To Keep a Bird Singing Read online

  Meabh stood beside him. ‘I’m sorry I dragged you in there, Noelie, into that house I mean.’ Sitting on the edge of the bed she put her head in her hands. ‘He wanted me to visit him. He set me up.’

  Noelie didn’t follow.

  ‘At Glenville, Albert squeezed my hand in a strange way. It was deliberate, I realise now. He was telling me he knew about what had happened to me in the past.’

  She told Noelie about the black-and-white flagging and how she had often seen it in the flashbacks that she had suffered.

  ‘I think what happened to me happened in that house.’

  Noelie wasn’t surprised. ‘That place is hell,’ he said. He thought about the sudden attack again: Albert had gone for the kill and almost succeeded too.

  Meabh went down to reception to arrange to stay a further two nights. While she was away, Noelie thought about what could’ve happened to Hannah. He needed to remain calm but he was beginning to feel the same as when he had heard about Shane’s disappearance: deeply afraid. The worst-case scenario kept coming to mind all the time.

  It was nearly twenty-four hours since he had spoken to her. After their meeting at the Voice’s office, they had had that single text message from her. That message said that she was fine but if so where was she?

  When Meabh returned they powered up her computer and logged on to the hotel Wi-Fi. They got Hannah’s work number and Noelie called it using the room phone. He eventually spoke to Hannah’s boss.

  ‘She hasn’t been at her desk since yesterday around noon,’ he told Meabh. ‘They haven’t heard from her either and she’s supposed to post copy shortly. They sounded concerned.’

  There was a small desk with a chair beside it. Noelie sat down. ‘Hannah said in her message that she had made that meeting at the train station, didn’t she?’

  ‘That’s what I remember. I can’t check. Albert took my phone.’

  ‘Something’s wrong. I feel it.’

  Meabh asked Noelie more about the Facebook hook-up. He confessed he didn’t know much about it or about social media. Meabh logged on to her own Facebook account and found Hannah’s profile. They couldn’t see much. Meabh wasn’t one of Hannah’s friends and she had tight privacy settings.

  ‘Her computer might be at her place? If it is, she may be automatically signed in. We could try that.’

  Noelie wasn’t so sure. ‘That laptop goes everywhere with her. But’ – he smiled – ‘I know her password. We go back a long time. It’ll be “lawlibrary80” or “loureednyc”.’

  The law library password worked. There were no recent updates on Hannah’s timeline and no messages from anyone called Caffrey.

  ‘Unless they were in contact by phone?’

  Noelie didn’t know.

  Meabh continued looking and found Hannah’s correspondence with the industrial school group. It was all there, Noelie realised, right back to the conversation Hannah had had about meeting up with Black Gary. But nothing anywhere about any Caffrey.

  Meabh looked worried too. ‘You’re sure the connection was made on Facebook?’

  ‘I’m certain.’

  ‘There’s no Caffrey or any name like that on her list of friends either.’

  Noelie didn’t want to say out loud what he was starting to think. He remembered the suddenness of the arranged meeting.

  ‘We could check her email. Just in case.’

  ‘Let’s do it,’ agreed Noelie.

  The law library password worked on that too. There were plenty of new emails but Hannah hadn’t replied to any of them. Meabh checked recent activity. ‘Her mail was accessed last night and again this morning shortly after 10 a.m.’

  ‘Well, that’s something.’ He thought about what he had said. ‘Or is it?’

  ‘I think it is,’ answered Meabh uncertainly.

  They decided they would go over to Hannah’s. Noelie’s main phone was there too. There might be a message from Hannah on that.

  Meabh had to phone her work in Amsterdam. Noelie stood at the window again looking out. He heard Meabh speak in Dutch and then the conversation reverted to English. He heard her say she’d stay another two days. He was relieved.

  Done with the call, Meabh got ready. He watched her re-plait her hair.

  ‘Why would someone steal my records?’ Noelie asked.

  She looked at him. ‘It does seem a bit odd, I agree.’

  ‘Unless they’re still looking.’

  ‘For?’

