Allen had asked him what he could do. Minogue told him he'd try to get news of Agnes to him but that he, Allen, was going North. As Davies slammed the door he said to Minogue:
'There ye hove it. For a perfesser he's a torrable stypud mon.'
Minogue's loathing for the broken man in the back of the van broke through his own numbness and threatened to overwhelm him. For a few moments, Allen's face had communicated the strain he had been under, but then Minogue's mind reddened with anger. He might be a step closer to Walsh's murderer, but who paid in the end?
When the car stopped, Scully got out and walked over to Minogue.
'You got what you wanted, Minogue. So far as I'm concerned that episode is over. There's no need for it to be written into the record. It was quite understandable when you think about it. I mean, you had your priorities. The word from on high was to pass the ball. That's hard to live with these days, I know.'
Minogue looked beyond Scully to the helicopter.
'What with policemen being shot in the streets. I put two and two together you know, even if nobody told me all the ins and outs of it. It's connected with the things in Dublin, isn't it, the murders? You don't have to tell me,' Scully continued.
Minogue began to walk off. Scully walked alongside.
'Just ask yourself this: if it helped to find the killers of those lads in Dublin and if it helps stop more police being killed, shouldn't you weigh that in the balance?'
Minogue stopped and faced Scully.
'You know, Scully, you sound exactly like a brother of mine. He talks the exact same way. The same kind of logic, but he's on the other side. Does that bother you at all? Allen and the girl were thrown to the wolves just so the various custodians of this bloody island can tell all of us to sleep soundly. You know and I know that car should never have crossed the border. But you're just doing what you're told to do, same as the rest of us. That stuff doesn't work in the long run you know. Our kids can see through that rubbish as easy as kiss hands.'
Scully frowned.
'Nice speech Minogue. Except it doesn't fit in this world.' As the helicopter lifted off, Minogue reflected that Scully was right, but it shouldn't be Scully saying it. It was after nine now. As they came in sight of the northern suburbs of Dublin, the message was relayed from Kilmartin that the Special Branch were outside Loftus' flat, waiting for the word to go in.
He felt claustrophobic as the passengers crowded closer at the door. He met the cop's gaze for a few seconds. The cop's gaze rested briefly on the tanned man and then it moved on. He began walking toward the gangplank railing. The other cop had not looked at him.
The first cop glanced at him again. He felt the skin at the back of his neck prickle. He patted his jacket to make sure it was zipped. As his feet started up the metal tongue of the gangplank, he risked a look at the cop. Unbelievably, the other cop was stepping onto the gangplank as well, timing it to match his arrival. The tanned man froze as the two cops met on the gangplank directly in front of him. He realised he had left it too late. He looked directly into the face of the cop who was blocking his way. The cop flicked a glance at him but looked over his shoulder. The passengers had come to a standstill. The two cops edged around the tanned man and one grasped the arm of a teenager behind.
'Will you step aside for a moment, please,' the cop said.
The tanned man turned to see the teenager dart a look from one cop to the other. Then he shook his head and stepped off the gangplank. The tanned man resumed his climb. The navvies looked behind.
'What's with your man there. Is he mitching from school or what?' red-face said.
'Maybe he did in the budgie at home,' the older navvy replied.
The tanned man realised he was breathing heavily through his nose. His legs were lazy springs that barely carried him onto the ship.
'Here lookit, where's the gargle?' the short navvy yawned.
'Jases, you're a divil,' the older one replied. 'It's a wonder those fellas didn't take you aside. You're not out on bail for something, are you?'
'Out on bail is right. It's baling out is what I'm doing. Bloody place.'
'What was all that about?' the tanned man managed to ask.
'Your man? The young fella?' red-face said. 'I don't know. Maybe he was skipping the country or something. Looks like they were waiting for him.'
'Here, do you miss the place already?' the red-faced navvy said. 'Come on up and I'll stand you a drink. You have to have something to puke up if it gets choppy.'
The tanned man forced a smile.
'Do they let Canadians buy drinks on this boat?' he asked. The older navvy laughed.
It had begun to rain in Dublin. Kilmartin's face was streaked with the shadows of rain which clung like eyelashes to the windows of the car. The constant hush of rain washing up under the car made Minogue sleepy. Kilmartin's face brightened and darkened alternately with the passage of the streetlights as he talked.
Minogue turned to him.
'I want to ask you something about that business earlier on,' Minogue said.
Kilmartin returned Minogue's steady gaze.
'I want to know if you knew it would turn out like that.'
Kilmartin blinked and said:
'You mean the girl being shot? Of course I didn't-'
'Not that,' Minogue interrupted. 'I mean dumping them with the Brits.'
Kilmartin paused. He took in Minogue's darkened face, the tiredness and the wariness gathered around his eyes.
'No I didn't, Matt.'
Kilmartin let his eyes go out of focus as he gazed out beyond the driver and the squeaking wipers.
'They don't tell me that stuff. They're a law unto themseves, so that's that,' Kilmartin said softly. He wondered if Minogue believed him. Kilmartin's unease impelled him into talking.
'Our mystery man stayed at the Shelbourne. One of the porters put a good face on him, right down to the shoes he was wearing. 'Looks a bit like a bank manager,' says he. Between what McCarthy told us and what the nosey staff up above in the Shelbourne say, we have a rough-and-ready Identikit of this fella. There were clothes left in a room and there's no sign of the man who stayed. No visitors. He was there for a while,' Kilmartin was saying.
'What will he do?' Minogue asked.
'I don't know. Something tells me he is a very polished performer entirely. The Branch are quite up in a dander about him. They don't know anything about him. Came out of nowhere. I'd say he'll lie low here. I wouldn't put it past him to have other passports and things.'
Minogue imagined a well-groomed, confident American. He'd have good teeth anyway, probably aftershave, one of those diver's watches on an expandable strap. Hairs would poke out under the strap. He might chew gum. What was he doing here though?
'Irish American. A true son of Erin,' Minogue murmured.
'Seems likely, doesn't it?'
'If he's so well set up, then why would he shoot someone?' Minogue wondered aloud.
'Strictly speaking, we don't know that he did,' Kilmartin answered. 'It's a lead.'
'Hardly coincidence then about Walsh,' Minogue said.
'Well what do you think, Matt?'
Minogue didn't answer immediately. Then he said;
'I'd better fill you in on Allen.'
After he had finished, Kilmartin said:
'God, isn't that the back of the neck? Great oaks from little acorns grow. How long ago was this?'
'Well, Allen is getting on fifty. So let's say nearly forty years ago.'
'And what happened?'
'Took psychiatric treatment. Made to. And it worked, he says.'
'So he changed his name…'
