John Mallon always turned himself out impeccably for Sunday Mass. He wore a top hat and a perfectly tailored coat in fine charcoal grey. His invariable accoutrements were a silver-topped ebony cane, silk gloves and a leather-bound missal. Elizabeth Mallon, also clasping a fat missal, invariably wore a fashionably demure ensemble. Their procession to their seats in the forward pew in the Church of St Nicholas of Myra on Francis Street had become a sort of weekly pageant for the parishioners. That the chief of Dublin’s detectives, the head of G-Division, the powerful master of Exchange Court would come to worship among them was at once a source of wonder and some pride.
Swallow crossed the Lower Yard to Mallon’s house at twelve noon. By now he knew his boss and his wife would have returned from divine worship. The aroma of roasting beef told him that the Mallon family’s Sunday routine was in hand. Mallon answered the door and led him into the parlour.
‘What news, Swallow? Some progress I hope.’
‘We’re bringing in the dead girl’s brother, sir. There’s a hole in his alibi. The lads are gone out to get him now.’
‘Her brother? Is there a big hole in the story?’
‘Big enough to enable him to be at Blackberry Lane when the girl was attacked.’
‘Tell me about him.’
‘Dan Flannery. He’s twenty. Two years older than her. Works as a cellar man and trainee barman in Coyle’s of Rathmines. Very religious and pious. It seems to run in the family.’
‘A religious exterior can hide a lot about a man. Anything else?’
‘Not much. We interviewed the monsignor at the church in Rathmines where she worked part-time as a cleaner. And we interviewed her boss at the New Vienna restaurant on South Great George’s Street. The place is run by a German fellow, name of Werner. I interviewed him with Mossop. A very smooth character. All charm, but giving very little actual co-operation. There’s no immediate suspect. No motivation. She seems to have been a hard-working girl. No romantic associations. No enemies. No motive so far.’
Mallon nodded.
‘I know the New Vienna. An expensive place to dine. Much favoured by some of our frock-coated colleagues from the Upper Yard and their friends from the banks along College Green and Dame Street. There’s got to be a motive. It’s unlikely that it was just a random attack.’
‘I agree,’ Swallow nodded. ‘We might get somewhere with the brother. He said he worked in Coyle’s until midnight, but the word there is that he was away by half past eleven. He could have been down at Blackberry Lane as she came home.’
Mallon raised an eyebrow.
‘Some domestic issue between brother and sister? Some falling out?’
‘The monsignor speaks highly of him. He says he might have gone for the religious life if the family didn’t need his wages. Beyond that I don’t know, chief. We’ll have him in shortly and I’ll be better able to get the measure of him.’
Mallon stood from his chair.
‘Like I said, in my experience piety and intelligence aren’t incompatible with the criminal mind. Indeed, they can sometimes be complementary to it.’
He glanced at his pocket watch.
‘My domestic obligations press on me. Time for Sunday dinner with Mrs Mallon. But just so you should know, I’ve been summoned to the office of the assistant under-secretary for security in the morning. They want to know why I haven’t provided the protection logs on Mr Parnell.’
Swallow nodded.
‘That’s not giving you much time, chief.’ He spread his hands in a gesture of mock-sincerity. ‘But it’s a bit unfortunate, I’d say. You’ve asked me to locate them, and of course we’ve searched; they’re just not to hand. I suppose they’ll be found in due course. But right now they’re not easily located. I’m sure Mr Smith Berry will understand.’
‘I want you with me at that meeting, Swallow. I think it could be a difficult encounter. And I’ll need corroboration that we’re doing all we can to find these damned logs. Be at my office at half past nine.’
In the afternoon, still trying to absorb the impact of what Maria had told him, Swallow walked down from the Castle to the Franciscan monastery by the river on Merchants’ Quay. The water was high, pushed up against the quay walls by a rising tide from the bay. A flotilla of swans made its stately way along the icy surface downriver towards Queen Street Bridge.
Father Lawrence ushered his visitor to the small private parlour overlooking the quay. In contrast with the public areas of the church and monastery it was comfortably warm and furnished, with a fire glowing in the grate. Upon hearing Swallow’s news, the old friar’s eyes lit up with delight.
‘Oh, this is splendid. Splendid indeed.’