  ‘See, after I found your dad’s statement, I went to see Don Cronin. He’s the one had the stuff including my records in his lock-ups. He told me that Branch had taken everything. He made a point of saying “everything”. At the time I didn’t pay much attention, I was too worried about Shane. It was like “They’ve got everything now”.’

  Noelie told Meabh about the slip of paper he found in his LP collection that first day. ‘It was like a page from a book. There was a biographical piece about Brian Boru on one side and a typed list on the other. A few things were mentioned – documents, photos, et cetera. Anyway, the point is, there must still be information out there, something they’re missing. Why else would they come looking for my records?’

  33

  Hannah’s place was a fifteen-minute walk from the hotel. They stopped on the way to buy another pay-as-you-go mobile for Noelie. As they activated their phones Noelie remembered his appointment at Henderson’s. They made a detour to the shop and the technician recognised him immediately.

  ‘The boss hung around all afternoon for you. He struck gold.’

  Noelie apologised, passing off the missed appointment with ‘something came up’ instead of ‘I was drugged and imprisoned in a cavern by an elderly gentleman from Sunday’s Well’.

  ‘The photo’s from the Bandon Express. They have a substantial archive and were happy to email us the original as long as it wasn’t for publication. We guessed it wasn’t.’

  Noelie reassured her. The quality of the photo was hugely improved. Each face had been blown up to the size of a passport photograph, and looked clear and sharp. He thanked the technician for all her help.

  Meabh paid by credit card. As the transaction was being put through she said, ‘I’m guessing everything is digitised?’

  ‘You have a USB?’

  Meabh produced one in the shape of a Dutch tulip and the transfer was made.

  On Washington Street, they waited near Centra. Meabh wandered up by Hannah’s block of flats and returned again; she didn’t see anyone suspicious.

  Using Martin’s keys they went in. The apartment looked exactly as it had when Noelie had last been in it, nearly twenty-four hours earlier. There was no sign of Hannah. Her room was the same as usual. She normally pulled the duvet back and did a quick tidy before leaving for work and that was how it appeared now. He felt the bed. It was cold. Looking on her dresser, he saw lipstick, face cream and a hair brush. There were lots of photos, some framed, some just tacked to the wall. Hannah had a very good friend in Australia and had been out to visit her a few times. There was a wonderful picture of the two women on a mountainside outside Melbourne. Beside them was a photograph of Noelie and Hannah taken near the university’s old College Bar. They both looked very young.

  Noelie’s main phone was dead. Once it was charged and switched on, it would reveal his location but he didn’t feel he had any choice. As soon as the screen lit up, messages sailed in, reminders that he had new voice mail. Before it died the phone had logged some missed calls: two from Hannah, one from a number he didn’t recognise.

  He rang his voice mail. The first message was from Hannah and was time-stamped the previous day at 2.35 p.m. In it Hannah said she was having trouble contacting Noelie on her pay-as-you-go. She was at the train station but no one had showed up. That was it. What concerned Noelie most was the anxiety in Hannah’s voice. He replayed the message for Meabh and she agreed Hannah sounded worried. There was something wary in her tone.

  The next message was from 2.48 p.m. It
was Hannah again but there was only silence. All they could hear were muffled noises. The message lasted four minutes and ended abruptly.

  Noelie walked over to the wall and put his head against it. He looked at Meabh. ‘Something’s happened to her.’

  The remaining message was from Hannah’s friend, Tommy Keogh. It had come in at 6.32 p.m. and confirmed the worst. Hannah had contacted him sounding distressed. He had tried calling her back but without success. He was worried. Could Noelie call him back?

  There were no other messages. Noelie rang Keogh immediately but there was no answer. As he was wondering what to do, Keogh phoned back.

  ‘That you, Noel? You okay?’

  Noelie said he was fine. He had mislaid his phone, otherwise he’d have called back sooner. Keogh explained again about the call from Hannah. The message he’d received was spoken in a whisper. In it she said she was with someone but was worried; she hadn’t been able to contact Noelie.

  He told Keogh about their enquiries into Danesfort and the proposed meet-up with a contact made through Facebook. Keogh was derisive.

  ‘You allowed her to go on her own?’

  ‘The meet-up was at the train station. It’s a public area.’ But Noelie knew he had made a mistake. ‘I should’ve been there. Something came up.’

