The Last Days of Newgate - Andrew Pepper [95]
The old man’s eyes narrowed. ‘Need my help? How would you know that?’
‘Is there a particular church that he liked to frequent?’
‘A church, you say? Davy never was one for prayin’.’
‘Your family in Belfast tell a different story. Reckon Davy spent most of his time in a church praying.’
‘You been to Sandy Row?’ The old man sounded alarmed.
‘Davy was stopping there until very recently. He left in a hurry, I was told. I think he might be in trouble.’ Pyke felt himself sigh. ‘All I want to do is ask Davy a few questions.’
‘That right?’ The old man stared at him with suspicion. ‘I suppose that’s why you’ve got the pistol.’
‘Look, I’m not the one who got Davy into the mess he’s in.’
Pyke could feel the old man’s animosity but there was something else in his stare, too. Fear, perhaps. Sadness?
‘You were askin’ about a church,’ the old man said, after about half a minute’s silence.
Pyke nodded.
‘I don’t know about any church in particular but you could have a look for him in the vicinity of Market Hill.’
‘Does he have family or friends there?’
Andrew Magennis crossed his arms and said nothing. ‘Is that where he went after he was thrown out of the constabulary?’
Magennis stared at him without emotion.
‘Why might Davy have gone there?’
The old man’s expression remained resolute, intent on concealing whatever feelings Pyke’s questions had provoked.
But Pyke did not find Davy Magennis in any of the churches or meeting rooms in Market Hill. Nor did anyone in the town admit to knowing him. When he asked about churches in the outlying area, he was told of one about two miles north of the town, on the road to Hamilton’s Bawn.
It had turned into a warm, sunny day. A cooling breeze blew gently off the lough and a few clouds drifted harmlessly across an otherwise unbroken vista of blue. The air felt light, even balmy, as Pyke led his black horse up to the perimeter of the old church. It was the kind of day that should have made him feel lucky to be alive, but Pyke was bothered by something he could not quite fathom.
As soon as he stepped into the draughty old church, which was pleasantly cool out of the sun, he saw a young man kneeling down at the altar at the front of the building. It was a dour place, with clear rather than stained-glass windows and an unusually low ceiling.
Pyke did not make any attempt to conceal his presence. He walked down the aisle and came to a halt only a few yards away from the place where the priest was kneeling. The man looked up at him, startled.
He stood up, rearranged his cloak and dog collar, and smiled. ‘Simon Hunter.’ He held out his hand. ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.’ He spoke in a crisp English accent.
‘Pyke.’ He shook the priest’s hand, not seeing any reason to conceal his identity.
The priest continued to smile. ‘Well, Mr Pyke, what brings you to Mullabrack?’
‘I’m looking for a big man called Davy Magennis.’
The priest’s good humour vanished. Lines of concern appeared on his brow. ‘Davy, you say?’
‘Big man. At least six and a half feet tall.’
The priest continued to look at him, unsure what to say.
‘You know him?’
Very slowly, the priest nodded his head.
‘Do you know where I can find him?’
Again, the young priest nodded.
‘Well, can I speak to him?’
‘I’m afraid that would be impossible.’
Pyke looked deep into the man’s concerned face and imagined the sheltered, comfortable upbringing that had produced it. ‘You might not believe it, but I think he might need my help.’
‘A few days ago, I would have agreed with you.’
The priest ran his fingers through his wavy hair. He seemed upset, as though Pyke’s request had put him in a difficult position. Neither of them spoke for a while. Finally the priest told Pyke to follow him. Outside, the yard was dotted with graves. It was cool in the shade provided by giant oak trees. They came to a halt next to what appeared to be a recently filled grave. Pyke understood what the priest had been trying to tell him. He felt angry and cheated but managed to ask what had happened.
‘Davy showed up here