winked at Malone and sat back on his motorbike. Malone nodded once. Minogue joined him by the side of the car. A half-dozen youths, two of them girls, had materialized out of nowhere. Minogue saw faces at some windows, curtains being moved.
“I think we’re all right,” said Malone. The postman stepped into the house and closed the door behind him. Crunchie strolled over to the van.
“Oi,” he said to someone Minogue couldn’t see. “Get away from the bloody van there!” Two teenagers skipped away from behind the van. Crunchie walked around the van and looked at the two policemen.
“What are you looking at,” he said to Malone. The detective returned his stare.
“Not much, by the look of things.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Minogue nudged Malone. The door opened. Minogue took in the fright on the woman’s face. She came slowly down to the wall and folded her arms.
“I’d as soon not discuss anything out here now,” Minogue said to her. The van driver came down the step and worked his way around her.
“Thanks, Joe,” she said. She turned back to Minogue.
“You’re not coming into my house. No way. That was a promise I made to myself. Yous weren’t there when yous were wanted, years ago.”
“Mrs. Mullen?”
“My name isn’t Mullen. I have me own name back now. What do you want?”
What Minogue wanted was a phone to check the PM time with Eilis. If this woman was the mother, she’d have to identify the body.
“It’s Mary, isn’t it,” she said, and bit her lip.
“Your daughter?”
She nodded and her jaw quivered.
“Something’s happened to her, hasn’t it?”
Her voice seemed to be trapped in her throat.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“I’m very sorry but…”
She grasped at her face and turned away. The Inspector stepped forward.
“Oh, my God,” he heard her gasp. “Oh, my Jesus. Oh, my sweet Jesus.”
“Have you people in the house?” Minogue asked. “I think we should maybe go in and sit down for a minute.”
“Kevin,” she yelled. Her voice was ragged now. “Kevin!” One of the group walked over.
“Get your mother, Kevin. And hurry up with you!”
Malone parked behind an ambulance. Minogue rolled out of his seat and opened the back passenger door. Irene Lawlor made no move to get out. She sat there with the door open, staring down at her hands. Malone looked across the roof at Minogue. Irene Lawlor had said little in the car on the trip over. She had rebuffed most of Minogue’s queries with a stare fixed on the roadway by her window. Her companion, a Mrs. Molloy, had big eyes and what looked like goitre. She’d chainsmoked and murmured to Irene Lawlor all the way into the city centre. Whatever she’d said had had no noticeable effect. Irene Lawlor’s glassy stare remained.
Mrs. Molloy walked around the back of the car and leaned in. Minogue saw the red lines of the car seat impressed on the back of her thighs where her miniskirt had been creased. He stepped back and Mrs. Molloy pulled Irene Lawlor out. She walked in a crouch as if trying to recover from a punch to the stomach. She entered the hospital, with her arms wrapped around her waist.
Murtagh met them inside the front door. He fell into step beside Minogue.
“Any word, John? Bag? Witness?”
Murtagh shook his head.
“They wanted to start the PM in half an hour. Which one’s the mother?”
Minogue glanced back at the two women.
“On the left. Can’t read her much yet.”
Minogue had pieced together some things from the few words Irene Lawlor had let slip, often mere monosyllables which she seemed to wish to, but couldn’t summon the will, to prevent the garrulous Mrs. Molloy from detailing. Where did Mary live? Inishowen Gardens, off the South Circular Road. Shared a flat with another girl. When had she last seen Mary? April sometime. Didn’t get on so great the last while. Phoned the odd time though. Recently? Couple of weeks back; forgot which day. Had she seemed worried? No. Money troubles maybe? Didn’t mention any. Boyfriend? Didn’t know. Mary worked in the city centre. Some hairdresser’s, as far as she knew. As far as she knew: the phrase kept cropping up. Had Mary any contact with her estranged father? Didn’t want to have any. He’d gone on the dry a couple of years back. Where was he? Didn’t know. Somewhere in Ballybough, she’d heard. Did he contact her? He’d come by the house a half a dozen times before he finally took the hint. Asking to see Mary. Did he say what for? Wanted to make up with her, she supposed. Mary didn’t want anything to do with him. He’d gotten Jesus or something because it helped him dry out. Mary had told her a while back, last year maybe, that her father had tried to talk to her a few times on the street. He’d seen her and him driving by in his taxi. She told him to get lost. To drop dead. She hated him. Irene Lawlor hated him too. Did she know or had she maybe heard anything about Mary lately, anything that suggested things were not going well? It was the only time Minogue remembered Irene Lawlor taking her eyes from the passing roadway and looking at him. Mrs. Molloy with her big mouth broke that one up. What sort of trouble, she’d asked, and Irene Lawlor turned back toward the open window.
Minogue took Malone aside.
“You go with John too, Tommy. Take it handy with them. Gentle, no matter how they react.”
“What am I supposed to say, like?”
“Don’t say anything if you’re not sure. The attendant will pull back the covering as far as the chin. John’ll ask them. Okay?”
Minogue stepped over to the two women. Mrs. Molloy’s face had lost all its pink now. Her arm was twined tight around Irene Lawlor’s.
“Mrs. Lawlor. Detective Malone will escort you along with Detective Murtagh here.”
He cleared his throat.
“You don’t actually need to follow through here. We’ve already identified Mary from our end. Any time you want to change your mind now…”
Irene Lawlor’s words came from between her teeth.
“I know what they do here,” she said. “I want to see her.”
“No Jack Mullen,” announced Eilis. Minogue heard her type something else in. The phone was greasy in his hand. Minogue looked up from the page in his notebook where he had listed the points. Jack (John) Mullen-father. Mary in London. Egans, the gang.
“Doyle was looking for you,” she said, still typing. “Returning a call about her.”
“I’ll phone him in a minute. You’re sure about this Jack Mullen?”
“Nothing. He’s clean.”
“All right,” said Minogue. “I’ll try his place one more time, then we’ll go after the taxi companies. Capitol Taxis, the missus thinks. Ex-missus.”
Minogue switched the phone back to stand-by.
“Nothing on Mary Mullen’s da, Tommy. I’ll see what Doyler has.”
“Darlin’ Doyle? Prostitution?”
Minogue nodded.
Malone turned onto Dorset Street. The sun fell on Minogue’s side now. He was left on hold for over a minute before he heard Doyle’s voice.
“Morning there, John. Matt Minogue, yes. Have you anything to update the file on this girl Mary Mullen?”
“I’m afraid not. She hasn’t figured with us here since her last conviction there three years ago. Left the canal trade or maybe got sense.”
