“I thought of trying to get a court order and cause a big commotion. I take a dim view of people thinking they may or may not decide to help the Gardai with information in a murder case.”
“The collar didn’t frighten you?”
“Heher was dressed in his civvies. I’m not afraid of being sent to hell for impertinence: it’s an honourable sin in this country.”
Tynan’s smile was almost reincarnated but it was his eyebrows only which registered the amusement now.
“You certainly deserve your reputation.” He held up one hand. “And don’t ask me to explain that remark any further. It’d be more than my job is worth to see you trying to argue the toss with a judge trying to get such a court order, much less enforce it. Tell me, do you think this Heher knew you were bluffing about this?”
“He might have. There wasn’t a thing to incriminate them at all in the Fine murder, I have to say. But I want to get to talk to others in that house, ones who might have known Kelly from when he stayed there too.”
Tynan scratched his chin lightly. “Let me work on that this evening. I’ll see what I can do, at least as regards getting to see the people in this house.”
“It’ll save me walking through the door on them this evening. I was planning to do just that,” said Minogue.
“Hold your fire for a moment, Minogue. We’ll see what five years in the seminary thirty years ago can get done, in these pagan times we’re living in.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Had Minogue not been brooding, he would have paid more attention to the time. He had briefed the Commissioner with a lengthy telephone call, and the Commissioner told Minogue in reply that, if asked by a reporter, he would dodge any reference to a link between the deaths of Brian Kelly and Paul Fine. What was more, the Commissioner told him, only if Opus Dei was mentioned by someone else-and it wouldn’t be, would it? — would he admit that Brian Kelly was associated with that organization. Minogue agreed that this was ‘good policy’.
In the trough after coffee, Minogue returned to the work of trying to accompany Paul Fine through the last days of his life. Hoey asked him if he wanted tea.
“No thanks. After you get yours, would you come back here and pretend you’re somebody else?”
“How do you mean? Do I get to pick who I’d like to be?”
“I’ll be Paul Fine. You’ll be the all-seeing eye. You can explain everything that goes on, all right?”
Hoey blinked and lit a cigarette. “I don’t want tea meself.”
Neither Muses nor gods visit policemen. This is particularly true in Ireland because there is but one God there and the Irish Muses are dispersed over many areas and minds. There is a lot of work for both the Muses and God to do on the island, and policemen do not have preferential treatment. So some Garda detectives called their inspirator Murphy, Murphy being a construct born of, and fed by, the detective’s hunger for facts to help him solve the problem at hand. Murphy is inserted into criminal situations, and knowledge is attributed to him: it is then a matter of interrogating Murphy to see what has happened, what will happen. Minogue did not need Murphy; he chose Hoey and himself to do the work.
“Right. It’s Saturday. I’m in the National Library. I’m reading up on Opus Dei. I am a Jew and I don’t know anything about Opus Dei. I spend a good part of the day reading. Do I make notes?”
“Well, it’s…”
“Do I or don’t I?”
“You don’t,” Hoey blurted.
“Why don’t I?”
“Because you’re reading for pleasure. It’s the weekend.”
“Or because…?”
“Or because it’s your first look at the subject and you’re getting an overall picture: you don’t care about details yet. That’s the way they train you in the university.”
“All right, so. Why am I reading up on a crowd of religious people like this?”
“There might be a story in it.”
“Why am I in the National Library?”
“You don’t like to be at work on a Saturday.”
“That’s all? I could be doing a better search over at the television offices, RTE.”
“Maybe you like to operate on the quiet. Maybe it’s a story you want to keep to yourself.”
“Because I want to make a name for myself?”
“Yes. You’re a nice lad, but Fitz doubts that you’re gritty enough for the real thing, whatever that might be.”
“Good. I’m sitting on something, keeping it to myself for the moment. I’ll land it dramatically on Fitz’s desk and I’ll be the cat’s pyjamas then, won’t I? I’ll have proved I can do the grind.”
“That’s right.”
“Who or what put me on to this possible story? Why amn’t I doing a story on the history of the cocker spaniel?”
“Kelly. Brian Kelly,” said Hoey with assurance. “He phoned you.”
“Why did he phone me?”
Hoey’s confidence collapsed. “It’s impo-”
“It’s because he knows I’m a reporter, a journalist.”
Hoey frowned. “Why you? I mean…”
“Exactly,” said Minogue. “He knows that I work on a programme with Mickey Fitz, the man that knocks holy statues off their pedestals.”
“But why not Fitz himself, or other hard-chaw journalists? I mean, you’re-Paul Fine, like-you’re not the ideal choice. Matter of fact,” Hoey smiled nervously now, “you’re a bit of a pussycat, aren’t you?”
“I am,” said Minogue. “I’m far from being the hit-man that Fitz is.”
“Definitely,” Hoey smiled broadly. “You’re too soft, entirely.”
“Good, Shea. Because I’m a Jew, I’m circumspect about matters religious. I’m not a bawler or a brawler like the homegrown quasi-Christians.”
Hoey warmed to his role again. “In actual fact you being a Jew, you probably never even heard of-”
“Exactly, Shea!” Minogue clapped his hands together. “Brian Kelly phoned me because I am a Jew!”
“But Opus Dei; they’re our crowd,” said Hoey in a slightly aggrieved tone. “And what’s to Opus Dei that makes a story out of them? I know that Kelly was a bit of a backslider but what would he have to tell Paul, I mean you?”
“Maybe a story about the hold that Opus Dei has on its members. The way they recruit members. Maybe Brian Kelly is soured on the organization.”
“But they’re Holy Joes. The worst they might do is dress up in women’s clothes and whip themselves.”
Minogue swivelled around in his chair. Eilis was now standing behind Hoey. Hoey followed Minogue’s eyes, craning his neck and twisting to look up at Eilis, who looked down at him with her more sceptical expression.
“Excuse me now if I’m interrupting your plans for your weekend,” she said to Hoey. She turned to Minogue. “DC Tynan would want to be talking to you.”
Minogue listened to Tynan’s brief message.
“Half-past seven? I should pick you up, so. Are you sure I need to be there?”
He thought he heard Tynan snort faintly. “Unless you’re planning to react in some untoward way to the presence of His Eminence,” said Tynan.
“Jimmy Kilmartin, I was thinking…?”
“The Archbishop asked for you by name. He knew you were in charge of the case. Tell James, by all means, but it’s you that His Eminence wants to see, as much as myself.”
Minogue wondered if Kathleen would believe him when he got around to telling her. She might regard it as a conversion. He turned back to Hoey.
