only for an instant, before he was pushed into an armchair. Detective Garda Seán Óg Moran looked down at him. The grin was instantly replaced by a look of vacancy, as if the guard had just shifted into neutral, and was simply marking time. Stefan turned his head. It hurt. And it would hurt more. He already knew who he’d find looking at him next. There was a smile on Detective Sergeant Jimmy Lynch’s pinched lips too. Or maybe he’d just bitten into a lemon.
‘You should have said, Jimmy. I’d have had the kettle on.’
‘I wanted it to be a surprise.’
‘I’ll have to see if I can a find a surprise for you some time.’
‘They say you’re quite the clever lad, Stevie.’
‘I’ve been cleverer.’ He raised his hand to touch the back of his head.
‘I told Inspector Donald Duck to keep his fucking nose out of Special Branch business, and yours. Did the holy bastard not pass that on to you?’
‘He did say something. Maybe I wasn’t paying attention.’
‘I can say it louder.’
Lynch looked round. Moran stepped forward.
‘If you told me what Special Branch business it was –’
Seán Óg’s fist hit his face full on. It may have been luck that it wasn’t harder, or maybe the detective garda knew how to judge these things. If it had been harder, it would have broken Stefan’s nose. As it was he could feel the warm trickle of blood; seconds later he tasted the salt on his lips.
‘That’s a lot clearer. It’ll be a matter of national security then.’
‘No, it’ll be a matter of how far Seánie can push your nose into your face if you don’t do what your inspector said. I can’t stand insubordination. That’s right, isn’t it, Seánie?’ Lynch smiled. Moran’s yellow teeth showed again; his shoulders moved up and down several times; a snort of laughter.
‘I’m missing something, that’s the thing, Stevie.’
For the first time, Stefan didn’t reply. For the first time, Jimmy Lynch was giving him information about what he was doing here.
‘I want everything you took from Keller’s,’ he continued.
‘You’ve got it.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Inspector Donaldson gave it to you. Dessie said you took the lot.’
The pinched lips became a little more pinched and Lynch’s smile screwed itself into something less assured. The expression wasn’t very different, except that the lemon he’d bitten into now was even sourer than the first. But it told Stefan more. Lynch had come here believing something had been taken from Hugo Keller’s clinic, something that wasn’t with the other evidence. That’s what the two of them had been looking for in his room. Whatever it was, the Special Branch sergeant wasn’t sure Stefan had it after all now. It wasn’t difficult to be convincing; he had no idea what Lynch was talking about. The Special Branch man was becoming uneasy; to go any further he would have to reveal what he was looking for. But he had spoken to Keller. He knew what Stefan Gillespie had said in the Shelbourne.
‘Why did you ask Keller if he’d found what he was looking for?’
‘Because you pissed me off. You’d get a lot of that, I expect.’
‘You piece of shite.’ Garda Moran moved forward again. But a look from his sergeant stopped the blow that was about to follow. Lynch was dimly aware that his interrogation was giving more than it was getting back. And he was right. Stefan knew Keller must have phoned Jimmy Lynch from the hotel. That’s why he was turning the place inside out. He also knew he needed to persuade Jimmy he was wasting his time before things got worse.
‘Some arsehole walks off with my prisoners and a case that might not have done me any harm at Garda HQ. I get a bollocking from my inspector for doing my job. I wanted to find out whether anything else was coming my way. Why would I take any notice of Donald Duck? So I went back to Merrion Square. I wanted to know what was going on. Wouldn’t you?’
Here was something Lynch understood; begrudgery and self-interest.
‘I thought you’d be at the Shelbourne with Keller, that’s all, Jimmy.’
The Special Branch sergeant got up from the chair. It was a movement that told Garda Moran the interrogation was over. He could relax. Seán Óg was not a man who took pleasure in inflicting physical violence on people; it was just his job. And now, for the moment anyway, the job was finished.
‘Will we go back and try the woman again, Jimmy?’
The detective sergeant frowned, his mind elsewhere. Stefan Gillespie was no longer relevant. He nodded at Moran, then turned to go to the door.
‘No chance of you lads helping me clear the place up so?’
‘You’ve got the message now, Stevie?’ Lynch glanced back.
‘Oh, yes, loud and clear, Jimmy.’
And with that he was gone. Moran followed. Stefan pulled himself up out of the armchair, gasping at a sudden surge of pain. Seán Óg was still in the doorway. He smiled awkwardly, almost childishly. This time the stained teeth were hidden. The smile was entirely genuine now. He had done his job, that’s all. And naturally, there were no hard feelings, why would there be?
‘Thank you, Sarge.’
Stefan felt he had no option but to return the smile. No, no hard feelings. The Special Branch detective closed the door. As the footsteps sounded down the stairs the door swung open again. The lock was on the floor. Also on the floor was a half-bottle of whiskey. Stefan bent down – grimacing – and picked it up. He unscrewed the cap and drank what was left.
5. Clanbrassil Street
The next morning Stefan Gillespie walked along Nassau Street, still aching from the attentions of Seán Óg Moran, to the telephone kiosks in Grafton Street. The city centre was quiet; it was Sunday and still early. He got through to the number in Rathgar that Hannah Rosen had given him. A man answered. It was an elderly voice, cautiously polite; it would be her father. When he gave his name as Detective Sergeant Gillespie, he could feel the coldness at the other end. It was the palpable wish that whatever was going on simply wasn’t going on. Stefan doubted that Hannah would have told her father very much of the previous day’s events; it felt like even the little she had said had been too much. When Hannah came to the phone, he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t pleased to hear her voice. There was a slight awkwardness as the conversation began. He asked her how she was. It wasn’t an unreasonable question after everything that had happened. Her answer sounded a lot more brusque than he either expected or wanted.
‘I’m fine. Have you found anything out?’
‘Not about Susan.’
‘When are you going to talk to Hugo Keller?’
‘I’m working on it.’
‘What does that mean?’ There was a hint of exasperation already. She wanted results and it felt like he was fobbing her off. He was. He didn’t have any information about her friend, and after the Shelbourne Hotel and the visit from Jimmy Lynch last night, his head was full of things he couldn’t even tell her, let alone explain. He couldn’t explain them to himself yet.
‘I wanted to see the letters, that’s all. Susan’s letters to you. I wondered if you could bring them in to me? I haven’t got that long today –’
When he had decided to phone her, he had only half worked out why. He did need to see the letters of course, and the train journey to Baltinglass, travelling home to see his son for the day, would be a quiet opportunity to read them. It wasn’t just an excuse to meet her, but it was partly that too.
‘I