the medical examiner, Dr Lafeyre, has reported that the dead woman had at least eight wounds to her head. She was beaten repeatedly. She did not simply fall against the fire grate as Major Kelly has claimed. The version of events that has evidently been given to you is a one-sided and self-serving account by the chief suspect. And it is utterly contradicted by the medical facts as established by the city medical examiner.’
‘Enough,’ Balfour said sharply. ‘This is not a cross-examination in a criminal court. The issue is not how many times this woman was struck. The reality is that a valued agent of this department, a distinguished officer from one of the finest regiments in the army, found himself in a situation that was not of his choosing while endeavouring to discharge his duties. I will not have him placed in jeopardy as a result of this woman’s death.’
He pointed his finger at Mallon again.
‘I am giving you a direct instruction, chief superintendent. You will arrange the immediate release of Major Kelly from police custody. And you will have all statements, files or any other papers relating to his arrest and detention delivered here to this office forthwith. Are you clear on this?’
‘I understand your instruction, Mr Balfour,’ Mallon said evenly. ‘But it goes against my every instinct as a police officer and as a Christian who believes that man’s justice should seek to emulate that of the creator. A great wrong has been done here.’
Balfour put his hand wearyingly to his forehead.
‘Chief superintendent, I do not have the luxury of being able to think like a policeman, or to indulge in abstract morality propositions. If I did my life would be a lot simpler. And if I could, I would arrange the world—or this country at least—in the shape that the creator probably intended it to be. But I cannot do that either. So I repeat my instruction. Release Major Kelly or by midnight there will be a new chief superintendent in charge of G-Division.’
Tuesday January 8th, 1889
Chapter 44
‘Dan Flannery’s done what?’
If the G-man on orderly duty at the public office in Exchange Court had told him that Queen Victoria was having breakfast in the police canteen, Swallow could not have been more incredulous.
‘I’m telling you, Inspector. He walked in here not ten minutes ago asking for yourself, and telling me he wants to confess to the murder of his sister.’
‘You can’t be serious?’
‘I wouldn’t make jokes about something like that, sir.’
‘Where is he then?’
‘Johnny Vizzard took him up to your office, sir. He’s above there with him now. Martin Shanahan’s there too. Vizzard said to tell you the second you showed your face here.’
Swallow took the stairs two at a time and flung open the door to the crime inspector’s office.
Vizzard was standing beside his desk. Dan Flannery was sitting on a bentwood chair in front of the desk. Martin Shanahan was seated between Flannery and the door. Vizzard looked distraught. He leaped to his feet when Swallow entered the room.
‘Can I have a word, sir? Outside, that is.’ The young G-man was struggling to keep his voice steady.
They stepped into the corridor. Vizzard strode rapidly to the landing to ensure they were out of earshot.
‘Did I hear right from the duty man downstairs?’ Swallow asked.
Vizzard nodded vigorously.
‘Yes, sir. I think so, sir. I was just in the door myself. Flannery came into the public office just ahead of me. He had a copy of The Freeman’s Journal and he flung it down on the desk. “Let me see Inspector Swallow,” he says. God, but it was strange, sir. There was tears coming down his face, but he was laughing. A sort of bitter, mad laugh, sir.’
‘What did you do?’
‘We told him you weren’t in yet but that you’d be here in a while. So he opened the newspaper and showed us the report about Werner being in custody and going to be charged for the Alice Flannery murder. “The German didn’t do it,” he says. “I did it. I killed her, God forgive me. But I won’t see an innocent man hang for something he didn’t do.” That’s what he said, sir.’
He showed Swallow his notebook.
‘I wrote it down, sir. Exactly like he said.’
Swallow’s brain was spinning. It made no sense. Dan Flannery’s alibi had held up, or so it seemed. The witness he named had placed him at Huband Bridge, well away from Blackberry Lane at the time his sister had been attacked. In contrast, Werner had no alibi, he had a motive, and he had a record of violence.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Yes, writing it down is important. Well done.’
‘He says he’ll sign a statement,’ Vizzard said. ‘But he wants you to witness it.’
