'… and turned out to be a model. Got interested in the psychology and took it up. He's a very smart fella, Allen.'
Kilmartin harrumphed.
'— Not smart enough to deal with Loftus I'll warrant. He had nothing to fear. Jesus God in heaven, people are nearly getting credit for any kind of perversion these days. Sure what age was he?'
'Thirteen,' Minogue said.
'And didn't he pull himself up by the bootstraps ever since. I can tell you I couldn't hold it against him. He should have skinned Loftus when Loftus put the pressure on.'
'Well,' Minogue murmured as a bump interrupted him, 'he had to gild the lily, or so he thought. He wanted to measure up, you see. His father was dead these years, probably the only one who could tone down the mother.'
'Go on,' Kilmartin said. 'A real bloody cop-out. 'It started with me mother' and all the psychology stuff. And he told you this in a van in the middle of nowhere?'
Minogue wondered if he could tell Kilmartin how relieved Allen had been to let out with the intolerable stresses he had endured. He had said it all in a matter of minutes. Minogue had felt less disgust than some vague and frightening acceptance of Allen's story. He didn't need to tell Kilmartin the real, the simple and the quite absurd truth which Allen had communicated to him. Allen, elbows on his knees and looking at the handcuffs, had told him in so economical a way as to be devastating, that he could not have Agnes McGuire know about his past. Ordinary, like the rest of us, Minogue had understood, he wanted deliverance and love too. There had been no accounting for that.
On the way back to Dublin, Minogue shivered and spent most of the time wondering how it would come out, how much damage would be done to Allen's work for peace. All come to nothing, probably.
'Pressure,' Minogue said, 'You never know what people'll do.'
Kilmartin did not miss the tone of Minogue's remark. Had MinOgue known all along that everyone was watching him to see if he was the full shilling? Maybe he even played on it, controlling it in his own way. Kilmartin gathered himself in the seat.
'Anyway. Allen is small fry. I want Connors' killer and you want whoever killed that lad in Trinity. We may well be talking about the same character, hah? We'll root him out in short order and there'll be no bones about it.'
Loftus looked quite different without a tie, Minogue observed. Still, he retained the appearance of confidence mixed in with a knowingness and a contempt. He had not ranted and raved but slipped on a coat and gone to Donnybrook Station with the three Special Branch detectives. He appeared almost relaxed. His hair had been oiled by the rain. He sat in his coat some six feet from the table. When Minogue entered, an amused glance of recognition came from Loftus. Then he returned to observing the desk and walls. Minogue nodded to the Branch man standing outside the door as he closed the door gently. He stood next to the desk looking at Loftus' face. Loftus smiled.
'Unorthodox. And melodramatic too,' Loftus said.
'These are dramatic times, Captain Loftus. Less comedy though, I'm thinking.'
'You're wrong there. I was at home watching the television and now I'm here. It's fairly comic, wouldn't you agree?'
'Do you want the rigmarole about what you're doing here and what you're being held under?'
Loftus didn't answer.
'I requested to interview you alone.'
'I recall you doing that in my office last week, Sergeant. Am I supposed to be disoriented and confess to something now that I've been dragged down here?'
'You'd know about that stuff, Captain. I mean you've been trained. How long were you in the States on your training?'
Loftus raised his eyebrows.
'Really now, you haven't brought me down here to get me to start an autobiography. I've been out of the army for eleven years.'
'When did it all turn sour for you?' Minogue asked.
Loftus laughed briefly.
'Get someone in here to get on with whatever I'm supposed to be here for. And make it good. After I get amused, I'll be none too pleased and heads will roll about this.'
'Is that so, now? I have convinced the Special Branch crowd and even my superiors, who are all waiting to talk to you, that I can get you to help us. Now I don't mind telling you that they think I'm cracked. I don't even want to tell you that they are in a fierce hurry to talk to you. Pressure, you see. We're all under pressure. So I'm here to pass on some pressure to you.'
Loftus' bemused look had changed to one of curiosity.
'Everyone seems to believe that systems can be designed to rule out human weakness. Perversity, maybe I should call it. I mean nothing is ever watertight. People don't behave according to plan. Isn't that really banal, Captain?'
'You're putting it mildly.'
'The best-laid plans and all that. You think you can depend on people. Especially if you control their motivations. I mean, young people are called cynical the way they scorn the carrots dangling in front of them-the job, the car, that stuff. What happens when the incentive isn't there though?'
'You're nearly as entertaining as the programme I'm missing at home,' Loftus said.
'Weakness, though. Some people can live with it and some can't. Some despise weakness, don't they? They fall in love with efficiency, action. Any action if it comes to that. Looking for to be heroes of some description.'
Loftus drew in a breath and expelled it noisily through his nose.
'Or was it Captain Loftus, the great nationalist, who has all the ready solutions at hand…?'
Loftus' eyes glittered with contempt but he said nothing.
'… If I had to place my bet, though, I'd not put money on your brand of patriotism, Loftus. Not even your love affair with the problem-solving know-how that you learned off the Yanks when you were there… Oh no, I see the dark horse as the one for this course. You're a good, upright lad who probably still goes to Mass and visits his mother, are you? But every day in the college you rub up against what's left of the Anglo Irish. And you find that you're not really their equal, no matter what the job description says… You're just not a college boy, are you? A Catholic lad, up from Cork, you have your wits about you, but you find it's not quite enough to be ace-'
Minogue saw Loftus' nostrils flare. Loftus leaned forward in the chair.
'Easy does it now, like a good man, Loftus. There are men outside here who have had friends killed by the types of people you favour with your politics. Do you follow the gist of what I'm saying?'
What would have been a sneer had Loftus not controlled it eased into a strained grimace of a smile. He sat back stiffly in the chair.
'I'm getting tired of this ramble, Minogue. I've been patient. I have an idea how things work for security organisations. The more you talk, the bigger a stink I'm going to make about this. I'm not your common or garden- variety citizen who has to put up with this. I maintain enough links through the college with people who can have you on the carpet-'
'So Murphy's Law of Damage is true again,' Minogue continued.
'What?'
'You know. If there's a one percent chance of something going wrong, it'll go wrong ninety-nine percent of the time and cause one hundred percent damage.'
'That's rich all right. I'll remember that. Now-'
'Now we'll talk about Allen, Captain.'
'Who?' asked Loftus.
'Allen, the one who's putting the finger on you. You don't have a lever on him anymore. Something else came up. Didn't you know? I'm sure you did. Agnes McGuire? Well she was in the car with him, but he didn't make it this time. Someone tipped off the Brits. They were waiting for him. Yes. Allen tried to make a run for it, but they shot up the car. Yes. Don't know if she'll live or not.'
Minogue stood up and crossed his arms. He began to stroll slowly around the room, watching Loftus out of the corner of his eye. Minogue felt the day would never end. He had an ache like a kick in his belly. The tea would
