'The official line is that we'll be requesting their assistance on several break-ins around the area. That way if they mention Combs at all, they'll be coming to him cold and we'll know what's what very quickly.'
'Any assaults or threats on their records?' Minogue asked.
'Not yet, can I say, sir. Only resisting arrest, one of them. It's a bit thin, I know, but sure we can only try, can't we?'
Minogue nodded.
'They'll be dragging their arses out of bed around now. Says the sergeant below, anyway. Oh, the three brothers have names, too. Do you want to hear them?'
'Go on out of that. Are they special?' asked Minogue.
'The oldest one is called the Bronc. He wears a cowboy hat. The middle one is Seamus, but if you call him that, he'll pick a row with you. Everyone calls him Shag. Shag Mulvaney.'
'Has a nice ring to it. And the third lad?'
'He's called Quick.'
'Isn't that rich?'
'Quick has a bad leg now, so he's more law-abiding than the other two. He was the scourge of south County Dublin a few years ago. A real careful burglar, you know the worst kind, the ones who do it off a list, shopping for stuff they can fence straight away. We could never pin one on him. He could walk up a wall and do houses while people were fast asleep in the next room. He got a bit cocky, though, and started to take a few jars before a job. One night himself and another lad were half-way in the window of a house and didn't the man of the house hear them. 'Quick,' says Mulvaney and…'
'And what?'
'And that was all he said. Fell thirty feet into a bloody glasshouse, all over someone's rare tropical plants, and he didn't get up either. He has one leg longer than the other one since, and the long one is stuck together with a big bolt or something at the knee.'
'A pin, you mean.'
'A big fat pin. One of the lads at the station saw it.'
Keating had turned onto a narrow road which meandered erratically under Two Rock Mountain. He guided the car cautiously through blind elbow bends. Minogue heard roadside grass lash along the door-panels. The glimpses of view between the bushes and banks to the right side revealed the city and south suburbs below. The sea-horizon was above Howth, they were that high. The Garda squad-car was waiting for them at the foot of a steep path, which led further up the side of the mountain.
'Jases,' Keating said to himself, he thought. 'We'll be needing mules next.'
Rusting hulks of cars surrounded a cottage which crouched by the path. The path itself was no more than the dual tracks that cars had left in their wake. Other mysterious pieces of vehicles lay at the sides of it: bits of tractors, a piece of tread from a caterpillar, the frame of a lorry.
A district detective whom Minogue didn't recognize was leaning his elbows on the roof of the Garda car ahead. He came over and introduced himself as Eamonn Driscoll.
Then, like potatoes tumbling out of a sack which had fallen over, the three Gardai emerged from their car. There was much tucking in of shirts, fingering of batons and scratching of noses. They left their hats in the car.
'Do you want in on this, Sergeant?' sotto voce from the Corkman.
Playing it up a bit, Minogue considered. Maybe he thought it was all terribly funny to have to pick up the Mulvaneys for these detectives out from Dublin. Did he already know what Minogue had suspected, that the Mulvaneys weren't in a class to kill someone? Minogue said he'd come along.
'I hear these lads hunted with Finn McCool,' Minogue said to the Corkman.
'Wisha Sergeant,' he whispered. 'Not to be disappointing you now, but these three Mulvaneys have been trading on their reputations a long time now. There's nothing to them. Petty thieves. Whoever tipped you off to these lads wasn't Charlie Chan. But we'll try anyhow.'
Minogue followed the Gardai up the path. Driscoll fell back from the group and introduced himself to Minogue. At the top of the path, Minogue chose a deceased '57 or '58 Ford Prefect to lean his weight on. A dog began barking as the Gardai and Driscoll approached the house. Curious at first, the dog settled into a staccato, monotonous yelping. It didn't sound like a chained dog to Minogue. Then he caught sight of it, an old collie sitting surrealistically in a path of lettuce plants. If the collie was all they had to contend with, then the three brothers could take all their attention.
Driscoll's knock on the door went unanswered. No faces appeared at the windows. The cottage had small windows with sashes that hadn't been painted for a long time. Several panes had been repaired with tape and patches of what had been clear plastic. Minogue heard rustling by a sagging shed, which lay to the rear of the house. The old collie kept up its rhythmic barking. Minogue tried to listen again. Was it a small engine, a power tool of some sort? The shed door opened slightly as though a breeze had caught it. A large Alsatian shot out the gap in the door. The dog hesitated on its hind legs for an instant, caught sight of the group by the front door and began to race toward the policemen.
Its path brought it by Minogue. As the dog hared past him, Minogue stepped out from behind the car and landed a sharp kick on the fleeting dog's backside. It was enough to throw the animal off-course with a yelp. Two of the Gardai turned at the sound.
The dog had spun with the kick, righted itself and turned to face Minogue. Having nothing to hand, Minogue summoned up saliva and spat at the growling dog. The Alsatian's tail wavered. Minogue bared his teeth and crouched slightly, his arms out. He made to spit again, but the dog had already backed into the weeds.
'Hey, look it!' Minogue heard one of the Gardai shout.
A gnomic head peeped out of the shed door.
'Ya dirty animal,' the head called out.
The Alsatian backed away further from Minogue then loped back to the shed. Driscoll ran up to Minogue, looked at him and then called out.
'Quick, come outa there where we can see you. Tie up that dog of yours or I'll do for it. Do you hear me talking to you?'
The dog wriggled through the door opening and disappeared. The old collie was still barking, as though having remembered how to do it, he was loath to surrender the skill to forgetfulness. A short, barrel-chested man came out of the shed door and closed it noisily behind him. He walked sideways to the policemen, dragging a stiff leg.
'Get those two brothers of yours up, Quick,' Driscoll said.
'Dirty animal,' Quick hissed.
Minogue watched the sideways gait of the balding man, a face on him that looked like it had been caught in a door.
'Jases, disgusting so it is. Spitting at an animal. I never seen such a disgrace as that,' Quick said.
'I suppose he slipped the leash by accident all of a sudden,' Driscoll said.
'Can 1 help it if the smell of yous rozzers drives the dog wild?' Quick retorted.
Minogue studied Quick's uneven face. Quick's beard served to emphasize his resentment at the world. He wondered if such spite could lead him to strangling an old man.
'Show us your search warrant,' Quick sneered.
'Get up the yard with yourself, Quick,' Driscoll broke in. 'You're not watching the telly now. Let's have your driving license and your insurance, too. Then you can start showing us all the jalopies you have around here and where you got them.'
Quick's expression didn't change. He sidled crookedly by Minogue, looking him up and down at the sea off Dublin. Kilternan was hidden behind a rise of woods below and to the south of where he stood. He recalled the Cork Garda's remarks about the brothers. A household of three drunken bachelors, their forte would be squalid misdemeanours or, at the apogee of a binge, a brawl.
Minogue checked the time. He did not want to wait around long enough to be disappointed. He asked Hoey what time to hold the confab back at headquarters. Hoey said that four o'clock in the briefing room would be manageable from his point of view. Minogue could be in the city by one, his dinner eaten by half one… ready for business by two… and a break in Bewley's Cafe after three. To gather his thoughts, of course.