‘Is he fantasising?’ Swallow asked. ‘Does he seem rational? Coherent? It may all be in his imagination, a story he’s making up for some reason.’
‘I don’t know, sir. He seems a bit distracted all right, but he doesn’t sound like a man out of his mind.’
‘Right,’ Swallow nodded. ‘I’ll take it from here. Would you get one of the lads to slip down the yard and tell Chief Mallon what’s happened? But not a syllable to anyone else. And tell that fella down on the desk in the public office to keep his mouth shut too.’
Dan Flannery attempted a weak laugh when Swallow re-entered the crime inspector’s office with Johnny Vizzard.
‘Well, Mr Swallow, it turns out yer not so smart after all, are you?’
Swallow pulled up a chair and sat.
‘Will you tell me what all this is about, Dan?’
‘I killed her. I killed Alice, Mr Swallow. It’s as simple as that.’
‘You’d want to be very careful now, Dan.’ Swallow put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I need to tell you that anything more that you say will be taken down in writing here by Detective Vizzard, and it may be used in evidence. Do you understand that?’
‘Of course I do. I’m not a fool.’
Swallow nodded to Vizzard to take out his notebook.
‘Before you say anything else, I’d remind you that you already made a statement denying anything to do with Alice’s death and saying that you weren’t anywhere near home when she was killed. You gave us an alibi that you were at Huband Bridge and you told us that a man called Geoffrey Bradley, a former teacher of yours from Synge Street Christian Brothers School, met you there. And you told me to look to the priest as her killer.’
Flannery made a little laugh.
‘Ah, that’s true. I did. And I’d have been happy if you’d blamed him. He’s the cause o’ me sister’s death even if it was me own hand that ended her life.’
‘Would you explain that to me?’ Swallow asked.
‘I waited for her comin’ home up the laneway. I knew where she’d pass, and I waited in the gateway. I was goin’ to use a big stone. There’s lots of them on the roadway there. But I found that post, a big heavy wooden thing, and I just swung it at her. I hit her a few times.’
‘Why did you want to do that to your sister?’ Swallow asked, watching Vizzard’s pencil flying across the pages of his notebook.
‘I didn’t tell you the full truth about her and the priest. Well, a lot of what I said was true, about him botherin’ her and makin’ to get close to her and all that. But I didn’t want to say what was really goin’ on.’
He hesitated. Swallow saw that he was blushing deeply.
‘Tell me, Dan.’
‘Well, truth is that she was leadin’ him on. Oh, I could see it, and I said to her, “You shouldn’t be makin’ free with him. He’s a priest. He’s God’s anointed. If you put temptation in his way, it’s a terrible sin.”’
‘What did she say to that?’
‘She told me that it didn’t matter. She said that Protestant ministers get married, and that he said he’d turn Protestant and marry her. But I knew that was just her imagination. A priest can’t leave the priesthood.’
‘You’re not telling me you killed her because she had developed some sort of an idea about Father Cavendish?’
‘I am so.’
‘But why in God’s name?’ Swallow asked. ‘How could that justify doing what you did to her?’
Flannery frowned.
‘You’re a Catholic yourself, aren’t you?’
‘Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.’
‘Then you should understand the shame and the sin that would be involved. My poor mother would rather die, and my father would turn in his grave. The idea that their daughter would descend to the level of a prostitute, throwin’ herself at a priest!’
Swallow struggled for words. In his years as a crime detective he had encountered many strange motives. This was beyond his experience, or indeed his imagination.
‘If I said I didn’t believe you, Dan, it would be because I can’t conceive of anyone choosing to do violence to a young woman, much less your own sister, whatever you might think about her behaviour.’
‘Well, Mr Swallow, your standards and mine are probably very different. You don’t have any difficulty it seems workin’ for England against your own people, your own country and your own faith. So I don’t imagine you’d understand how someone like me could want to stand by their principles.’
Swallow shook his head.
‘I’m sorry, Dan. You’ve got a very warped sense of values if you think murder can be justified like that. You know it was more than likely that any foolish notions Alice had would probably have just faded away in time.’
‘I don’t think God would see what I did as murder.’
