angle.'
'Yes, Matt. I follow.'
'What about that lad you have, what's his name.'
'Connors?'
'Yes. He's on the up and up, isn't he?'
'He's very quick, there's no doubt, Matt. Are you saying you want to give him a crack at this?'
'Yes. A fresh approach.'
'Sorry now, but you'll have to take your turn. He's out on surveillance now if you don't mind. It's this murder out in Black-rock,' Kilmartin said.
Minogue looked around. The foyer to the library was empty. Students kept office hours too, apparently. He felt chastened at having all but forgotten that other events took precedence over his concerns. Was this a sign of old age, retreating into one's own preoccupations?
'Well, do-'
Minogue heard clicks on the line as an operator interrupted.
'Inspector Kilmartin, line two. Hello?'
'Hello?' Kilmartin said.
'A priority call on line two, Inspector.'
'Hold, Matt, you hear,' Kilmartin said.
For thirty seconds Minogue listened to his own breath bristling through his nose into the mouthpiece. There was a faint smell of peppermint off the phone.
When Kilmartin spoke again, his voice was very different.
'Matt. Be over here directly now. Something has come up. Drop what you're doing immediately. We'll need all the manpower we can get.'
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Allen watched her balancing the coffee as she took the change from the cashier. She sat down across the table from him.
'You know best, I mean,' she said.
'By half past, it should be O.K. It's just that I'm allergic to traffic jams,' he said.
Agnes smiled.
'It'd surely spoil the impulse if we ended up in a traffic jam so it would,' she agreed.
'Does your family know you're coming?' Allen asked.
'No. It'll be a surprise, I can tell you,' Agnes sipped her coffee and sat back. Allen had watched her sling a packsack into the boot and had felt a strange thrill.
'Well,' Allen said, 'I decided to go tonight and not wait. They're expecting me tomorrow but… too much routine. How are the books, Agnes?'
'What a question,' she smiled. 'I shouldn't tell you. I forget you're one of them.'
He laughed.
'Well, aren't you?' she teased.
'Oh come on now. This isn't school. You don't have to pretend,' he said.
'Ach, I wonder. I could do with a break from the books.'
'Sounds normal to me. You'll pick up again.'
Agnes sipped at the brim of the cup speculatively.
'Yes. I know that. It's just that sometimes I think of the future, you know. Jobs and all that. It's better than thinking about the past,' she said.
Allen smiled.
'I really like the placement though. That's real social work. When I started out I couldn't understand it, you know. People here-the South I mean-are so different from back home. I used to think they were worse off here sometimes.'
'How do you mean?'
'They couldn't blame it on the troubles is what I mean. There's no reason for people to starve in Dublin, but they do.'
Allen understood. Life had been whittled cleaner for people in the North. Their uncertainty was kept at bay by this constant involvement.
'You know, like you talk about rationalisation in your lectures? It's the national pastime really, isn't it?'
Allen laughed and nodded his head. She got straight to the point, he thought. Would he though? Later, after they crossed the border. Maybe her reserve was a defence to hide her feelings for him.
By the time Minogue reached Kilmartin's office, he had dropped his files once. He caught Kilmartin just as he was about to step out the door, followed by a uniformed sergeant. Kilmartin's face was tight.
'Put 'em away in my office,' Kilmartin nodded at the papers under Minogue's arm. Minogue looked at the sergeant. He appeared to be angry. He was flicking car keys on his fingers. Minogue tripped out in their wake.
'As true as God, Matt, this is the limit. I'll do it myself if I have to.'
'What?'
Kilmartin stopped abruptly and shouted.
'They've shot Connors. He's dead. They shot him.'
Minogue could smell Kilmartin's breath. Later, Minogue would remember striding behind Kilmartin and his driver and sinking into the seat. The sergeant drove at speed with the siren on. He mounted footpaths and swore. His sweat smell permeated the car. Nobody spoke. The city looked hostile to Minogue as it sped by. Kilmartin sat looking out the opposite window. As they reached St. Stephen's Green, Minogue heard other sirens behind. Ahead of them, Gardai on motorcycles were shouting at motorists. Groups of pedestrians stood staring over at the growing numbers of police cars and vans.
There were fifty or more uniformed Gardai keeping an area free of gawkers. Minogue caught sight of a few faces he knew, plain clothes police. His tension increased. Those men were surely armed. The whole place was falling apart. The Green should have a few people strolling around, some youngsters necking, not this.
Detectives were unrolling red plastic, twining it around trees and shrubs to mark off the area. The body was gone.
'I'm Kilmartin.'
A detective stood aside from a group and helloed Kilmartin. Minogue stood behind Kilmartin.
'Inspector-' the detective began.
'What I need to know is this,' Kilmartin cut him off. 'I need to know who did this. I don't care who or how many.'
The detective looked over Kilmartin's shoulder at Minogue. Minogue began to understand why he had been brought along. He felt a tenderness for Kilmartin. Kilmartin could never say it, but he needed Minogue along because he, Kilmartin, was frightened. This was not Kilmartin's Ireland any more than it was Minogue's.
'I can tell you that there were no witnesses to the shooting, sir. He was shot once, it appears, in the chest. We haven't turned up a shell yet, so we don't know if it's an automatic. It looks like a fairly large calibre, sir.'
The detective took a step back, glancing at Kilmartin and then at Minogue.
'Is one of these lads from the Branch?' asked Kilmartin. The detective frowned in puzzlement.
'The Special Branch. They're the ones who'd know who Connors was tailing. They borrowed him from me.'
'Oh yes, sir.' The detective turned and tapped one of the group on the shoulder. The man turned and looked at Kilmartin. The detective stood back, eying Kilmartin.
'Kelly, sir. You're Inspector Kilmartin?'
'Yes.'
'We're looking for the fellow. You know him, McCarthy, that bloody playwright. He's not in his flat.'
'Kelly, Tell me why a man seconded from my department was on a surveillance assignment on such a
