'Get up, Minogue,' Scully's voice, thickly.
'John fuckin' Wayne,' the soldier said.
The boat train to Dun Laoghaire was only three minutes late. It emerged from between the houses and gardens by Merrion Gates at a rush, rumbled over the level crossing and seemed to relax as the bay opened up to to east. Howth with its necklace of lights shouldered out into the sea across the bay from the swaying train. Three men sat ahead of him. They looked like navvies on their way back to England. They smoked constantly and spoke little.
He tried to maintain the appearance of a tired tourist. He had held off the bouts of panic, but the effort left him jittery. He tried to block out images which were coming to him constantly now. He saw the playwright, that expression of disdain on his face, talking to a policeman. Then he saw that cop's hands reaching for his chest as he lay on the ground. It looked like he was trying to pull the slug out. The cop's head arching back, digging into the ground and then falling back as the hands went limp.
'That's the end of the holidays now, hah?' a navvy said. 'Back to the grind, hah?' he added, and returned to staring out through the grass.
The tanned man tried to smile and he nodded. He was relieved to have escaped wordless from this. Then it occurred to him that he might be passing up something. In his caution he might be losing out on an advantage. If he got in with these men, it might help him. They might adopt him if he bought them some drink. It would take effort, but it would be worth it.
'Excuse me but are we close to Dun-Dunleery?' he said.
'I'm telling you now, Minogue. When we go over you better mind your p's and q's. You're bloody lucky you didn't collect another hole in your arse off those fellas,' Scully said.
Minogue's legs were cramping, but his breath was back. He felt like an errant schoolboy sitting in the back of the car with the big detective eying him.
'Seems to me it's your arse is in the sling, Scully,' Minogue said quietly. Scully turned to look at Minogue. His eyes flickered to the detective and then back to Minogue.
'You've said enough, Minogue. You're a loose cannon. Bloody ujit, you nearly banjaxed the whole thing.'
'You're forgetting something, Scully. I have a mouth on me. You're just the pot-boy with the piss-bucket here along with these cowboys. The arrest should have been made here. You know and I know that the Brits are trigger-happy. They've been given the green light. They're just itching to have a go at anyone. You threw those two to them,' Minogue said.
'Watch who you're calling a piss-boy, Minogue. We heard about you.' Scully's voice rose.
'This was a planned operation-'
'— And you're just here to execute it. Or them,' Minogue said.
'— so get it through your head!' Scully shouted.
'So what are you going to say to them? You don't even know yet if Allen was shot or what happened,' Minogue retorted.
'Was that the deal? You throw them to the wolves for public relations and the Brits let you question him for ten minutes. If he's still alive. And the passenger?' Minogue continued.
'You don't get holy on me, Minogue. I'm doing this stuff every day of my working life and more besides. Don't give me the innocent bystander bit. They're all at it.'
'I'm telling you that she's not involved!'
Was that himself shouting, Minogue wondered. How long since he had shouted at someone?
'Look, Minogue. All I know about you is that I'm to assist in you getting an interview with this Allen fella. I don't know or care who your mother is or whether you're the full shilling or even whether you got your arse shot off or not. If I have to revoke this because you've gone off the deep end, I will, and I can live with the bloody consequences.'
Before Minogue could reply, headlights flashed twice ahead. The driver flashed back and accelerated toward the light. Minogue looked behind as the car started off. He saw men in battle dress in the ditch. Back at the customs post, blue lights whirled.
Ahead of them, Minogue saw three vehicles blocking the road. One was an ambulance. As they slowed, the ambulance moved off. A soldier waved them down. Scully rolled down the window.
'We're to see a Sergeant Davies,' said Scully.
The magenta Cressida stood like an abandoned toy. The doors hung open and the lights were still on. The back window had been shot out. Minogue saw a half-dozen holes in the boot and a ding in the bumper. Scully stepped out of the car and Minogue followed him. Minogue realised there were people standing off in shadows, soldiers. Two cars started up almost simultaneously beyond the floodlights. A Land Rover equipped with a crane drove slowly toward them. It turned away from them and began reversing into the ditch behind Allen's car. More soldiers and men in plain clothes appeared out of the darkness. Minogue thought that there must be a lot more of them out in the fields too. Behind them, their car with the two detectives still in it, backed slowly to the side of the road, followed by the soldier who had waved them down, cradling a rifle.
Two men in plain clothes approached Allen's car and looked inside. One of them walked to the back of it. He bent over, his face inches from the back lights, examining the boot lid. Then he closed the doors slowly. He guided the Land Rover in. The other man walked over to Scully and Minogue. Minogue felt nervous and exposed.
Sergeant Davies was a slight man with pale features which were whitened further by the glare off the lights. His hair was neatly trimmed. He wore a v-necked jumper over a collar and tie. Minogue guessed him to be in his early forties. Looked like he had just put down the paper after tea and come out for a stroll. His face suggested a minimum of surprise at guesting these coppers from the Free State.
'Davies,' he said.
Minogue wondered why he had not learned to distinguish regional accents in the North. For an instant he was back watching the news at home, listening to the inquiring and querulous tones of the North. Another shooting, more condemnation, more bile. Why did he feel they were so foreign?
'Detective Sergeants Scully and Minogue,' Scully said. Minogue nodded. There were no handshakes. No love lost here.
'In the van here,' Davies said.
Minogue's heart was pounding. He had restrained himself from asking about the ambulance. He noticed his hands were in fists.
'What was that little problem ye had there with some fellow running along the road?' Davies asked.
Scully paused a moment before answering:
'Nothing to it. It's settled now.'
'Uh,' Davies said. He stopped at the back of a Sherpa van. 'Ten minutes or so. We have to get out of here. Too much lights, do ye know. It's not the safest of places,' Davies said.
Allen's face was white. Minogue crouched for a few seconds,' paralysed, at the door. Allen's shirt hung out over his pants. He was shivering. Looking at Allen's strained and damp face, Minogue doubted that he was the same man he had spoken to recently.
Davies leaned in the doorway. Scully sat down opposite Allen. Minogue noticed flecks of blood on Allen's face. There were cuts on the back of his hands. He looked out under his eyebrows and the toss of hair at Minogue, then at Scully.
'I'm Detective Sergeant Scully. Sergeant Minogue here will be asking you questions. If you make things awkward, there'll be trouble. Just tell what you know.'
Allen's pupils were tiny. His eyes seemed to bulge wider. He didn't know what to do with his handcuffed hands.
When Allen spoke, Minogue was shocked at the voice. It was a high, child-like register, with none of the assurance Minogue had expected.
'I might have known,' Allen said.
'What about the girl?' Minogue whispered. Allen didn't answer but looked at Scully and Davies instead.
'What about the girl? Agnes,' Minogue hissed. Again, all they heard were the engines outside. He's in shock, Minogue realised. He's out of it.
'She's gone in the ambulance,' Davies said. Minogue reeled inwardly. He turned to Davies.
'Is she badly hurt?'