  The doorbell rang. Noelie went to the window and looked out. He couldn’t see who was below. Meabh said she’d go down. Covering the phone’s mouthpiece, he whispered, ‘Be careful.’

  Noelie told Keogh he was going to contact Hannah’s mother. If she hadn’t heard from her he’d go to the gardaí. They agreed to stay in touch.

  Meanwhile Meabh had returned up the stairs with Black Gary. Noelie was surprised and very happy to see him. Meabh looked less sure. Noelie covered the phone’s mouthpiece and whispered, ‘He’s on our side.’ He told Keogh, ‘I need to go.’

  ‘But what’s your take on the big news?’

  Noelie confessed he didn’t know what Keogh was referring to.

  ‘Where’ve you been? Don Cronin’s dead.’

  ‘Dead? How?’

  ‘It’s been all over the news. They’re saying it was a break-in that went wrong but my sources tell me it was murder.’

  Cronin had done a bunk just as Shane went missing. Later, via Detective Byrne, Noelie had learned that Cronin was holed up in Spain somewhere. Byrne wanted to talk to Cronin about the Dalton affair and the possibility that it was connected to Shane’s disappearance, but Interpol hadn’t been able to locate him. Now he was dead.

  The call ended. Noelie shook Black Gary’s hand and then hugged him as well. He introduced Meabh and explained how she had come to be involved with them. Next he told them both about Cronin’s death. Meabh was shocked.

  ‘Connected to all of this?’ she asked.

  ‘Has to be.’

  They explained to Black Gary about the situation with Hannah. Noelie got upset and sat down. Hannah and Black Gary sat beside him. Black Gary knew no one by the name of Caffrey in the industrial school network, although he added that that didn’t mean that this Caffrey didn’t exist. Black Gary had come up to Cork because of Hannah. A while back she had left a message for him at the Jolly Roger reminding him to check up on the Danesfort photo for her. He confessed he had forgotten about it until then.

  ‘But I’ve news,’ he added. From his backpack he produced a large book with a faux leather cover, The Rosminian Way.

  ‘I asked about your Danesfort photo. There’s a man in England who could be one of the surviving boys in the line but I don’t have contact details for him yet. I’m working on that. But someone suggested this. It’s a pictorial history of the Rosminians in Ireland. I have it on loan.’

  Black Gary opened a bookmarked page. There was a photo of ten or so Rosminians who had travelled to Cork city in 1963 to see President John F. Kennedy when he visited. All the priests were named in the caption. He pointed at one, ‘Is that your novitiate?’

  Noelie got the photograph that they’d picked up earlier at Henderson’s. Black Gary was impressed by the quality.

  ‘It’s him,’ said Noelie.

  Meabh agreed.

  ‘His name is Father Boran.’

  ‘Great work.’ Noelie studied the faces of the other priests in the picture. ‘This contact in England, how would we go about speaking to him?’

  ‘A minute, I haven’t explained myself properly. This Father Boran is interesting – here’s why. A while back you asked about a republican connection.’ Noelie nodded. ‘Well, it just occurred to me. The thing about this Father Boran is that he was moved to Northern Ireland in the later part of the sixties. The story is that he was accused of abusing boys at Danesfort. We know the church’s MO right? Push the problem onto someone’s else turf. Apparently he ended up in Newry. I just wondered …’

  Noelie’s face brightened. He clapped Black Gary on the back. ‘It’s possible, I see. Any idea of Boran’s whereabouts now?’

  ‘Well, there’s a complication and that’s why I’m here now. There’s a claim that Boran’s dead. A few of his victims did go looking for him, but the story is he got caught up in a fire or died in a fire in Belfast. I’m going to head over to the library to see if I can unearth anything on that. I have a few dates to work with.’

  Meabh had gone over to the window. She called Noelie immediately. He looked and then stood back out of view. There were squad cars on the street below. As Black Gary joined them a blue saloon also pulled up.

  ‘Branch.’

  ‘Coming here?’ wondered Meabh.

  ‘I’m not waiting to find out.’

