what did all that lead to?”
“Twin boys named Tad and Larry, who attended the same school I had, though twelve years later.”
“So what went wrong?” Sara asked. “Something obviously did.”
“The Magees, like me, came from County Down, had been a family of substance in earlier times, and they owned a farmstead above Drumore Bay. A cousin, Eli Magee, farmed it for them and ran a big old launch named the Maria Blanco from the jetty below in the bay.”
“Was Finbar IRA?”
“They wouldn’t have him. He was a braggart who claimed to be IRA to his sons and encouraged them to visit, which Eileen didn’t want because there was bloodshed and war over there. There were lots of guys like him, claiming a false glory when all they were doing was driving a truck by night, hauling groceries to supermarkets, booze to pubs, and delivering orders from the chief of staff on the way to local commanders.”
“Backed by documents that would satisfy the police?” Sara said. “If they were stopped?”
“Of course, but carrying a weapon was out because of the danger of police searches.” He shrugged. “It was a kind of IRA postal service delivering mail to its troops.”
“And you would know,” said Hannah.
“Of course, I’m the fella who’d dumped a promising career at the National Theatre two years earlier because his father, in Belfast for a family funeral, stumbled into a firefight between paratroops and an angry mob, and was shot by mistake. It was the Provisional IRA for me, the Provos, next stop, and I’d have thought you’d agree with that, Hannah, after what happened to you and your parents.”
“Nobody could understand more, Sean, and a hell of a choice to have to make.”
Sara said, “But what did Eileen think of Finbar’s persuading his sons to visit him in bandit country?”
“Her worst nightmare came true because the RUC began sniffing around Finbar, the man with the sons from London who kept visiting him.”
“I’d have been surprised if they hadn’t. What did it lead to?”
“He produced a Browning handgun from his pocket one night just to give himself the right kind of macho image, drunk as usual. Refused to stop for a police car, crashed in the chase.”
Hannah said, “So ten years in the Maze Prison?”
“No, because he was drunk, he had a problem handling his gun, and the police opened fire.”
“They shot the bastard?” Hannah said.
“No, but they did hit Larry Magee twice, one in the right leg, the other in the back, a legal response to attack, but as the police had done the shooting, it was an awkward one. They solved it for the moment by dropping the boys off at the local cottage hospital.”
“So obviously Finbar was arrested,” Sara said.
“Of course, but the doctors at the hospital, knowing which side their bread was buttered on, but not what to do with Larry, approached the IRA chief of staff for County Down, Hugh Tulley, who sent a top enforcer to clear things up, which he did.”
“Would that happen to have been you?” Hannah asked.
Sara cut in. “What did you do?”
“The IRA had plenty of money in those days, plus the right connections. I stole the boys from hospital one night, drove them to the home of a good friend, who flew us out to a small airfield in Kent. Using our connections, I’d been able to arrange a discreet private hospital to receive a young man who’d been in a car crash abroad, back injured, leg broken.”
“Very clever,” Hannah said. “So Ulster, the gunplay, never happened?”
“And Eileen?” Sara asked.
“Forever grateful.”
“Which only leaves Finbar,” Hannah said. “What happened to him?”
“Nothing,” Dillon said. “The RUC never brought a charge. They found him too useful as an informer.”
“The bastard,” Hannah said.
“Yes, he was and still is.” Roper smiled. “But at least it leaves us with Captain Wonderful here, who rights all wrongs.”
“Not really, Larry was crippled for life,” Dillon said. “But at least Eileen got her boys back home.”
Billy cut in. “All these years, Dillon, and you never mentioned you knew the Magees.” He appealed to Hannah. “They were the most famous gangsters in London when they were active.”
“Gangsters?” Hannah was astounded.
Harry said, “He’s right, Hannah. Only the best for them. Suits from Savile Row, shoes from Lobb’s, one of the nicest houses in Curzon Street, not too far from the Dorchester, which you’ve got to admit is rather convenient. The Green Harp near Shepherd Market, one of the best gaming clubs in London, with Tara Place on the upper floor specializing in Irish cooking.”
“Which I haven’t sampled since the improvements,” Dillon said. “But intend to.”
“What a story, Dillon, you’re always full of surprises. Come on, Billy, we’ve got work to do,” Harry told him.
Billy stood up, and said, “And Finbar, what’s happened to him?”
“Eileen was over in Ulster to discuss legal matters concerning the Magee farm, where he’d been living for years. He picked her up at the railway station, drunk as usual, had one of his crashes, and managed to kill his wife. Cuts and bruises where he was concerned, but it appears he’ll walk free.”
“Dear God.” Hannah crossed herself. “Damn him to hell.”
“A truly dreadful man,” Sara said. “But still their father, that’s the problem. What do you think the brothers will do?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Dillon said. “I don’t even know whether the funeral’s today or tomorrow. I’m going to see Tad and Larry now. How often do you see me in a black suit, but this one is just in case.”
“Can I go with you?” Hannah asked. “Mine’s dark blue, but acceptable.”
Roper said, “It’s okay by me, but if there’s a funeral, I want you back here as soon as it’s over.”
Dillon grabbed Hannah’s hand, they hurried out, and Roper turned to the Salters. “You are the only two I can accept living out, so off you go.”
Harry grinned, said, “Let’s move it, Billy,” and they were gone.
Blake, Henry Frankel, and Jake Cazalet had been talking quietly. They turned expectantly. “The guest wing can meet your needs unless you’d care to return to the Dorchester,” Roper said.
“I’ll hang on here for the moment,”
