Evil for Evil: A Billy Boyle World War II Mystery

by James R Benn

  "The old man has only half a mind, as he says," Uncle Dan said, turning to face Slaine. "What's your excuse?"

  "Hold on," I said, watching Cosgrove's face redden. "I think we're all after the same thing here, so let's not fight each other. OK?" I laid my hand on Uncle Dan's arm and held my breath. Dad always said I got my wiseacre mouth from his brother Dan, and he was right. Problem was, right now we needed some of Dad's calm diplomacy, and this branch of the Boyle clan was short on both.

  "Allow me to suggest that Mr. Boyle need not worry about the security services carting him off if there is no proof of actual espionage," Carrick said. "I would remind you that we would all be in very small pieces right now if not for his arrival, which was at great risk to himself."

  "Yes," Cosgrove said. "I suppose we do owe him that. Very well."

  "Mr. Boyle, your nephew has been working with Major Cosgrove and his section. As a ranking detective yourself, I am sure you understand they must be involved."

  "I can't fault you there. I can see why you're a district inspector, you've got a fair hand," Uncle Dan said. "OK, I'll lay it out for you, as best I can."

  "The bomb?" Carrick said, his pen poised.

  "Well, now, I have to start back a ways first. Without revealing unnecessary details of names and identities, I'll just say that I was asked by an organization in the States to pay a visit to Ireland--the Republic of Ireland--and investigate charges of embezzlement against one Jack Taggart."

  "Was it Clan na Gael?" Slaine said. "Such an assignment must've come from Joe McGarrity himself."

  "There's no need for names, young lady. And it was a request, not an assignment, from an organization that sends funds to Dublin to benefit hospitals and to care for the sick. I work for the Boston Police Department. I had plenty of vacation due me, so I decided it was time to see the world. I booked passage on a neutral steamer to Cork, all nice and legal."

  "Proceeds from illegal Irish Hospitals' Sweepstake tickets sold in the United States," Slaine offered. "Funds for IRA activities are often conveyed along with their proceeds."

  "That's a fine story, but certain details are not necessary," Uncle Dan said. "What's important is that this fine fraternal organization was concerned that Taggart was siphoning off funds."

  "We understand, Mr. Boyle. I am not concerned with the legality of sweepstakes tickets at the moment. Please continue," Carrick said, with a quick glance at Slaine. I could tell Carrick wanted her to shut up and let the story come out.

  "All right then. I get to Dublin and find that Taggart is no longer at the Sweepstake--I mean his place of employment--although they still carry him on their books. I ask questions in certain quarters that the young lady does not need to mention, and I find out that he's gone north, over the border. That presents me with a problem. The border's closed up tighter than a spinster's knees, and I have no idea where to look. So, I do two things. I search for his relatives, and I buy a motorcycle."

  "For slipping across the border," Cosgrove said.

  "And then saving your hide, yes. Taggart's parents are both dead but I find an aunt, his father's sister. I tell her I was with Jack in Spain, that we served together in the International Brigade, and I wanted to get in touch. It took a bit of charm and a damn lot of tea, but finally she said it couldn't do any harm to tell an old comrade that Jack was somewhere in County Down, about to do something grand for the cause."

  I leaned forward, about to ask a question, but stopped when I realized I didn't know what it was. Something in what he'd said triggered a question in my mind but it was so far down I couldn't even put it into words. Like Dad said, sometimes your subconscious does its job but it takes its own sweet time about it.

  "So I make my way north, crossing over fields and through farm lanes, until I'm in occupied Ireland. No offense intended," Uncle Dan said, grinning. "Then I proceed with good old-fashioned detective work, real gumshoe stuff. I ask certain unnamed contacts about Taggart but they all deny any knowledge of the man. It's as if he went underground from the underground, if you know what I mean. Finally, I get a message to meet a man."

  "In Annalong," I said.

  "Well, well, Billy! You may become a real detective yet! How did you find that out?"

  "These were in Mahoney's room, along with all his personal effects. He left everything behind the night he went off with Taggart to steal the BARs." I handed him the Boston Braves matchbook.

  "Whose room?"

  "You may have known him as John Davies. That was the name on the driver's license he carried."

