The Railway Viaduct

'What did that old bastard want?' said Pierce Shannon, coming over to him. 'Did he want you to train for the priesthood?'

'Nothing like that.'

'Be careful, Liam. You'd have to be celibate.'

'Then the job'd not suit me. I've got too much fire in my loins for the church. Father Slattery will have to look elsewhere.'

'Well, it had better not be in my direction.'

'Why not, Pierce? You might end up as a cardinal.'

'If I'm a cardinal, you're the Angel bleeding Gabriel.'

They traded a laugh. Shannon stepped in closer.

'By the way,' he said, casually, 'it's a shame about that friend of yours, Victor Leeming. He could have been useful to us.'

'Not any more.'

'I suppose the truth is that he just didn't fit in here. Pity – he was a good worker.'

'Victor won't be doing any work for a while.'

'I liked the man. He had a good punch.'

'He was certainly a match for you, Pierce.'

'Only because he caught me unawares that one time,' said Shannon, thrusting out his chest. 'In a proper fight, I reckon that I could kick seven barrels of shit out of him.'

'Don't try to do that to Brendan,' warned Kilfoyle.

'Who?'

'Brendan Mulryne. He was helping us to shovel spoil into the wagons today. He's got muscles bigger than bloody pumpkins. He made me feel puny beside him. Brendan could fill two wagons in the time it took me to fill one.'

'What sort of man is he?'

'The best kind – joking all day long.'

'I prefer a man who keeps his fucking gob shut while he works.'

'Then stay clear of Brendan. He can't keep quiet. We got on well together. He feels the same about priests as me. He'd rather roast in Hell than be forced to listen to a sermon.'

'Where's he from?'

'Dublin.'

'And he's a real navvy?'

'With hands like that, he couldn't be anything else.' Kilfoyle saw the giant figure ambling towards him. 'You can meet him for yourself, Pierce. Here he comes.'

Shannon turned a critical eye on Brendan Mulryne, who was smiling amiably at everyone he passed and making cheerful comments as he did so. When he spotted Kilfoyle, he strolled across to him. Mulryne was introduced to Shannon. As they shook hands, the latter felt the power in the other's grip.

'I'm looking for somewhere to sleep tonight,' said Mulryne. 'The ganger told me there'd be room at Pat O'Rourke's. Do you know him?'

'Yes,' replied Kilfoyle, pointing. 'He owns that stone house at the end of the row. Pat will look after you. Built the house himself.'

'How much does he charge?'

'Almost nothing.'

'That's good because I haven't got two bleeding pennies to rub together.' He became conspiratorial. 'Hey, I don't suppose that either of you know how I can pick up a little extra money, do you?'

'In what way?' asked Shannon.

'Any way at all, friend.'

'Such as?'

'On my last job, I made a tidy sum at cockfighting.'

'Nobody will want to fight a cock as big as yours,' said Kilfoyle with a giggle. 'And, if you're talking about the kind with feathers and sharp claws, then Mr Brassey won't allow that kind of thing on any of his sites.'

'What the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't fucking grieve.'

'I couldn't have put it better,' said Shannon, warming to him at once. 'How else have you made money in the past, Brendan?'

'All sorts of ways. Best of all was prize-fighting.'

'Really?'

'Yes, I'd take on all-comers with one hand strapped behind my back. They not only paid for the chance to take a swing at me,' said Mulryne, 'I got my share of the bets that were laid as well.'

'Very crafty.'

'I've got a devil of a thirst, Pierce. That takes money.'

'Not here,' said Kilfoyle. 'The brandy's dirt cheap.'

'I know. I tried some on the way here. Anyway,' Mulryne went on, 'I'd best find O'Rourke so that I've got somewhere to lay my fucking head tonight. Then it's off to the nearest inn with me.'

'We'll take you there,' volunteered Shannon.

'Thank you, friend. I might hold you to that.' He caught sight of Father Slattery among the crowd and recoiled. 'Is that the bleeding priest they told me about?'

'That's him, large as life.'

'Then keep the bugger away from me.'

'Father Slattery is harmless enough,' said Kilfoyle.

'Not to me, Liam. There's a time and place for priests and this is not it. When I've worked my balls off all day,' asserted Mulryne, 'the last thing I want is a dose of religion. A good drink and a warm woman is all I need and Father Slattery looks as if he's never tasted either.'

Maria Brassey was an excellent hostess. She gave the guests a cordial welcome and served a delicious meal. When he spoke French by demand, Robert Colbeck discovered that she had an excellent grasp of the language. She was delightful company and presided over the table with her husband. After dinner, however, she knew exactly when to withdraw so that the men could talk in private.

'Have you had any success while I was away?' said Colbeck.

'A little,' replied Brassey. 'The nightwatchmen caught two men pilfering but they had nothing to do with all the damage we've suffered. I paid them what I owed and ordered them off the site.'

'That, of course, is another avenue we might explore.'

'What do you mean, Inspector?'

'Discontented former employees. Men with a grudge.'

'You'll not find many of those,' said Aubrey Filton, the other guest. 'Mr Brassey is renowned for his fairness. If the men step out of line, they know they'll be sacked. They accept that.'

'Most of them, perhaps,' said Colbeck. 'But I can see how it would rankle if someone was dismissed from a job that would guarantee two years' work for them.'

'We keep a record of every man we employ.'

'Then I'd like to take a close look at it, Mr Filton.'

The three men were comfortably ensconced in chairs in the living room of the country house that Brassey had rented. It was close enough to the site for him to get there with ease, yet far enough away to be out of reach of the incessant noise that was created. Having grown up on a farm, the contractor always preferred a house that was surrounded by green fields. It made him feel as if he were back in his native Cheshire. He sipped his glass of port.

'How is Sergeant Leeming?' he said.

'Very glad to be back home,' returned Colbeck. 'Victor took a beating but no permanent damage seems to have been done. He simply needs plenty of time to recover.'

'That sort of thing would put me off police work forever,' said Filton. 'It's far too dangerous.'

'Victor is not so easily deterred.'

'And what about this new fellow?'

'Oh,' said Colbeck with a smile, 'you can rely on him. If you set off an explosion under Brendan Mulryne, you'd not scare him away. He has nerves of steel.'

'Then why didn't you bring him here in the first place?' said Brassey. 'Was he assigned to another case?'

'Yes, sir.'

'He doesn't look like a detective at all.'

'He isn't one,' said Colbeck.

'I see. He's an ordinary constable.'

'There's nothing ordinary about Brendan, I promise you. He was trained as a policeman and I had the good fortune to work with him when I was in uniform. When you have to break up a tavern brawl, there's no better man to have beside you than him.'

'I can imagine.'

Colbeck did not reveal that the man he had entrusted with such an important task was, in fact, a dock labourer of dubious reputation who led the kind of chaotic existence that two conventional middle class gentlemen could not begin to understand. The less they knew about Brendan Mulryne, the better. At all events, Colbeck resolved, his name must not get back to Edward Tallis. If the superintendent became aware of the Irishman's presence on site, Colbeck would not have to write a letter of resignation. He would probably be ejected from Scotland Yard with Tallis's condemnation ringing in his ears.