The Eloquence of the Dead (23 page)

A third G-man with a shotgun gave cover from the top of the steps while Swallow and the constable went down. When he reached the bottom step, gun in hand, Swallow heard the sound from beyond the door.

It might have been a child's moan or the noise a small animal might make in distress, an injured dog perhaps. The constable heard it too. Even in the darkness, Swallow could see it register on his face.

‘Light the bull's-eye,' he said softly.

The constable struck a match to the police lantern, and yellow light flooded across the stone floor to the wooden door. Swallow tugged the iron handle with one hand, his revolver poised in the other. The door swung out. He saw that the lock had been smashed, its innards of springs and screws littering the floor beneath.

The lantern light extended only a few feet into the room. It caught workmen's tools, spades, a pick, buckets. They took a step forward, then another. The sound came again, this time more a whimper. Swallow's eye caught movement at the periphery of the bull's-eye beam.

A shape formed where he had seen the movement. When the constable held up the lantern, Swallow saw the man's face, eyes wide with fear above streaks of blood and dirt. His mouth was gagged with a fabric strip, knotted tightly at the side of his face. The torso seemed to be covered by a canvas or tarpaulin. When Swallow leaned forward to take it away, he saw that the man's arms were pinioned behind his back with the wrists roped to an iron embrasure set in the wall. He stank of stale urine and blood.

Thus, sometime after 2 o'clock in the morning, in a workman's storeroom, under the south transept of St Patrick's Cathedral, Edward ‘Teddy' Shaftoe, of Mile End, London, an ambitious but ultimately inept, small-time criminal, was taken into the custody of the Dublin Metropolitan Police.

The constable used his penknife to cut through the rope that bound him to the wall. Then he cut through another set of ropes that ran around his ankles, biting deep into the skin. Strong hands got him to his feet, and stood him upright. When he saw the helmet and uniform in the lantern light, Teddy started to weep with joy.

 

THIRTY-SEVEN

An hour later, in a cell at Exchange Court, Teddy Shaftoe was still shaking.

They had searched him swiftly on the off chance that he still had the Colt revolver. Then they had taken him from the fetid storeroom to the freshness of the night air and on a police side-car to this place.

Swallow reckoned that Charlie Vanucchi's assessment had been on the mark. Teddy Shaftoe had broken. He was gone beyond hysteria to a whimpering, almost hopeless state where he was certain he would die. He had reached the point where he might have welcomed that if it meant no more beatings.

Every part of his body ached. His groin and testicles were swollen from kicking. His scalp was criss-crossed with cuts and bruises. His tongue rasped across what remained of the broken teeth in his mouth.

But he would live. The trick, Swallow knew, was to have him talk before he started to recover to the point where he would begin to feel safe. He knew from experience that it could happen quickly. He had seen suspects, at first just grateful to be alive, who re-attained their instinctive defiance half an hour after getting a hot meal and a dry bed.

A doctor arrived. He cleaned Teddy Shaftoe's cuts and dressed his wounds. There was bruising up and down, and rope burns to his wrists and ankles, but the doctor could find no broken bones.

A plainclothes man gave Teddy a shot of strong liquor in a tin mug. It stung the inside of his mouth where the flesh had been cut by punches and blows, but it felt good coursing down his throat and warming his stomach.

A constable brought him a bowl of water, a bar of rough soap and a small towel. Thankfully, he also brought a surplus pair of police uniform trousers and an old shirt. Slowly, painfully, Teddy cleaned himself and gratefully changed his stinking clothes.

When they left him alone in the cell, he lay down on the bunk-bed. It hurt to move, but he could not stay upright. He closed his eyes and tried to think straight. He was in the shit, he knew. He had no idea how the Dublin coppers had found him, or what they planned to do with him. But he was alive. And the beating had stopped. Teddy had dealt with hard men. He had taken his share of fist and boot, cosh and knife. But the bastards who had got him this time were animals. He shuddered and drew the grey cell blanket around him. He wished he had some more of the liquor the copper had given him upstairs.

Swallow reckoned on allowing him a quarter of an hour, no more, no less. That would be sufficient to have him rest just a little, to allow a little relaxation of his guard, to lull him into a false sense of security.

