Dublin Odyssey

by Michael P. Cooney

  Kevin now pulls out an inch thick of paperwork from the brown folder he brought with him. “As well he should have.”

  “I did give him a run for his money though. And he was a young cop at the time.”

  Kevin just smiles at Mickey’s evaluation.

  “Eat, Mickey. I’ll talk ya through what I have.”

  Not having eaten in two days, Mickey doesn’t object to Kevin’s offer.

  “One of our fourteen sections, the National Immigration Bureau, had the first contact with Collins. It’ll be easier if I just keep calling him Michael Collins. Ya mind?”

  “No, not at all. We’re in your ballpark now. Now what’s a section?”

  “From what I understand, a section is like your Bureaus. In fact, some of our sections are even called Bureaus. Like the Special Detective Bureau, where I work.”

  “Gotcha! Sorry!”

  “Quite all right. So, back in early ‘94, Collins applied for a full-time work permit as a teacher. That’s a two-year permit that can be renewed for an additional three at expiration. He’s about due for renewal. So he’ll have to reapply soon or move on. He stated in his original application that he intended to teach in our third-level educational system. That would include all our university-level institutions. In his very impressive documentation he wrote that he was applying to all seven of Ireland’s universities.”

  Mickey stops eating momentarily and comments. “I didn’t realize Ireland had seven universities. Guess that’s because Trinity sucks all the air out of the room. They get all the press and tourist action.”

  “You’re probably correct on that, Mickey. In addition to Trinity we have universities in Galway, Cork, Maynooth, Limerick, plus two others in County Dublin, the University of Dublin and Dublin City University. Guess we’re making up for all those years the Brits prevented us from schooling at any level.”

  Mickey takes another sip of his Irish tea and shakes his head in agreement.

  Kevin continues, “Here in Ireland, either the employee or the employer can apply for a full-time work permit. There are also some monetary qualifications to work full time. I believe it’s over 30,000 Irish pounds. But anyway, both Collins and Trinity applied for the permit.”

  “What’s that mean, Kevin? Isn’t that odd?”

  “Not really. Just means Trinity wanted Collins a little more than the other universities. Basically, as you would say, Collins was ‘under contract’ to Trinity. They had already offered Collins a full-time position.

  “There’s an enormous amount of paperwork in Collins’ file. There are several applications submitted to the departments of Education and Skills, Enterprise, Trade and Employment. Another to the Office of Employment and the NQAI, that’s the National Qualifications Authority of Ireland. According to what I see here, the guy is definitely qualified to work in any of our third-level education systems.”

  “I believe it. If Collins is who I think he is, the guy’s a genius.”

  “Listen to these résumé stuffers. He submitted a transcript from Harvard University showing that he holds dual degrees in Political Science and Governmental Planning. He graduated with a 4.0 GPA. He submitted a graduate-studies transcript from the University of Pennsylvania showing a master’s degree in European and American History. There’s another transcript, a PhD from Princeton awarded to Collins in Greek Literature.”

  “Greek Lit, interesting. But there’s no way my guy has degrees from Harvard or Princeton. My guy was a full-time Philly PD cop for twenty years. Although, he did have multiple degrees, but from universities closer to home. Makes me wonder if I’m barking up the wrong tree. What else ya have, Kevin?”

  “Letters of reference. One from our embassy in Washington, DC. It’s signed by His Excellency John Kimery and another from the Vice Consulate at the House of Ireland, on Park Avenue in New York City.”

  “Now I’m really wondering if I got this whole thing wrong.”

  “This is pretty substantial stuff, Mickey. I also see Collins was granted permission from the Electoral Register to vote. However, he’s an ‘L’ voter. That means he can only vote in local elections.”

  “Local?”

  “Ya know, the area where he resides. Local office holder stuff.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere. He’s digging in. Where does the heavily résuméd and concerned local voter Michael Collins reside?”

  “Let’s see. Oh, here it is. He’s in postal district 15. It says here he lives at number 27 Clancy Road, Castleknock, Ireland. No phone listing noted.”

  “Interesting.”

