The City Under Siege (Stefan Gillespie), page 2
St Joseph’s Square was empty save for a few young men hurrying along the straight central drive, late for a lecture. The square was laid out as a garden and Stefan and the young seminarian were walking among trees. The buildings of the college made up the quadrangle, surrounding them on four sides, but the buildings felt a long way off. The space was huge. Long, high, grey walls full of windows, hundreds of them, with the spire of the chapel at one corner. It was a place that had been built to declare its seriousness and its immutability. The rows of windows carried the barest echo of the grace and light of the Georgian terraces being built in Dublin at the same time. In the dark stone and the insistent formality, in the relentless repetition of mullioned windows, there was something fortress-like. The college had been established at the end of the eighteenth century, when the Penal Laws, which tried to make Catholicism invisible in Ireland, were being abandoned. The Penal Laws failed. St Patrick’s was a grand statement of Catholic visibility. This was the biggest seminary in the world. Training priests was one of the few things that Ireland did on a bigger scale than anyone else, anywhere. If there was one place that proclaimed the permanence and the power of Catholic Ireland, it was calmly, peacefully here.
‘I don’t know what I can tell you that I haven’t said already, Inspector.’ Aidan Dunne spoke quietly, breaking the silence Stefan Gillespie had let sit uneasily between them as they walked slowly through the college gardens.
‘You can tell me about your friend being happy.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘That’s what you said, when you were talking to Inspector Charles. He had been happy, noticeably so, in the days … the week before all this happened.’
The young man nodded. He looked slightly puzzled.
‘I don’t know how much you know about what happened … the details.’
‘I only know he was attacked and killed.’
‘Maybe that’s all you want to know,’ said Stefan.
‘Maybe it is. I know it was … it was all very unpleasant.’
‘Unpleasant is certainly one word for it, Mr Dunne.’ The words were spoken quietly, but there was an edge that was almost an accusation. ‘I think you know enough to know … you don’t want to know more. You’re not alone.’
The seminarian looked away; it was true enough.
‘But back to what you told Inspector Charles, Mr Dunne.’
‘If I knew anything, do you think I wouldn’t have said?’
‘You say he was noticeably happy, does that mean he wasn’t usually?’
Aidan Dunne frowned. He wasn’t sure how to answer. Questions he had been asked before were about times, dates, facts, when he last saw his friend.
‘It’s a simple question.’
‘He had his ups and downs; we all do. A vocation isn’t an easy thing. We all face questions, all the time. You can be very sure about your faith and still be unsure whether the priesthood is the right way, if you’re doing the right thing.’
Stefan Gillespie said nothing for some seconds. Then he continued. ‘That’s not what you meant, is it? Is that what you think about when you’re asked about a friend who’s dead, who’s been murdered? His vocation? You were talking about something else you were conscious of. It was in your head. So, there was something unusual about it. It stood out. When I read it, in your statement, it stands out for me. It was … exceptional in some way, is that fair?’
‘Yes, I suppose that’s right, Inspector.’
‘What made him so happy, then?’
Aidan Dunne shook his head and walked on in silence.
‘Let’s look at it from the other end. If being happy was so obvious, his unhappiness was more than the ordinary ups and downs of life at St Patrick’s. If he did have doubts about his vocation, they must have gone deep, is that true?’
‘I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Inspector.’
‘Were those doubts there only because he was homosexual?’
Aidan Dunne stopped, staring at the detective. There was a startled look on his face, but not only shock; there was a sense of fear, as if something that should not be said had been spoken, casually, idly; others might be listening.
‘It’s just the two of us, Mr Dunne,’ said Stefan. ‘I won’t be writing down your answers. I simply want to understand your friend, and to see if there is anything at all, anywhere, that can help us find the man who killed him.’
Aidan Dunne walked on, looking at the ground.
‘You knew he was homosexual?’
The young man nodded.
Stefan took out a packet of cigarettes and offered him one. Dunne took the cigarette. Stefan took one himself and lit both. They walked on again, smoking.
‘You did know?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he talk to you about it?’
‘Never.’ There was a hint of uncertainty in the word, but only a hint.
‘Until those last few days?’
‘He still didn’t say anything, as such. But I knew. I guess he knew that.’
‘There are other men in the seminary who have the same problem.’
Dunne frowned and said nothing. He looked straight ahead.
‘I’m not asking about you.’
‘I’m not! Jesus! I’m not that way at all.’
‘I’m only interested in your friend. Did he associate with other men, other men here who were that way? I’m sure you have a sense of it. It may be that no one says anything, or looks too hard, but sometimes it’s not so easy to hide, is it? James was your friend. He didn’t say a word about it. You knew anyway.’
‘I can’t talk about this,’ said Dunne.
‘It’s another simple question. I’m assuming he was happy because he’d met someone. Isn’t that what it was? Isn’t that what he said … in some way?’