So far, Vanucchi's information had been good. He had said that Shaftoe would be in the gardener's workshop under the cathedral. It was a safe, secure location, implicating nobody once the Englishman had been brought in there and left under cover of darkness. He would not be a pretty sight, but he would pose no threat.

He flung the cell door open and then banged it behind him. Teddy Shaftoe lifted his head an inch or two from the mattress to see his visitor. Swallow placed himself on the three-legged stool beside the bunk.

‘Swallow. Detective sergeant.'

‘Who?'

‘We met when you tried to rob Greenberg's. I shot your idiot friend, Darby, the hero with the knife.'

Teddy blinked. He seemed puzzled.

‘Darby's been singing like a thrush, Teddy. So you'd better give me your version of things now while you can.'

‘I'm an innocent man,' Teddy croaked. ‘And I'm injured.'

Swallow raised his voice.

‘You'll know what it is to be injured if I hand you back to Vanucchi's crowd. Don't piss me off. Any man who puts a gun in my face is fair fucking game as far as I'm concerned.'

‘You can't do that,' Teddy made an effort to sound confident. ‘I know me rights. You've got to let me go or bring me to a magistrate. An' he's got to get me a brief, a lawyer.'

‘Well, Jesus pity you,' Swallow laughed. ‘You're in Ireland now, my friend. We've different rules here thanks to a certain Mr Balfour, a countryman of your own. You wouldn't know much about the Coercion Act, but it means I can keep you here for as long as I want or put you back on the street if I want.'

Teddy was still able to muster some defiance.

‘You can't prove nothin' against me. I'm bein' bleedin' victimised, so I am.'

Swallow laughed again.

‘You're talking shite, Teddy. I can give evidence of identification at Greenberg's. You'll be done for attempted armed robbery, assault with a deadly weapon and possession of a firearm with intent to endanger life. You're looking at twenty years in Maryborough Convict Prison.'

‘Where?'

‘It's in the bog. It's colder and wetter than any place you've ever been. Wandsworth or Brixton are like hotels compared to Maryborough.'

Teddy was silent for a moment.

‘Look, I got into fackin' deep waters. All I want is to go 'ome and forget about this bloody place. If you can do that for me, I can tell you where to catch some really big fish, if you're interested.…'

Swallow smiled.

‘You're not in a position to make deals. If you're lucky you'll spend the next twenty years buried in Maryborough. That is definitely not something you would enjoy. It might be more merciful to put you back in that cellar where Vanucchi's gang can finish you off.'

Teddy struggled to a half-sitting position.

‘I know 'ow it works for coppers. You gets a conviction, it adds to yer good record. It might even add to yer pay. You can put Darby away. I'll swear against him, no bother. And, if you just put me on the boat back to Liverpool, I'll give you a score that any copper in London would give 'is right eye for.'

Swallow cocked his head.

‘I doubt it very much, Teddy. Some poor bugger that's been dumped in the Thames or some inkie printing banknotes in his kitchen isn't of any interest here. But I'm listening.'

‘It's much bigger than any o' that. Wot I'm talkin' about is big money gettin' took away from 'er Majesty's Treasury. An' it's 'appenin' 'ere in bloody Dublin, innit.'

Swallow tried not to look impressed. But he was. So far, what Teddy Shaftoe had told him tallied with what Charlie Vanucchi said his men had beaten out of him in the cellar under the public house in The Coombe.

‘Go on.'

Teddy hesitated. He calculated that he had to give a bit more.

‘It's like this. I meets this bloke back 'ome. He works for the government down at Whitehall. From time to time 'e calls me in when 'e 'as jobs that need to be done, for the government, like.'

Teddy was upright now.

‘So,' he said, seeming to draw energy from his own narrative, ‘this bloke sends for me a couple o' weeks back and asks would I like to do a bit o'work in Ireland? So I says, Teddy's not proud, I'll work for anyone wot pays me up front.'

‘What's his name, this fellow who works for the government?'

‘Aha, that's fer me to know at this stage and fer you to wonder at,' Teddy attempted a grin. ‘That's the kind of information you jest might get … if we can … come to an understanding.'

‘Go on,' Swallow said again.