  They made a quick arrangement with Black Gary. He’d meet the visiting party and later on they’d link up at Meabh’s hotel. They gave him the details. As they were going Noelie remembered to collect Hannah’s spare car keys.

  He hurried down the back stairwell with Meabh and they exited onto the small riverside deck.

  ‘How did they know we were at Hannah’s?’ she asked.

  ‘Thanks for the reminder.’ Noelie took out his mobile phone and removed the battery; he put the battery and phone back in his pocket.

  Noelie had remembered the rowboat attached to the pontoon at the apartment block. It belonged to a neighbour but was rarely used. He undid the bow rope and pulled the boat alongside. They clambered in. Noelie gave the punt a push and nearly capsized them. When they were out a short distance the current quickly took them.

  ‘The river again,’ observed Meabh.

  ‘I’m not overjoyed either.’

  Looking back at the dock Noelie didn’t see anyone. They should be out of view before someone thought of looking. They passed the dole office and went under Clark’s Bridge. The current was quite strong. After a sharp bend they went over some minor rapids, reaching the calm of George’s Quay.

  ‘Are we going somewhere in particular?’ asked Meabh.

  Noelie rattled the keys. ‘Hannah’s car could still be at the train station.’

  They reached the junction where the Lee’s south and north channels merged. The current was very strong and they were swept further downriver than Noelie wanted. Finally they docked at the slipway by The Last Call pub. Walking back to the train station, Noelie eventually spotted Hannah’s white Civic near St Patrick’s Church.

  He pressed the key fob and the car opened. They checked inside and in the boot but couldn’t see anything suspicious. ‘No laptop,’ he said.

  Noelie got in. The car looked and felt abandoned. He was afraid now.

  ‘Where to?’ asked Meabh.

  ‘Dineen Slate and Tile.’

  34

  The hardware yard looked even more deserted than the last time Noelie had visited. The gates were padlocked so they drove to the side lane leading to Ajax’s home. An Alsatian on a long leash snarled at them. Noelie and Meabh got out of the car and approached slowly. The dog grew angrier. A young man, who had to be Ajax’s son, watched from a doorway and Noelie called to him.

  ‘Is Ajax home?’ />
  ‘Who wants him?’

  ‘Noelie Sullivan. He knows me.’

  Something was said inside the house. ‘He doesn’t want to see you.’

  ‘Tell him I need his help.’

  There was a further exchange. ‘“Fuck off,” he said.’

  Noelie and Meabh exchanged glances. Meabh said, ‘Could I speak to him then?’

  Ajax appeared. He leaned on a walking stick. ‘You have some cheek. Didn’t I tell you never to show your face here again?’

  ‘I came a while back. I asked your wife to tell you I was sorry for the trouble I had caused. I meant it too. Guess she didn’t give you the message.’

  ‘She did but talk means nothing.’

  Noelie went nearer; the dog snarled. Ajax was missing a few front teeth. He didn’t look in great shape.

  ‘You heard about our mutual friend Cronin?’

  ‘I’m not dancing on anyone’s grave.’

  Noelie looked at Meabh. ‘Listen, I haven’t fared well either. My nephew’s dead. I don’t know if it’s over all this or not. Now my best friend is missing too.’

  Meabh added, ‘It’s only a few questions. Please?’

  Ajax didn’t anwer but he stayed where he was, so Noelie pressed on. ‘Cronin had three lock-ups. He said the cops raided all of them and took everything. Is that true?’

  ‘It is. I heard that everything was taken to the army barracks.’

  ‘Why there?’

  ‘They’re hardly going to tell me, are they? But last week they came back. They checked everything and everywhere again. My aunt left me this Volvo too, an old tank. They insisted on seizing that as well. Fuckers.’

  Meabh looked at Noelie. ‘You’re right. They’re still looking.’

  Ajax shuffled uncomfortably. ‘I need to sit. You can come to the door but no further.’

  They stood at the entrance to the kitchen. There was a homely smell. Mrs Dineen was there but she didn’t make eye contact.

  ‘So, a week ago they just turned up again. Looking for what?’

  ‘Those cunts. They don’t do explaining.’

  Ajax’s son spoke. ‘I asked to see ID. They were the Special Detective Unit.’