Chapter 11

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.’

Mallon grimaced.

‘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?’