Malone stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked down at his sodden shoes.
“Terry?”
“Terry. The fella with your face.”
Malone looked up with a frown.
“Terry’s in the nick.”
Kilmartin glanced at Minogue.
“Your brother got out of the nick was what I heard.”
“Oh, he got out all right. Yeah. But he got back in again.”
“He got back in again.”
“Yeah. It’s a different nick, though. It’s a treatment facility with a lockup. The new one up by Clanbrassil Street. Drugs and all, you know?”
Kilmartin cleared his throat. Minogue studied faces in the knot of people on the path.
“That’s, er, good, Molly,” said Kilmartin. “You did the right thing there. He was after falling into the hands of the Egans, I believe.”
Kilmartin nodded at Minogue to indicate the source of his intelligence.
“Oh, you heard.”
“Matter of fact, himself and myself bumped into him there in a shop belonging to one of the brothers. Looked like he was in a bad state, I don’t mind telling you. Right, Matt?”
Minogue nodded. Malone frowned, took his hand out of his pocket and began scratching at his scalp.
“You met Terry?”
“Your man here decided to do a bit of crusading there. Let them know who’s boss and all the rest of it. He sort of told me that, well, the Egans wanted to use your brother to get at you. To get at us, I mean. The Guards in general, like.”
Malone nodded.
“Well, yeah. They were up to that, all right. Tell me, when were yous up there?”
Kilmartin looked at Minogue.
“Earlier on today,” said the Inspector.
“Today? No. You must have gotten your days mixed up. Couldn’t have been today.”
Minogue shrugged.
“It was today,” said Kilmartin. “And well I remember it. Brother of yours is hardly civil to the Guards, is he? He gave us-well, he tried to give us-a bit of a bollocking there.”
“Today?”
Kilmartin cleared his throat and took out his cigarettes. Malone looked him in the eye.
“What’s the story there, Molly? What are you looking at me like that for? You’re the one should be answering the bloody questions here. As a matter of fact, now that I have the both of you here…”
Kilmartin’s words trailed off. Minogue and Malone both studied the smoke flowing out of Kilmartin’s open mouth.
“What?” Kilmartin murmured.
“I got Terry committed yesterday,” said Malone. He nodded at Minogue. “His idea. Gets him off the streets. It was either treatment or arrest for assault, right?”
“Right,” said Minogue.
“No, no, no,” said Kilmartin. “I-wait a minute-Matt, you were there with me…”
This time Minogue saw that Kilmartin knew. His eyes opened wide and he leaned in toward the two policemen.
“That wasn’t Terry up at the shop, like,” said Malone. “That was me.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Minogue wiped at the smudge again but got nowhere. It had to be from the photocopier. He and Malone had taken her statement, had her charged and had signed over just before one o’clock. He let the copy of Patricia Fahy’s statement drop onto his desk, leaned back until the chair bit into his back and stretched, Eilis wandered over and dropped a yellow phone-message sheet on the desk.
“Waterford city,” she said. “They’re far from sure. He was missing for two days. Someone spotted the car under the water yesterday evening and they walking by. The rain delayed them getting it out.”
He searched over the note.
“Lost his job, they said… Who reported him missing again?”
“Oh, I forgot to write it in. Sorry, I’m half asleep, so I am. Will I phone them back?”
Minogue shook his head.
“No, I’ll do it.”
Kilmartin sauntered in from the car-park. He had draped a double-breasted jacket over his shoulders. The debonair air puzzled Minogue. Kilmartin looked like a cross between Maurice Chevalier and a bouncer. He surveyed the squadroom as though visiting it for the first time.
“Oh, oh,” Minogue heard Eilis murmur before she walked off.
Kilmartin seemed to be examining the surfaces of the desks now. He turned to the notice-boards and studied them with the respectful interest of a visiting civilian. Minogue decided to test the waters.
“How’s Jim this fine morning?”
Kilmartin’s brow shot up. He looked over with a smile.
“Oh, fine, thanks, Matt. And how’s yourself? Family well?”
“Topping, thanks. Nice jacket there.”
Kilmartin looked down at his shoulder.
“Do you like it?”
“I certainly do. Well wear to you.”
Kilmartin smiled faintly and returned to his survey of the squadroom.
“Nice to have the change of weather, isn’t it?”
Like a tourist in the National Gallery, Minogue thought. Should he wait until Kilmartin brought it up before asking how the summit with Serious Crimes and Co. had gone?
“Couldn’t be better, Jim. Couldn’t be better.”
Kilmartin smiled again and squinted close up at a photocopy of Leonardo Hickey’s mug shot. His tone was warm and inviting when he spoke.
“Any sign of that trick-acting bastard?”
“He’s getting better. He’s taking counselling already. Wants to go into acting now, he says, after his taste of the big time lying in that van. He’s even willing to take the rap for doing that car. Says those few days changed his life.”
Minogue stopped and watched as Kilmartin gently tore down the photo of Leonardo Hickey and crumpled it in his hand.
“It wasn’t that Hickey character I was referring to,” said Kilmartin,
He began to scrunch up other papers on the notice-board.
“Oh, em, Tierney? He’s appeared and got remanded-”
“No, no, no. Not him either. No, I saw his statement this morning before I went off to Keane. No, no. His goose is cooked. So’s the Fahy one, for that matter.”
Was he to expect a compliment from Kilmartin?
“Er, who then, Jim?”
“Your sidekick. Molly. Al Capone. Voh’ Lay-bah. The Play Actor.”
“I told him to go home and see about his family. He’s to phone in before twelve.”
Kilmartin seemed to suddenly tire of his task. He looked across at Minogue, the vaguely satisfied smile still playing about his face.
“How’d it go, Jim? The meeting with the task force-Keane and the rest of them?”