‘James was very shut in on himself, that’s the only way I can put it. He didn’t make friends easily. I’m not sure he wanted to. I knew because he had the room next door. We got on. I sensed things about him, yes, but I know he had little to do with anyone here. He worked all the time, that’s almost all he did. I think he wanted to work himself into believing he really did have a vocation.’
‘But he didn’t?’
‘I thought … he was using the priesthood to run away from something.’
‘Suddenly he was happy. Someone had made him happy, is that it?’
‘Not someone here. I know that, Inspector.’
‘So, what did he tell you?’
‘He’d been in Dublin for a few days, working at the National Library. He’d met someone. I suppose … he was in love. He didn’t use those words, but it’s what he was saying. And it had made everything clear. He knew what he had to do. He couldn’t stay at St Patrick’s. He knew he didn’t have a vocation.’
‘And that didn’t trouble him?’
‘No, quite the opposite. He said he was going to go home the following week and tell his mother and father. He was going to leave the college. He said he might even leave Ireland. He talked about going to England … I don’t know what that meant, and he didn’t either. Most of what he said didn’t make sense. When I asked what he thought he was going to do … in the middle of a war, he laughed and said it would all be fine, it would all be grand. All he had to do was find a way to live his life the way he wanted. And he believed he could.’
‘And what about the day out, the picnic? You’ve said he talked about it.’
‘He said he was going to meet his friend. That’s all he called him … I think somehow he managed to avoid even the word “he”. It was a day out, they were going to cycle down to the country … there was a place he knew, a place he loved … They were going to make plans about a holiday in England, that’s what he told me. These weren’t long conversations, Mr Gillespie. He was in and out of my room … talking, then going away. He came back to borrow a picnic rug I had … and then he needed a knife for the bread or something … and I had one … that was the last evening he was here. And the next day he was gone …’
‘James told you nothing about how he met this man, where he met him, what the man did? There was no name, no description? There was nothing?’
Aidan Dunne shook his head.
Stefan nodded. He had more than Inspector Charles had got. He had a clearer picture of James Corcoran’s last days, but that’s all. The killer had an existence in his head that he hadn’t had before, but it was only a shadow. Stefan knew Corcoran better, but he knew nothing that helped. He did not tell the dead man’s friend what had happened to the borrowed bread-knife. Stefan looked round to see Dessie MacMahon walking towards him, a mischievous smile on his face.
‘The Dean wants a word with you, Stevie. Canon Mulcahy.’
‘Does he now?’
‘He’s profoundly unimpressed by your lack of courtesy.’
‘Is that what he said?’
‘His exact words: “profoundly unimpressed”.’
‘Thank you, Mr Dunne. And I’m sorry for your loss.’
Stefan Gillespie and Dessie MacMahon walked back towards the college. The young seminarian stayed where he was, as if unaware they had gone. He wasn’t looking at them. He was looking at nothing. He was crying, noiselessly.
Detective Inspector Stefan Gillespie stood in the Dean’s study. Behind him stood Sergeant MacMahon, and behind him the college’s head porter. The room was lined with books on every wall, except where the large windows looked out to the drive and the gardens where Stefan had just been walking with Aidan Dunne. Canon Mulcahy sat at his desk, a slight, tight-faced man, wearing a look of almost puzzled benevolence on his face, as if he had been done some small but inexplicable wrong. Stefan imagined he had been standing at the window, not long before, watching the conversation with Dunne, and not liking it. Mulcahy’s face softened into something like a smile. He was comfortable giving instructions.
‘I think your sergeant can wait outside, Inspector.’
‘As you wish, sir,’ replied Stefan. He looked at Dessie MacMahon. The sergeant grinned and walked out of the room. The porter left too, pulling the door shut. Mulcahy did not offer Stefan one of the chairs in front of the desk; instead, he stood up himself and walked round to stand very close to him.
‘I am surprised, Mr Gillespie, that you should come into the college to speak to one of our seminarians without asking to do so, without approaching a senior faculty member. In matters of discipline, I am the first port of call here.’
‘There is no issue of discipline that concerns the college, Canon Mulcahy, just a conversation I needed to have with Mr Dunne that continued conversations he had had with Inspector Charles and detectives from Maynooth.’
Canon Mulcahy drew himself up, regarding Stefan with less benevolence.
‘There is an issue of courtesy, Inspector. It may not be your strong point, but no one walks into this college to question its students without permission.’
‘It’s about the investigation into the death of one of your seminarians.’
‘I’m glad for that information. But you might want to enlighten me about what precisely you have to do with the investigation into that tragedy. I have only just put the telephone down from speaking to Superintendent Mangan at the barracks in Maynooth. His men have been conducting the inquiry ever since poor Corcoran was found, in particular Detective Inspector Charles. Superintendent Mangan has no idea who you are, Inspector, even less idea why you’re here. He was flummoxed altogether, though he put it more colourfully.’
If the last words were some sort of joke, the Dean did not smile.
Stefan did. ‘Ah, I’m sure he’d know me if he saw me.’
‘Then perhaps you’d like to do something about that. He’s in his office in the town, and he asked me to tell you to call in there, as soon as you leave here.’