  "Jesus, that'll teach me to empty my pockets next time I do this cloak-and-dagger stuff. I never even thought about it. We had a few pints and smoked. He must've picked them up."

  "So the man you met--Eddie Mahoney--called himself Davies?"

  "Yes. He told me Dublin had sent him north as well, on a similar mission, to keep tabs on Taggart."

  "By Dublin you mean the IRA?" Carrick asked.

  "It wasn't the organization that sent me. Remember, my group raised and sent the money. We had our own suspicions, and wanted to find out if Taggart was implicated before contacting Dublin."

  That sounded like Joe McGarrity. He'd tell his left hand a lie to keep it from meeting his right.

  "Why did Mahoney want to meet you?"

  "Word had gotten back that I was asking questions. His bosses in Dublin had checked me out and learned I was here at the request of my American group. Davies--or Mahoney, rather--wanted to exchange information but also to tell me to keep my hands off for a while. Something big was in the works."

  "What happened next?"

  "He was supposed to meet me again in four days but he never showed. I heard about the arms theft and guessed that was the big deal he'd talked about. I kept asking questions, until one day, who do I see driving by in a jeep but my own nephew. Knowing he works for Ike, I start following him. Wasn't much left for me to do at that point anyway. Taggart had gone to ground, and no one had heard a thing from him."

  "I heard from him. He killed a U.S. Army MP and almost got me too. With a BAR."

  "Yes, I know. Word travels. That's when I decided you needed a bodyguard as well as a tail. I kept as close as I could without tipping my hand."

  "Are we getting close to how you learned of the bomb?"

  "In a way, yes. I've said several times I won't mention names. One of those I won't mention said there was some sort of operation going on, and that Taggart had asked for plastic explosive. The IRA Northern Command provided it, as well as a bomb maker to wire it up. I didn't know where the explosion was going to happen. I feared for you, Billy, since he'd tried to kill you once already. But when I saw you heading into Stormont, not looking like a prisoner, I thought you'd be safe for a while. Then the grapevine started chattering."

  "About Jenkins?" I asked.

  "Yes. Taggart had taken him, I learned, in Lisburn, part of the same operation. Guaranteed to take out RUC and MI-5 personnel, my contact said. It was the combination that had me worried. I knew you'd be working the case with them, so I used my charms on the fellow who'd told me, and got the whole story."

  "Brass-knuckle charm?" Carrick asked.

  "It gave him the gift of the gab," Uncle Dan said. "I wasn't far away, so I hightailed it straight to Jenkins's warehouse, dodged a few poorly aimed shots, and saved the RUC from a manpower shortage."

  "I have to ask," said Carrick, laying down his pen, "for the names of all concerned."

  "Yes, you do," said Uncle Dan. They stared at each other for five seconds that felt like five hours, and then Carrick nodded slightly.

  "Very well. I owe you my personal thanks as well as those of the Royal Ulster Constabulary."

  "Glad to assist another police force, even in Ulster," Uncle Dan said. "One other thing. I found out that Taggart didn't exactly give the weapons to the IRA. He sold them."

  "How much?" I said.

  "One thousand dollars each, and another ten grand for the ammo. They paid too. Sixty t
housand smackers."

  "Good lord," said Carrick. "A fortune."

  "Yeah, it is," Uncle Dan agreed. "It shows how important this operation is. No wonder he set up the bomb in the truck."

  "Why now?" Slaine asked.

  "What?" We all spoke at the same time.

  "Why now?" she repeated. "Why go through all this trouble today, now? Why not four days ago or three days from now?"

  "Obviously, because Taggart felt us closing in," Cosgrove said.

  "But we weren't," she said. "We had no idea where he was. So why lure us in at this moment?"

  Uncle Dan whistled. "I wish a woman of your brains and beauty was serving a better cause than English dominion over Ireland," he said. "You have a sharp mind. While I sit here playing the hero and accepting thanks for my great deeds, it escaped me completely. He wanted to eliminate everyone connected to the investigation of the BARs. In case you were getting close. Which means that something is about to happen, something he didn't want to take any chances with."

  Slaine, Cosgrove, and I exchanged glances. Carrick furrowed his brow and watched us. "Something is happening, isn't it?"

  "Ah, I think it's time for Mr. Boyle to be removed from the conversation," Cosgrove said.