  As Mickey pulls out his pocket notebook, he asks Kevin if he remembers Patrick Drum’s street number.

  “As many times as I’ve had Patrick in, I know it by heart. It’s 27 Road Clancy, Castleknock, Ireland.”

  “Clever! That’s what I have, too. I’ll venture to say that 27 Clancy Road and 27 Road Clancy are one and the same. I’d say somebody either tweaked the name just enough to avoid inquisitive eyes or it’s a typo.”

  “Holy shit! Looks like some Garda Bureaus should’ve compared notes a little more closely.”

  “Till now, there really wasn’t any reason to. This kind of thing happens all the time in my department too. That’s why my motto is investigate, then verify. Now, can you elaborate on what your son told you about Collins’ comments in his class at Trinity?”

  “Sure.”

  Margaret appears again to take away their dinner plates.

  “Looks like you two gentlemen must’ve been famished. Ya made short work of that. Now, is there anything else I can be getting for ya? More tea? Dessert?”

  Both men order hot tea.

  “Sure thing. I’ll bring a fresh pot and clean settings. Back in a jiffy.”

  Before Kevin gets very far along on his son’s impressions of Michael Collins, Margaret reappears with a white porcelain pot of tea, new place settings and a plate full of miniature tea biscuits. Then Kevin picks up where he left off.

  “So one night around the dinner table my son told the family about his American History professor, Michael Collins. The name itself got my attention. You familiar with our Michael Collins are ya, Mick?”

  “I am. Very familiar. Born in County Cork. Irish revolutionary leader. Director of Intelligence for the IRA. President of the Irish Brotherhood. Killed in 1922 during the Irish Civil War.”

  “Good for you. Remind me not to quiz ya on Irish history again, Mick. Anyway according to my son, Collins preaches a more radical slant of history. Brian calls it ‘T W A T C.’”

  “TWATC?”

  “The world according to Collins. Brian said during almost every class Collins goes off and rants about how America is rapidly moving toward a Socialist country. And that if something isn’t done soon, it will lose its status in the world. My son said that some of the exchange students from the US have tried to get Collins to define just what he means by something must be done. And who is going to do the something he’s talking about.

  “Brian said that Collins usually brushes the kids’ questions off by saying, ‘I’m talking figuratively, guys.’ Or, ‘I’m just trying to get you to think out of the box.’ A couple days later my son told me that Collins had a small American flag hanging upside down in his office. Brian said he saw it when he went to Collins’ office to discuss his semester’s final project. He also told me that when he was leaving Collins’ office he overheard Collins on the phone using the name ‘Renegade.’ Said it four or five times during that conversation. He thought it might be some kind of code name.”

  “Code name? Renegade has a couple of meanings. Like traitor or turncoat, maybe?”

  “I think my Brian reads too many spy novels, Mick. My son is into whodunits. He must have a hundred of them. He even has one co-authored by a homicide detective from your neck of the woods. Seamus something or other.”

  Mickey smiles. “Seamus McCarthy. My old partner. I’ll have to tell him he’s all the rave in Ireland. He’ll love it.”

/>   “Small world, ain’t it?”

  “It is! Kevin, did you run any of your son’s concerns about Collins by your boss?”

  “I did. My Chief didn’t see Collins’ so-called ‘rants’ as anything more than just that, rants. Nothing to get excited about.”

  “Is that how you feel too, Kevin? No big deal?”

  “Not exactly. I went out on a limb and had one of my young guys sit in on a few of Collins’ American History classes.”

  “Anything come of that?”

  “Collins actually challenged my detective after the second class.”

  “Challenged him? How?”

  “He wanted to know who he was and why he wasn’t on his class roster.”

  “Did your man have a good cover answer ready?”

  “Said he was an exchange student from Belfast. Said he wasn’t scheduled to start until next semester and that he was checking out classes he might want to take.”

  “Collins made him.”

  “Made him?”

  “He was burnt. He didn’t answer the questions Collins asked him. Instead, he gave the ‘if I get confronted’ rehearsed answers.”

  “Gotcha! I agree. That’s why I pulled him off the assignment.”