‘I see,’ said Stefan.
‘Thank you. Before you do leave, perhaps you’ll tell me exactly what you wanted to know from Mr Dunne, given that he has already made a statement.’
Stefan was surprised at the ease and assurance with which Mulcahy asked that question. He obviously had every expectation that he would get his answer.
‘I don’t know how Superintendent Mangan and Inspector Charles do things in Maynooth, but that’s not how police inquiries work, Canon. Not quite the confessional, but still, as these things go, it’s near enough, at least until it comes to court.’ He shrugged. ‘Judgement … well, not so different even there.’
‘Do you think you help your case by insulting the Church?’
‘The case is not mine. The case is about finding who killed your student.’
‘And it is a very sensitive matter. I shouldn’t have to say that, Inspector.’
‘Perhaps a little too sensitive.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘I mean that so many questions have not been asked from the start, particularly about homosexual associations or relationships in the dead man’s life, that more work has gone into what isn’t being said than trying to find the killer.’
‘Do you think being blunt and offensive is clever, Mr Gillespie?’
‘I think being honest might have brought us closer to a brutal murderer.’
‘If you want me to be honest, there are things we now know about Mr Corcoran that mean he should never have been here at all. He was not a suitable candidate for a vocation. He must have known himself that he was … in sin, perhaps very deeply in sin. He needed to be closer to God, certainly, but not as a priest. We can only hope that he is now closer to God. The problems he had, which are still only conjecture, are not the business of St Patrick’s, except in so far as he was a seminarian. He was, however wrongly, one of us. We pray for him. The whole community prays for him. As for the questions you seem so interested in, I’m not frightened by the word homosexuality. I’m not frightened by any sin. But we all owe something to James’s memory and to his family, his mother and father especially. They have been hurt enough by his death, without having to suffer the exposure of things in his life that, if true, should be decently forgotten. Any judgement on that belongs … in a more compassionate place.’
‘Surely his parents know what happened?’ Stefan pushed aside most of the Dean’s words, except for what told him again that questions had not been asked.
‘I don’t doubt the Guards left many details alone, out of charity.’
‘You mean they probably said nothing and asked nothing.’
‘You seem to have an unpleasant appetite for all this, Mr Gillespie.’
‘You should look at what the killer did to your seminarian, Canon. Charity’s grand. Maybe begin with making sure he doesn’t do it to anyone else.’
The Dean looked at Stefan with cold contempt, as if he was something very grubby. He didn’t expect anyone to speak to him like this. He didn’t expect anyone to disagree with him. It certainly wasn’t the place of a policeman. He turned away towards the big window, his back to Stefan. He looked out over the quiet lawns and the elegant drive to the college. He would not show anger.
‘There is nothing more to say, Inspector. I think you’re finished here.’
Canon Mulcahy walked back to his desk and sat down, smiling.
‘I’m sorry, Canon. I suppose I wish the investigation had been more urgent when it started. Time was lost. I still … I wanted to look at his room.’
The Dean opened a cigarette box and took out a small, dark cheroot.
‘Did you? I’ll repeat myself. Whatever it is you’re doing you’re finished with it now. Anything else, you can discuss with the superintendent. He can discuss it with me. If there is a reason for you to come back here, we can discuss that as well. It may be that if you’re with him, I will agree to it. My impression, however, is that the investigation is in good hands, and that won’t be necessary. In fact, when I did speak to Superintendent Mangan, he suggested that the best approach to you would be to tell you to fuck off. I think he has you summed up well, Mr Gillespie, but I’ll let him elaborate himself, as I’m sure he will.’
The Special Branch offices took up one side of the Police Yard at Dublin Castle, away from the buildings of state that had, not long ago, been the heart of British rule in Ireland, away from the chapel and the gardens and grand spaces. The entrance to the yard, through the stone archway of the Carriage Office, owed something to the look of the rest of the Castle, but the yard beyond, circling the Special Branch building, consisted of scruffy rows of garages and old stables and stores. Inside the building, Stefan Gillespie sat in a chair facing Detective Superintendent Terry Gregory. Gregory stood behind his desk, turning the pages of the file on the murder of James Corcoran, smoking a cigarette. The superintendent sniffed and shut the file. Stefan was aware his boss had looked at nothing at all in the file. He had certainly taken nothing in.
‘You spoke to Superintendent Mangan?’
‘I phoned him from St Patrick’s. It was a one-sided conversation. He wasn’t happy the case file had ended up in Special Branch. There didn’t seem any point going into the station to see him. I did … well, what he told me to do. Fuck off.’
‘I had a similar conversation with Andy Charles.’ The superintendent grinned. ‘Let’s just say I was shocked by his lack of due deference to my rank.’
Stefan smiled. It wasn’t much of a smile, but he had worked out, in his short time in Special Branch, that when the boss made a joke, you smiled. He wasn’t yet sure what he made of Terry Gregory, except that he didn’t like him.