  "It appears Mr. Boyle has been more straightforward than you have, Major Cosgrove. As a guest of the RUC, he will remain with me for the time being, so there is no need to worry about security. A guest, not a prisoner," Carrick added, for Uncle Dan's enlightenment.

  Cosgrove said, "We have information concerning two teams of German agents, possibly commandos, landing separately in the north within the past few days. One more two-man team is due to parachute in tonight, somewhere along the border. It seems the timing is right for a joint IRA/Abwehr operation. Eliminating us would have helped them by creating chaos." Cosgrove sank back into his chair, all the bluff and bluster blown out of him as he considered the possibilities.

  "What's the target?" Uncle Dan asked.

  "We don't know," I said. "What matters is that if the IRA and the Germans launch a major joint attack in Northern Ireland, it could affect the course of the war."

  "Would it pull the Republic in?" Uncle Dan said.

  "Either willingly or not. You know there'd be pressure to come to the aid of the IRA in the north. The British might retaliate. Our troops would certainly be involved; they're everywhere. Chaos pretty well describes it."

  "Mr. Boyle, your political sympathies are quite clear," Carrick said. "Even so, you seem to be an honorable man. I ask you now, if you have any inclination to support those extremists who are laboring to bring this about, to tell us."

  "And if I did?"

  "I already have arranged with the U.S. Army Air Force to have you brought to the Greencastle Aerodrome and flown back to America on the first available flight. As a courtesy, of course," he added with a smile.

  "Since you've spoke true with me, I'll do the same. Yes, I wish Ireland united as one free nation. If I saw this plan as a way to accomplish that, I'd be off in the mountains with a weapon in my hand right now. But this is madness. I saw enough carnage to last me a lifetime in the First World War, and we're due for much more in this one. No need to add to it. The people of Ireland don't deserve to be used as pawns. And I mean all of them, north and south."

  The room was silent. Cosgrove grunted as he nodded, giving his grudging consent. I waited. Carrick signaled to a constable sitting outside near the window, who opened the door.

  "Yes, sir?"

  "Hayes, please return Mr. Boyle's weapon to him. He is on loan to us from the Boston police."

  "The lot, sir?"

  "Yes. We may have need of all his charms."

  CHAPTER * TWENTY NINE

  COSGROVE HAD LEFT for Stormont to coordinate the tracking of the Luftwaffe flight. Radar stations in Cornwall, Wales, and the Isle of Man as well as on ships in the Irish Sea were being alerted to report on the course of the Focke-Wulf Condor. Carrick was at his desk making phone calls, organizing roadblocks at all major intersections. A pot of tea and a tray of sandwiches had been brought in, which Slaine, Uncle Dan, and I dug into. I waited to be sure Carrick was deeply involved in his phone call before I edged closer to Uncle Dan and spoke in a low voice.

  "Was it you who warned me about Constable Simms?"

  "The note in the jeep? Yes. Did you know he'd been following you? And the day you stopped at his house in Clough, he was at home. I'd followed him there myself. Now why would he have his wife say he wasn't at home?"

  "How do you know he followed me? Were you behind me every second?"

  "Don't get hot under the collar, Billy. I figured I'd keep an eye on you and let you lead me to Taggart. Meanwhile, I noticed Simms shadowing you."

  "He must have seen me in Armagh then."

  "What's this about?" Slaine asked, glancing at Carrick.

  "Not sure yet," I said. "I think Simms was involved with the killing of Pete Brennan, the GI whose body turned up in the trunk of that Austin the day I met you on the road. But I need to be certain before I say anything to the district inspector. Hey, you never told me how you came to be there so early in the morning, did you?"

  "No, I didn't," she said.

  "Was it Jenkins or Taggart who informed you?"

  "Jenkins didn't. How could Taggart have?"

  "Right," I said, watching her eyes. They blinked twice.

  "Roadblocks will be in place within thirty minutes," Carrick said as he poured himself some tea. "Any suggestions for our next move?"

  "Nothing," I said. "Is there, Subaltern O'Brien?"

  "No, sorry. I was famished, I'm afraid I lost focus for a moment. Mr. Boyle, is there anything else you saw or heard that might be of use?"