He crossed the parlour and reached into the oak sideboard to produce a bottle of Tullamore.
‘This is a little indulgence you introduced me to, Joe. But I keep it for special occasions.’ He winked at Swallow as he poured two sizeable tots. ‘And if ever there was one, this is it.’
He raised his glass.
‘Here’s to Mr and Mrs Swallow and the health of their child—their children, we hope.’
Swallow had not until that moment thought beyond the possibility of one child. The old friar was right, of course. Marriage could mean the coming into the world not just of this child but possibly others as well. It was an arresting thought. He was glad of the whiskey.
Lawrence would marry them immediately. It had to be done swiftly, he agreed, in order to preserve both Maria’s good name and Swallow’s too.
‘There’s a few fellows in the Castle who’d no doubt use the situation to blacken your name,’ Lawrence said. ‘Bringing the force into discredit or something such.’
It would be manna from heaven for Kelly and his masters in the Upper Yard, Swallow reflected silently. Even John Mallon’s influence would not outweigh the disciplinary charges they could lay against him: lodging on licenced premises, involvement in the business of a public house, cohabiting with a woman other than his wife, bringing the force into disrepute. . . .
They fixed on the following Saturday for the ceremony.
‘I won’t deny I’m nervous,’ Swallow said. ‘It’s all been a bit sudden.’
‘But sure, Joe, the whole world can see that you’re cut out for each other,’ Lawrence laughed. ‘You should have made a decent woman of her long before now. You’re doing the right thing, and if both of you make a good confession before the marriage you’ll have God’s blessing. You just get your two witnesses for the ceremony. Who have you in mind for that?’
‘I’ll ask Harry Lafeyre to be my best man,’ Swallow said. ‘Maria will want her sister, Lily, I assume, as her bridesmaid. Is that the correct term?’
Lawrence knew both Lafeyre and Lily Grant from many social visits to Thomas Street. He chuckled.
‘A strange pass, isn’t it? Harry and Lily are due to be married when? Sometime in the spring? And here you are with Maria, sprinting up the aisle ahead of them. Well, even if the notice is short we’ll do this the right way too. Full nuptial Mass, and then solemnisation of the marriage vows.’
He downed the last of his Tullamore.
‘I suppose there’ll be a bit of a celebration—a hooley—after the event?’
Swallow grinned. Lawrence liked nothing better than good company over a meal, or a few drinks, or both.
‘That’s Maria’s department. But she’s at work on it already. You can be sure that end of things will be taken care of.’
Lawrence clapped his hands.
‘Ah, sure it’ll be a great day. A great day.’
The friar’s brow suddenly furrowed.
‘Will you be all right to get the time off? You’ve got that murder out in Rathmines to deal with, haven’t you?’
Swallow nodded.
‘I have. And the truth is that it’s not looking very promising in terms of any early arrest.’
‘A terrible, terrible business. It’ll be a fearful winter for many a young woman who has to go about the streets if you don’t get to the bottom of it.’
‘I’d be less than honest if I told you we’re going to be able to do that, Father,’ Swallow said. ‘Usually there’s a fairly clear motive, and that can point us towards the perpetrator, but as of now we don’t have any idea why it happened. She was just a young waitress on her way home from work.’
‘According to the newspaper she worked in the church on Rathmines Road,’ Lawrence said. ‘It must be a terrible shock to the community out there.’
‘She worked part-time as a cleaner out at the Church of Mary Immaculate. I went out to talk to the parish priest there, Monsignor Feehan. Do you know him?’
The old friar frowned.
‘No. Only by repute. But I’m told he’s a very difficult man. A terrible snob too, by all accounts. There was talk that he would be assigned to the Pro-Cathedral, but I think the priests there objected to the appointment and persuaded Archbishop Walsh to send him elsewhere. I’d say he’d be straight enough though.’
‘That’s what I was afraid of,’ Swallow said. ‘He told me we’d get nowhere. He hoped I was a good hunter.’
He finished his whiskey and stood.
‘Winter isn’t a great time for hunting, though. I think I need a miracle, Father,’ he laughed. ‘Can you do anything about that?’
Lawrence was solemn.
‘Miracles are reserved to the Lord, Joe. And I don’t know if he’s that much in favour of hunting anyway.’