“Did he talk to her or anything?”
“She wouldn’t talk, he said. He pulled over-he had a fare-and tried to talk to her, but no go.”
“Did he know where she lived?”
“No. Not even where she worked. ‘Well, I wasn’t around when she needed me,’ he says. He gave me the run-down on the last few years with the family. He came back from England with a bit of money. Reunited with the wife, but thought she wasn’t pleased to see him home, that she had her own fella on the side. Formed the opinion that the wife wasn’t a fit mother, that she’d let the daughter go to hell too. Wife’s answer was, ‘Where the hell were you when she was growing up?’ Rows, of course. Went from bad to worse. He thought he could sort things out with his fists. She got a barring order, gave him the P.O. He went back to England.”
“Drinking a lot, he says? What, five years ago?”
“Yes,” said Madden. “Then he fell off the scaffolding and was laid up in hospital for a while. Said it was the pain from his back sent the drinking right out of control then. This time he came back to Dublin broke. The wife wouldn’t have him. He lived with a brother for a while but got thrown out. He hit bottom and ended up in hospital here. Then he got counselling and stuck at the sessions. Next thing is he gets awarded a stack of money- compensation-he hadn’t expected. God’s giving him a second chance. That’s when he got religion. ‘Saved,’ says he, and he’s never looked back.”
Saved, thought Minogue-coming home. Born-again. Didn’t you have to die first?
“Well, Conor. Thanks. He’s not shy of talking then.”
“No. We’ll have a ten-page statement out of him if we’re not bloody careful.”
“Oh, before I go. The fellas he shares the place with. Did you run them through the confuser?”
“Very much so. One’s completely clean. He even works for a security company. The other one has a record but latest was eleven years back. Break and enter. That one works in a clothes shop, he’s separated and he has three grown-up kids.”
“All right, Conor. Job well done. I’ll be by within the hour.”
Kilmartin lit a cigarello. Smokescreen for a fart, Minogue decided. Murtagh opened the door of the photocopier and began clearing a jam.
“Well?” said Kilmartin.
“Mister Jack Mullen claims to be on the side of the angels.”
“Arra, talk sense, man! Separated from the wife and daughter, we’re just after hearing. An alco. God knows what else will come up. What’s angelic about that?”
“Jack Mullen found Jesus,” said Minogue. Kilmartin chewed a corner of his lip.
“You make it sound like an affliction.”
Minogue bit back a comment.
“Okay, okay,” said Kilmartin, and rubbed his hands together. “Howandever. Go and take him on yourself. Now what about that Fahy girl: will I send a car to take her in for round two?”
“Give it a little more time, Jim, if you please.”
“Jases, man, we can’t be sitting on our hands now. She’s had her crying time. She’s trying to cod us that she knew damn-all about what her own flatmate was up to? Friends? Boyfriends coming and going? Didn’t they talk, for God’s sake?”
“I’m not sure how much she knew about Mary’s background, Jim, but she’s scared.”
“Huh. Scared or not, she’d better buck up. She’s a key in the lock for us.”
Minogue made a mock salute. Kilmartin yawned and cocked an eye at Malone.
“All go here, huh, Molly? Getting the hang of where you fit in the big picture?”
Malone nodded. Minogue imagined Tommy Malone getting up from his corner of a boxing ring, a glint in his eye, to face Kilmartin. The Chief Inspector waved in the direction of the boards. Minogue sat back. Wreathed in smoke, Kilmartin swept his arm, tapped with his knuckles and then lumbered along by the notice-boards while he declaimed for Malone, who sat, arms folded, watching. Murtagh on his hunkers by the photocopier had turned around to watch the performance, a faint smile playing about his lips.
“We pull it all together each morning and then in the middle of the afternoon-unless we’re on the move on one that’s breaking open. We’ll use anyone and everyone. See that there, Molly? We may find out that Mary Mullen was in tight with the Egans. See that name-Mick Hand? Serious Crime Squad? Resident expert on the Egans. He’ll be along tomorrow morning. Doyler, resident expert on Dublin’s pavement hostesses, will be here. All the uniforms from the scene-Sheehy’s brigade. Plate-Glass Sheehy. You’ll meet him. If we still can’t place Mary Mullen by tea- time today, we’ll start the door-to-door tonight. Pubs, offices, the whole bit. John Murtagh will go on building our file on her as well as chase the PM. Our very own file search is on foot for MO fits and known offenders; incidents logged in the area; probationers, parolees and bailed gougers to boot.”
Minogue took the phone to the window-sill and dialled Kathleen.
“I meant to phone earlier. Sorry. I’ve a lot of running around on the menu today.”
“Will you be working through on this one?”
He couldn’t take his eyes off his Citroen in the yard. The panels. Wheel covers. Squatting down, waiting to be summoned. He blinked and broke his stare.
“I don’t know. We’re still trying to get up to pressure here.”
She told him that she had just put down the phone after a call from Iseult.
“Tell me now,” he began. “You’re a mother, after all.”
“Oh, oh. What’s coming up after that class of an opener?”
“No tricky stuff. Could a mother live in the same city as her daughter but be estranged from her?”
“Why would you be asking me?”
Her voice had lost its warmth. Damn, he thought. She thought he was giving her digs about Iseult.
“It’s a case where a mother maintains she hardly knew anything about the daughter. Really. The daughter ran away from home. She got herself arrested a few times. She did time. The father beat the mother, and the daughter too, probably. The mother tells me she hardly met with the daughter this last year. What do you think?”
“Well, it’s possible, isn’t it? Broken homes, abuse. Drink does terrible things, you know.”
A retaliatory dig, he wondered. Kathleen Minogue’s husband was a bit too fond of a drink for her liking?
“There’s guilt, I suppose,” she added. “Maybe the mother didn’t protect the girl from her husband. Maybe the daughter blamed the mother for something.”
He was staring at the writing on the notice-boards now. Jack Mullen, Capitol Taxi. Jack Mullen, head-case. Enough, Minogue decided. There were two conversations going on here.
“Thanks now,” he muttered. “I’ll bear that in mind. How’s Iseult anyhow?”
“Odd, if you want to know my reaction.”
“Odd? Of course she’s odd. Doesn’t she have a degree in being odd from the College of Art?”
“I meant odd, Matt!”
“Oh. That kind of odd.”
“She still misses home. A mother’s intuition, call it what you like, but…”
Minogue rolled his eyes. Iseult had been living in a flat with her boyfriend for a year.
“Laundry?” he tried.
“If only that,” said Kathleen. “No. She’s got a look about her.”
“A look.”
“Yes. A look that tells me she’s waiting to land something on us.”
“Oh, I see.”
“What do you see?”
“I mean yes, em. Well, maybe she misses us. Thinks we need a visit.”
He waited for her to respond.
“No?”
“Huh. Just tell me what time you think you’ll be home. So’s I can tell her.”
The tone cut through his thoughts.
“I’ll aim for eight,” he said. “I’ll leave a message on the machine if I can’t.”
