Free The Eloquence of the Dead by Conor Brady

back of his hand.
    â€˜Put it all in the report for tomorrow mornin’ and drop a copy over to Chief Mallon’s house.’
    Swallow felt his fury rising. It was Boyle’s case and Boyle’s responsibility. He had agreed to attend the post-mortem in order to assist the investigation. But now he was being pushed into the lead role because his line superior was drunk.
    Mossop saw his anger. He put a restraining hand on Swallow’s arm.
    â€˜Ah sure, we’ll get that done in half an hour, Skipper. C’mon, we’ll go across to the office.’
    For a moment, Swallow was going to brush off Mossop’s gesture and knock the glass out of Boyle’s pudgy fist. But an altercation between two G-men in Morton’s would not be good for anyone.
    â€˜Fair enough, Pat.’
    They stepped out into Dame Court.
    â€˜And at least the fucking thing will be done right,’ Mossop said. ‘Christ knows what he’d put in the report, the state he’s in.’
    Exchange Court was quiet. Mossop lit the gas mantles in the crime sergeants’ office, and Swallow rolled foolscap and carbon paper into one of the G-Division’s ageing Remington typewriters.
    Swallow was the more proficient typist. He battered out the words as Mossop read from his notes taken at the morgue. They were finished by 11 o’clock. Swallow sent Mossop home, and he crossed the Lower Yard to deliver the report to Mallon’s house.
    Dublin Castle was no longer a castle in any architectural sense. Over the centuries, a jigsaw of yards and courts had grown up around the original site of the stronghold that had been put up in the reign of King John. Apart from the medieval Record Tower, all that was left of the early fortress was some underground foundations, now superimposed with faux crenellated curtain walls.
    The courts and yards housed the many agencies and commissions that made up the British administration in Ireland. The most important of these, including the Office of the Chief Secretary, the Office of the Under-Secretary, the Gentlemen Ushers and others, were located in the Upper Yard around the State Apartments. This was where the Queen’s deputy – the Viceroy – held his court, hosting receptions, balls and audiences in the Dublin ‘season’ from February to the end of March each year.
    The Lower Yard, divided from the Upper by a three-storey block, accommodated the less prestigious agencies, including the separate headquarters of Ireland’s two police forces: the Royal Irish Constabulary and the Dublin Metropolitan Police.
    The house allocated to the chief superintendent of the G-Division was a substantial one, more than sufficient to the needs of John Mallon and his family. Constructed in yellow-brown brick, it stood facing across the cobbled Lower Yard towards the apse of the Chapel Royal and the Record Tower beyond.
    A light burning on the ground floor told Swallow that Mallon was still in his sitting-room. When the chief superintendent opened the front door in response to his tap on the window pane, Swallow found him clad in a woollen dressing-gown. The embers of a dying turf fire glowed faintly in the room behind.
    â€˜I’m sorry for disturbing the house at a late hour, Chief. There’s been some developments in the Lamb Alley case from this morning. I’ve brought an updated file for you.’
    â€˜I thought Boyle was in charge of the case.’
    â€˜He is, Sir. He’s gone off duty and he asked me to brief you.’
    Mallon’s grunt was ambiguous.
    â€˜Other than the delay in discovery, it seemed fairly straightforward from what I heard earlier.’
    He gestured Swallow to an armchair.
    â€˜As I heard it, he was dead for several days and the sister had gone on the run. The last report from Boyle said that she’d disappeared at a hotel on the North Wall. Weren’t you on the scene?’
    â€˜I was, Sir, but it’s turning out to be