  "Did you know Taggart moved his family up here under an assumed name?"

  "No, we didn't," Slaine said. "Do you know where they are?"

  "Dead," Uncle Dan said. "Killed in the German bombings in 1941, right after he brought them up here. His wife, Breeda, and their twins, Polly and Adrian. Sweet-looking children too. Named after his mother and half brother."

  "How do you know their given names?" Carrick asked. I could barely pay attention. A little voice in my head was trying to tell me something.

  "Taggart's aunt told me. Showed me pictures of the three of them. The poor thing obviously hadn't heard yet. It'll break her heart."

  "Were there pictures of any other relatives? The half brother?"

  "Yeah. As a young fellow."

  "Is this him?" I asked, pulling a picture from my pocket, the one from the newspaper, showing Sam Burnham and Constable Simms directing traffic in Clough during maneuvers. Uncle Dan squinted, holding the paper at arm's length. Then he closed his eyes to draw out the memory, like I'd seen him do in years past. Cleared out the cobwebs, he said.

  "Yes, that's him," he said, his finger tapping on the picture of Adrian Simms.

  "What do you mean?" Carrick asked.

  "What I mean is that this Simms fellow is the half brother of Red Jack Taggart, at least according to Taggart's aunt."

  "Impossible!" Carrick said.

  "Why?"

  "It just isn't . . . possible."

  "This morning I reviewed Taggart's and Simms's files at Stormont," I said. "I think it is."

  "Why does MI-5 have a file on Simms? Did you suspect him of anything? Why wasn't I told?" Carrick was fuming, directing his anger at Slaine. Uncle Dan looked amused.

  "We have files on many people, just for reference. He wasn't suspected of anything, and his file was little more than biographical," she said.

  "That's right," I said. "I didn't think the family details were important but Taggart's mother, Polly, was Protestant. She married a Catholic and raised their son in the father's faith. That was Jack. He left home in 1916 to join the Volunteers. His father died from the Spanish flu, and Polly later remarried, this time to a Protestant named Simms."

  "That must be why Simms was not admitted to the Royal Knights," Carrick said, half to hims
elf.

  "Who the hell are they?" Uncle Dan asked.

  "Long story," I said. "Right after young Adrian was born, Polly and her second husband were caught in a cross fire between the RIC and the IRA. Both were killed, and Adrian ended up being brought up by his aunt. I'd guess that she knew Polly and her husband would have wanted him brought up Protestant, so she obliged."

  "What would Red Jack have thought about that?" Uncle Dan asked.

  "We know he's an atheist--that's part of his Marxist beliefs," Slaine said. "It's not about religion with him; he'd abolish all churches if he could."

  I stared at the picture of Sam with Adrian Simms. What had Sam said to me just before Taggart opened fire? That Adrian had told him about the funeral, and to dress in his Class A uniform. I remembered Adrian leaving the room, just before the shots.

  "Taggart and Simms are working together," I said.

  "I can't accept that Simms would work with the IRA simply because he shares a parent with Taggart," Carrick said.

  "He isn't. They're both working for themselves."

  "Explain yourself," Carrick said as his back went rigid and his eyes narrowed in righteous disbelief.

  "I think Adrian Simms brought Sam Burnham to the wake to be killed. It always seemed to me that Taggart targeted Sam deliberately, then shot up the house without hitting anyone else."

  "Why, in God's name? Why would Simms do such a thing?" Carrick said.

  "Because he was crooked. He worked with Jenkins and was involved in the black market and any other rackets he had going on. He had a lot of secrets."

  "Even if that were true," Carrick said, the disbelief fading from his voice as his policeman's mind started turning over the details, "why would Simms have a hand in killing Lieutenant Burnham?"

  "Sam Burnham spent a day wandering around Armagh and was identified by a grocer near the Northern Bank. That's Jenkins's bank but it's also where Simms has his accounts. I had a conversation with a fellow there--the janitor, a Catholic--who told me that recently the bank manager gave him and a new teller the afternoon off. I described Taggart, and he said a man like that had been to see McBurney but his name was Lawson. He wasn't sure if it was Taggart. He was afraid to say more. When I described him to McBurney, he wasn't eager to answer questions. Said the Black Knights were everywhere."