  “I don’t know, Kevin. Seems that what we got so far is a well-educated man, with friends in high places, who happens to live close to or on the property of a person of interest with possible ties to the IRA, who claims he likes to get his students to think out of the box, and he’s paranoid when it comes to who sits in his class. I don’t suppose your detective took any photos of Collins.”

  “No way. We really don’t do too much of that sort of thing. I’d need a lot more going on than classroom rants and overheard phone calls to go all out.”

  “How about this? Does Collins have a driver’s license or an ID from Trinity? Does your Immigration Bureau keep copies of passport photos? How about all those other departments Collins submitted paperwork to for his work permit? They don’t require photo IDs?”

  “No! We’re a trusting country. What can I tell ya?”

  “Well, we POTUS aren’t so trusting.”

  “POTUS?”

  Mickey smiles. “People of the United States.”

  Kevin roars with laughter. “Americans. God love ya.”

  Mickey responds with, “He does. I’m certain of it.”

  “So what’s next on your quest to find who the hell this Collins fella is? Or who he’s not, Mick?”

  “Not exactly sure at this point, Kevin. But, according to my boss, I only have two days to figure it out and wrap it all up in a nice neat package. A package that makes him look good.”

  “Something tells me you’re not one to be too concerned with how good your boss looks, or what any other boss really thinks or wants, Mickey Devlin.”

  Mickey shrugs, “It’s another one of those Irish traits, Kevin O’Clooney.”

  “I can most definitely relate to that. I should be a Chief Superintendent by now. Mickey, do you know what Deineann ceann ciallmhar báal iadhta means?”

  “Sorry, Kevin. Gaelic wasn’t offered at my high school. I took Spanish. But I think it probably has something to do with having a big mouth.”

  “Nice guess. It means, ‘A wise head makes a closed mouth.’ If only I could have remembered it at all those times when I should have bit my tongue. Who knows, right?”

  “Sounds like one of those old Irish proverbs we both probably should have committed to memory. But where’s the fun in that, right?”

  Kevin is amused with Mickey’s definitive assessment. “So, Mickey Devlin, can I buy you a drink?”

  “Can I get a rain check? I was hoping to get a better lay of the land around Trinity College.”

  “It’s night time, Mick.”

  “Yes, but it’s still light out there. ‘Sides, I’m used to workin’ at night. It’s what I do.”

  “I’m not surprised. Can I give you a lift?”

  “No thanks. I like walking. Besides, Trinity is on the way back to where I’m staying on Saint Stephen’s Green.”

  Mickey tugs on the green cord to have Margaret return with the check for dinner. She arrives within seconds. “Yes, gentlemen. Can I get something else for you?”

  “We just need the bill, Margaret.”

  “Can’t help ya there. Michael said your money ain’t no good here. You have a grand evening now.”

  With that, Margaret disappears as fast as she arrived. Mickey looks at Kevin and shrugs. “I’ll leave the tip.”

  “Won’t hear of it. You’re a guest in my country. You can take care of it when I come to visit you in the City of Brotherly Love.”

  “It’s a deal. Looking forward to it.”

  “So what time ya gonna stop by my headquarters to get those photos printed out?”

  “How’s ten o’clock? But I’ll need directions.”

  “Ten sounds grand! You’ll be driving, right?”

  “Yes.”

  O’Clooney takes out a pen and notepad from his folder. As he draws Mickey a map of where his headquarters is located, he asks, “You ever been to the Dublin Zoo, Mick?”

  “Once. Back in ‘90.”

  “Lots of changes since then. Here’s a map, Mick. Garda Headquarters is in Phoenix Park on North Road. It’s right beside the zoo. Can’t miss it. I’ll leave word with the Garda on the gate. He’ll ring me up and I’ll send someone to get you.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Kevin.”

  “You’re quite welcome. I’ll see ya at ten. And don’t get lost out there in the Dublin night.”

  “I’ll try my best.”

  The two men have their good-byes. Mickey finds his host and thanks him for dinner.

  “Don’t think of it, brudder. Ya heading back now?”

  “Soon. Just gonna take a little walk first.”

