Agnes looked inquiringly at Minogue and then continued:
'The thing was-and I don't care what anyone else says-he was trying. I suppose it'd look sort of clumsy to an older person. When I think of it. Cooking Italian food and trying out wines. The Student Prince.' Agnes' teeth showed in her smile this time. Then she frowned and looked straight at Minogue.
'Maybe I was the only one who noticed he was changing. I'll bet his parents didn't notice. I met them today for the first time. And the last time probably. I shouldn't say it maybe… but I felt I had seen them before. They didn't seem like strangers.'
Minogue was thinking about Mick Roche. Could hardly call him jilted though. He had been circumspect, not the opinionated termagant Minogue had expected in a student leader. Perhaps give him credit for being able to conceal his feelings. Still, Roche had recognised the changes in Jarlath.
'Agnes, did Jarlath experiment with drugs at all?'
Minogue looked closely at her to try and gauge the risk. He had said it out of context, watching. Would she switch to anger? Minogue waited, seeing the frown on her face, not knowing if he had asked at the right time.
'Are you joking?'
Minogue didn't reply.
'Like I said this morning: No.'
After a pause of returning his gaze, Agnes spoke slowly.
'Maybe I had better save you some embarrassment, Sergeant. You talk about drugs. Well Jarlath didn't so much as experiment with sex. He was all for cuddles and going to the pictures and walking me home. As for trying to stay the night… and it isn't even that I wanted things that way at all. But you know fellas, trying to prove things to themselves. Jarlath got pissed out of his brain after three pints. I mean, nothing doing. Can you believe that?'
'Yes,' Minogue said simply. He turned away from the intensity of her gaze. She had decided in his favour by the slightest of margins. She still retained the challenging candour in her voice as if daring him to push his luck into rudeness. 'Yes.' Minogue needed to believe as much about Iseult and Daithi, that they weren't part of the touted libertine rubbish which the magazines fed to the middle-aged on their stale weekends.
Minogue heard a little ping in the back of his head. It came from remembering Allen's reluctance in telling him about Jar-lath's interests. Had Jarlath kept it to himself, this business about the effects of drugs? Wouldn't Agnes know? It just wasn't likely that he'd keep it to himself. Minogue found that Agnes was still looking directly at him, awaiting the signs of another challenge. No, he decided, he couldn't ask her now.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The south side of Dublin being snotty, plenty of the cars which passed Gardai Kehoe and Cummins cost more than twice their annual salaries, before tax. The two were sitting in a Garda squad car near the Bray Road, the main thoroughfare $outh from Dublin. There was an agreement between them that their priorities would be given to Jags, BMWs, Mercedes and anything made in Italy that wasn't a Fiat. Speed traps were rare on Irish roads, but such a potential source of revenue as the billiard table expanse of the new Bray Road couldn't be ignored,
Kehoe and Cummins had been sitting in the car before morning rush hour some weeks previously, and they had observed a reddish projectile rocketing under the bridge in Belfield. Kehoe burned his fingers as he tried to get the cigarette out of his mouth, looking for the ignition. The UFO had obliged them by mounting a curb near Stillorgan, ripping off the front of the car and grinding to a stop after it had rubbed itself like a drugged, frantic cat along a wall for over two hundred feet. All this at ten to seven in the morning. Later, the authorities were to report that the showband star inside, one Malachi O'Brien of O'Brien's Country Treasures, a band enjoying a large following in all parts of the republic except Dublin, was too drunk to get out of the car. O'Brien expressed his gratitude at being rescued by the officers and added that it was only because the new Bray Road was so well constructed that his life had been extended. The car had been travelling at speeds close to a hundred miles an hour.
'It's the bloody telly. Smokey and the Outlaw, or whatever you call it. Did you hear him? 'Arra boys, the blessin's of God and his Holy Mother on you. Amn't I only delighted to see ye. Sure the bloody car took off by itself and I couldn't stop it,'' Kehoe mimicked to his colleague.
'Blind drunk, I suppose, was he?'
'Man dear, he was nearly speechless with the drink. He didn't know what century he was in. I wouldn't mind but he's a favourite of the wife's. She was surprised, I can tell you.'
'Pop stars? A pack of ujits. That's a nice how do you do.'
Both Gardai guessed that the motorists had been flashing lights up ahead. In ten minutes, they hadn't heard the alert from the speed gun.
'We'll head off so,' Kehoe muttered.
Kehoe clipped on his belt and started off on the slip road which joined the dual carriageway a hundred yards ahead. Cummins radioed in and sat back. Kehoe noticed a large car which had been coming up fast behind them. It had braked when the driver had realised he was passing a police car, itself doing the legal limit. Kehoe saw the bonnet of the car, a Mercedes, dip in his mirror. That'll learn you, he thought. For divilment, he slowed the police car. The car, a yellow Mercedes, was obliged to pass. Kehoe nudged his partner. Both looked over to the right at the slowly passing car. The car was no more than a year old.
The Gardai knew that the occupants would pretend not to notice them. There were three men in the car. It was a kind of play: the driver knew he had been speeding, the Gardai knew it, they all knew that each knew it, but the radar wasn't on. The driver and passenger stared ahead. As the rear passenger drifted by the police car, he darted a glance at the two policemen. Both Cummins and Kehoe noticed this. Kehoe, closest to the passing car, was the first to say it.
'Well, Lar. Will we give it a look?'
Cummins didn't answer immediately. Cummins was a Dublin-man, an exception on the Garda police force. He came from Crumlin, a working class district. He had had to take a lot of stick for joining the police. Crumlin didn't harbour many Mercedes. Cummins didn't mind that many of the policemen he worked with were bogmen, even though he knew they acted the heavy sometimes because they wanted to get a dig at Dublin hooligans.
Cummins had a new house in Templeogue and his wife, Breda, had a job in the bank. He had bought a new car. Cummins and the wife had been to Greece on their honeymoon. He didn't think he had any reason to resent rich people. Cummins could not ignore the internal radar, that intuition which he and Kehoe, who was a Kilkenny bogman, along with other police had. Three men in a car starts you thinking.
'Keep an eye on him anyway, I suppose.'
Cummins reached for the microphone and called in the registration, a Dublin one. A 280 SEL. He wondered if that was a six-cylinder model. Waiting for the reply, the Gardai could hear the chatter of the other units. Kehoe had sat in, two cars behind the Merc. They'd have to decide soon because the turnoff to Booterstown was coming up soon.
'Blackrock, Unit Fourteen… a yellow Mercedes, number is… Meath. Hold on a second until I get the number… reported stolen yesterday in Dunboyne. Model 280 SEL, year…'
'Blackrock, Unit Fourteen. Meath, is it?'
'Yes, Fourteen. Hold on a sec now…'
Cummins looked over at Kehoe. Kehoe nodded. Cummins wrote down the number anyway. Cummins radioed in their location and that they wanted to look over the car.
Kehoe pulled out and drew alongside the Mercedes. Faces turned to the two Gardai. Cummins had put on his hat and he had opened the window. He signalled the driver to pull over. One of the passengers leaned forward and spoke to the driver. The driver looked over to the policemen and nodded briefly. The Merc slowed. Kehoe pulled in ahead of the car.
He unbuckled his seat-belt as he watched Cummins walk back toward the Mercedes. There were about two car lengths between them. In the mirror, Kehoe noticed that the three men were sitting quite still, watching Cummins approach. Just before it happened, Kehoe had a sudden understanding of something, like when he had fallen on the ground during a game of football as a child.
