Free The Blood Upon the Rose by Tim Vicary Page A

is.’
    ‘Perhaps; I haven't met him. But if he's in MI, how can he be so daft as to let his daughter run around with the murder gang?’
    ‘You wait till your kids are her age, Tom. They don't always turn out exactly as you'd hope.’
    Kee frowned. ‘Not my kids. Not a thing like that.’
    Radford took another draught of beer, and smiled. It was the thing he liked most about Tom Kee - his utter reliability. For all his intelligence, he never seemed to have any doubts about what was right and what was wrong. Ambiguity, in Kee's view, was a disease that afflicted criminals, not the rest of the world.
    ‘I hope not, for your sake, anyway. But here he is.’ Radford pushed back his chair as a tall, grey-haired colonel made his way towards them across the dining room. As he approached, Kee had the impression of an archetypal soldier: tall, high forehead, long nose, a proud, disdainful chin under the bushy Kitchener moustache. Well-cut khaki uniform with a line of medal ribbons, highly polished Sam Browne belt and cavalry boots, cap crushed under his arm. A man who would be at home leading the King's birthday parade in Phoenix Park, Kee thought; but hopelessly at sea fighting Collins in the back streets of Dublin.
    But when Sir Jonathan shook his hand, Kee noticed the eyes. Hard, cold, grey - paler than those of his daughter, Kee thought: the eyes of a man who was no one's fool, and would get what he wanted whatever the cost.
    They ordered, and while they were waiting Sir Jonathan asked, crisply, for a report on how far the police had got with the Ashtown incident. Radford told him, giving details of the findings in North Strand. With a warning glance at Kee, he mentioned the interview with Catherine, but omitted his suspicion about her blush. He passed Sean Brennan's photograph across the table.
    ‘Good,’ said Sir Jonathan. ‘Pity it's not the negative. But we'll try and get some kind of copy made for the troops. There's a young major in the Castle who's hot on that sort of thing.’
    The soup came. Radford tucked his napkin under his chin, and said: ‘You're off to London tomorrow, Colonel, I hear?’
    ‘That's right. Lloyd George is presenting his bill, and he'll want up-to-date information on the situation here. That's one reason why I want to talk to you chaps.’ He sipped his soup, and dabbed thoughtfully at his moustache with a napkin. 'You've both been in post for over a month now. What's your candid opinion of the ability of the DMP to get to grips with this terror?’
    Radford sighed. ‘Unfortunately, sir, not high.’
    ‘There are a few leads,’ said Kee loyally.
    ‘But not many, Tom. Our problem, Colonel, is that half the experienced Dublin officers, with all their local knowledge and contacts, are dead, and the rest are clinging to their mothers’ skirts in fear. In addition to which, I don't know how, I have the impression that Collins knows everything we decide to do five minutes after we've decided it. So I hardly dare trust anyone. In short, the whole of the effective official police force opposed to Collins is sitting right here at this table.’
    Kee said: ‘There's Davis, too, surely?’
    ‘I hope so. He works hard, I'll give him that. But I've only known him a few weeks. You and me, Tom, we've been together a long time.’
    Kee shrugged. He didn't like running down his force, even an adopted one, before a soldier, but the truth was inescapable.
    Sir Jonathan glanced from one to the other. ‘Anyway, whether it's two or three doesn't make much difference. I get your drift. It's you two against half the city.’
    ‘Right.’ They waited while the waiter brought the main course. Kee glanced around the room. Through the open door of the dining room he could see several men, in civilian clothes, come off the street into the foyer. The loaded revolvers beside the soup plates began to seem more of a comfort than an eccentricity.
    Sir Jonathan resumed. ‘Well, that's pretty bleak, but it's truthful.