  “Okay, Mick. See ya when I see ya.”

  “Sounds good. Thanks again.”

  By now the crowd in O’Leary’s Pub has doubled and the noise level right along with it. Mickey excuses his way through the jovial smoke-filled room to the front door and out into the warm Dublin air.

  CHAPTER 20

  “A man never fails among his own people.”

  Irish Proverb

  Mickey leaves O’Leary’s Pub, strolls east to Westmoreland and follows that to the intersection of College Green at College Street and the main entrance to Trinity.

  Mickey walks through the iron gates and the massive castle-like wood doors of the main entrance of the college grounds. He strolls to the center of Parliament Square, and does a full three hundred and sixty, taking in the entire area. He sees the ninety-eight-foot bell tower built by the architect of Queen’s University in Belfast. He also sees the sign pointing to the “Old Library” where the Book of Kells and the Book of Armagh are on display and thinks about his grandmother who was born in Armagh.

  Trinity College was founded in 1592 by Queen Elizabeth I. It’s on the site of an Augustinian monastery. Students from around the world study at Trinity. Some of the most famous scholars of the college include playwrights Oliver Goldsmith and Samuel Beckett and political writer Edmund Burke. As Mickey walks the grounds of this magnificent college he can’t help but ponder what it might be like to study there. He also can’t help but think how no Catholic students were permitted to attend until the 1970s.

  Thank God, things have changed.

  If indeed “The Greek” is using Trinity as his new base of operations, Mickey needs to quickly re-familiarize himself with the area. He has visited Trinity on both of his previous trips to Ireland. However, the grounds and adjoining buildings have taken on a different meaning: thoughts are on safe harbors and escape routes rather than exhibits and gift shops.

  Mickey continues his intel-gathering walk-through, following the signage to the 1712 Old Library where the Book of Kells, and many other treasures are on year-round display. The Book of Kells is four gospels in Latin said to have been written around 880 AD. Although visiting h
ours ended at five o’clock, the Old Library is strategically located facing the large Fellows Square, the Berkely Library, and the Douglas Hyde Gallery with its little-known tunneled egress to Nassau Street and busy center city Dublin. An area normally teeming with students and tourists, morning, noon and night.

  Mickey finishes his look-over by walking the edges of the massive College Park athletic field on the east and the Navel Square to the north. Along the way Mickey takes several pictures for further perusal back at his Saint Stephen’s Green suite. He also makes note of where all the exterior overt security cameras are located. He counted twenty-seven. Most mounted high on building soffits and some on shorter thirty-foot aluminum poles.

  With the grounds scheduled to close at nine o’clock Mickey walks back to the main gate, around the ten-foot wrought-iron and river-stone fence line toward Grafton Street. It begins at Nassau Street with its bronze statue of Molly Malone, the celebrated “…cockles and mussels” street trader immortalized in an Irish folk song. Grafton is a busy pedestrianized strip lined with restaurants, coffee shops, Dublin’s most elegant department stores, and talented street theater artists and musicians.

  On many of the side streets crisscrossing Grafton are numerous pubs and attractions tempting the millions of visitors each night from around the world to the Republic of Ireland’s largest city.

  At the end of Grafton Street, is the arched main entrance to Saint Stephen’s Green. The Square, a twenty-two-acre park once privately owned, became a public garden in 1880. It’s dotted with memorials to eminent Dubliners including busts of James Joyce and W. B. Yeats. Whenever the sun decides to make an appearance, Saint Stephen’s Green becomes full of children playing and adults volleying for space on the neatly manicured lawn or along the considerable man-made and lavish fountain displays.

  On the way Mickey stops by Bewley’s Café for a strong cup of Irish tea and takes in the atmosphere along Grafton Street from a front window seat. With the stores all closing at eight o’clock, most of the heavy foot traffic has dwindled. But there’s still plenty of “night people” walking around, each making their own fashion statement to keep Mickey amused. Around 9:45, he heads back to number 93 Saint Stephen’s Green South. He walks through the tunneled driveway between Michael’s house and his neighbor’s to the rear of the property. He takes the small but welcoming lift to his top-floor suite.