‘So I says to 'im, I says, I always wanted some recognition for me talents. Wot is it exactly 'er Majesty wants me to do? And 'e says, “It ain't exactly 'er Majesty you'd be workin' for. You'd be workin' for my boss and 'e works for the gov'ment, so, indirectly sort of, you'd be workin' for the gov'ment too.”'

‘So you're telling me now that you're working for the government?'

‘I s'pose so. Bit like yerself, in a way,' Teddy laughed. ‘Yeh, I've got maybe a dozen jobs over the year that required my skills. They pay me well. But I know, don' I, I'm doin' their dirty work for 'em because they can't afford to get caught doin' it themselves, can they?'

Swallow had no idea what Teddy was talking about, but it seemed best to agree.

‘What sort of jobs?'

‘Went for some posh Irish geezer in the street outside Claridges' hotel wiv' a knife. I 'ad to cut him but not too badly. I 'ad to stick a letter in 'is pocket as he went down. I seen it. It said “GET OUT OF IRELAND OR DIE.” It was wrote in big, red letters.'

‘You can tell me who he was. I can check that easily in the crime records.'

‘True enough. Okay, 'e was a big bloody landowner somewhere. I done a right good job. Got 'im just in the ribs, not too deep though. Just enough to bring a squirt o' blood and a good squeal.'

Swallow recalled the incident. The Earl of Dunmanway was a leading landlord. The attack on him as he came out of his London hotel had been attributed by Scotland Yard to Irish land agitators. A few weeks after the incident, the Earl had sold out his estates.

‘It doesn't sound like the sort of work government usually undertakes. What else did you do?'

‘There was a couple more jobs wiv me knife. I 'ad to threaten a woman once. He told me she wasn't to be 'armed, and she wasn't. I just frightened 'er.'

‘You're not making any sense, Teddy. Why would somebody in Whitehall want to threaten or injure these people?'

Shaftoe cocked his head.

‘I've a pretty good idea it's connected with sellin' or buyin' land 'ere in Ireland.'

‘What makes you think that?'

‘Once I was meetin' this geezer at The Mitre – that's a public 'ouse – he had papers wiv 'im and 'e left 'em on the bar when 'e went to answer a call o' nature. So I 'ad a look. It was all about acres and deeds and who owned these fackin' farms. There was big money bein' mentioned too. I seen figures of £2,000 and £5,000 in there. 'E come back from outside and sees me lookin' at the stuff and 'e was fackin' furious wiv me. I reckon he thought I couldn't read.'

‘What did he say? Exactly.'

‘When 'e calmed down, 'e said I didn't need to know abaht all the stuff 'e was dealin' wiv. 'E said there was a lot of business to be done over land across in Ireland an' if I was smart there'd be work in it fer me.'

‘So who is this geezer, as you call him?'

Teddy's eyes narrowed. ‘There you go again. Like I said, that's the kind of detail that'll cost you.'

‘All right,' Swallow conceded. ‘If this story stands up, I reckon I can do something for you. But it'll take time, and I'm making no promises until I get a solid case out of it all.'

Teddy grinned. ‘That's good. You're a man wot knows a good chance when 'e sees one.' He leaned forward. ‘Wot this is all about is makin' a lot o' money for a few clever people, if you ask me. Me, I'm jest gettin' crumbs while I'm takin' all the risks.'

‘What was the job here in Dublin?'

‘It's been a fuckin' disaster, ain't it? 'E gave me a 'undred quid and said “Go to Dublin.” I was told that someone in Dublin was sellin' these facking coins. Said they knew there was some of 'em bought by in this Jewish shop called Greenberg's. I was to buy 'em up, find out who was sellin' em and get back 'ome.'

‘But you didn't stick to the job, Teddy. You got greedy.'

‘That's the truth. I cased out the bleedin' shop with that fackin' idiot Darby. It looked easy.… They got some good stuff in that shop, believe you me.'

He winced in pain.

‘From the moment we went in that bleedin' place, it's all gone wrong. First, you turn up with the bobby and your fackin' gun. I didn' know the coppers 'ere had guns. It ain't right, you know. Then when I gets away, I falls into the 'ands of a bunch of fackin' cannibals.'

He lay back, exhausted.

‘Now, you've got a lot from Teddy. So what abaht Teddy gettin' somethin' from you?'