back on the footpath. The man who had been at the bus stop was now running softly towards Gorman’s house. There would be the others poised by the door, by the windows, moving across the grass…
The phone was picked up in the middle of a ring.
“Hello?”
A woman’s voice. Farrell raised his hand as though about to start a race.
Another hello. Minogue stood up and looked down the street.
“Hello, Finnoula? This is Madeline. Howaryou?”
“Madeline! Is it yourself that’s in it? How are you doing yourself?” Mrs. Gorman replied. “ Are you up here in Dublin?”
“I am. I was up today and I met Emer. She said you were confined to barracks.”
“Sean is sick, but the other two are grand. It’s only a bit of the diarrhoea.”
“I hope I’m not calling at a bad… ”
“ Not at all, I’m only delighted to hear you,” said Finnoula Gorman.
A lovely warm voice, Minogue thought. Welcoming, confident. Does this woman know what her husband is up to?
“Sure they’re all packed off to bed. I’m watching a cod of a thing on the telly, an oldie with Gary Grant in it.”
The other woman laughed.
“Well I’ll be up in town here until tomorrow, Finnoula. That’ll be long enough to spread the word.”
Farrell’s eyes widened and he sat forward in the seat.
“I’m expecting, so I am.”
“Ah, that’s just fantastic! Well, tell me the whole story now… ”
The transmission cut off. Farrell swore and let his hand drop on to his knee. Gallagher squeezed the set.
“Fall back all units. Repeat: fall back. Await further instructions.”
“At least she’ll keep anyone else from phoning in,” said Farrell.
By ten-fifteen Kilmartin could wait no longer.
“I hope there’s no one looking out their windows here tonight. ‘Cause if they are, they’ll be seeing an important Garda officer by the name of Kilmartin making his pooley up ag’in the wall here. I’m only bursting, I tell you,” said Kilmartin.
Kilmartin walked to a shadowed part of the footpath which was overhung with shrubs tumbling down from a high wall. Minogue strolled back up the footpath. He was reluctant to get back into the car with Hoey because he knew Kilmartin would follow him. How was it that some people talked even more when they were nervous, while others simply shut up?
Dried leaves had gathered against parts of the walls along the road. Gorman lived in a street of well-to-do people, Minogue saw. A Volvo and a Saab were parked within a few cars of one another. The breeze had died down but Minogue could still sense the sea. If he had the chance he’d take a sick day and walk Sandymount strand before the bitter east wind came in with the Dublin winter. Bring Kathleen. Go for Chinese food on the credit card afterwards. Finish off with a quiet one in Gerry Byrne’s over in Galloping Green, he’d have the fire lit in the lounge for sure… Anisette. Pernod would do all right, even if it was a tourist’s drink here.
Behind him, Minogue heard the splash and trickle of Kilmartin’s urine. A soft sigh from Kilmartin. The States, Daithi… what did people his age in the States drink? Cans of beer? Cocktails? Kathleen still considered Parisians snotty. Still. No way in the world would he go for a holiday in the States.
A car drove quickly down the street, heading for Sandymount village. The sharp tattoo of a current pop hit washed over Minogue as the car passed. Kilmartin caught up to him. Minogue had almost forgotten the detective in the shadows by the bus stop. This time he saw the earphone wire snaking up from the coat to the detective’s ear. His trained, indifferent eyes followed Minogue and Kilmartin to their car.
Half-ten. Minogue caved in, and got into the car. Hoey had been dozing. Minogue let the seat back and closed his eyes. September, yes. He had woken up early last week and seen that it was still dark at six o’clock. Ireland is on the same latitude as Hudson Bay… How many days to Christmas now? New Jersey, that was just a suburb of New York- or was it a State in itself?
Gallagher’s voice came softly over the radio. “ Phone call’s over.”
Kilmartin grunted from the back seat. “Jases, how could they find the time to go and get themselves in the family way, these women, and they on the phone half the night?” he grumbled before subsiding into smoky silence again.
Minogue tried to remember the photo of Gibney. A strong, angular face, good looks. An air of assurance, but not the arrogance he had expected. Was this man a killer? Minogue looked all over the face but saw nothing to help him answer the question. Young for his rank, but he’d done it all: seven months in Lebanon with the UN, tours of Border duty here on and off for the last five years. Farrell had raised an eyebrow at the mention of Gibney’s father, a retired colonel who counted Major-General O’Tuaime as one of his friends.
Minogue turned his head on the head-rest and opened his eyes. He could see down the footpath to the gates of Gorman’s house.
“Maybe they’re saying the Rosary,” Hoey murmured.
“Hardly knocking back the drink,” agreed Kilmartin in a mordant tone. “Where do you want him, Matt? Up in the Bridewell along with the others?”
Minogue wondered what Gibney would be like when they arrested him. A talker? Would he want to explain things, to defend their cause? Or would he be the loyal soldier? “I don’t mind,” he replied wearily. “We don’t have to book a suite in advance, do we?”
“Front door’s opening.”
The voice belonged to one of the detectives in the van. Minogue ratcheted the seat upright. Hoey turned the radio up higher.
“All units in for the catch now… Over. Everybody in. Gibney’s in the doorway… Gorman too. Make sure that back door’s open… ”
The detective from the bus stop walked briskly by their car.
The voice on the radio was strained now. “ Gorman’s going to the gate with him. They’re taking their time. Very slowly now…”
“No sweat, Danno,” murmured Kilmartin as he leaned his chin on the back of Minogue’s seat. Minogue remembered that Kilmartin had written an anonymous letter to Radio Telifis Eireann complaining about their decision to drop Hawaii Five-O re-runs several years previously.
“If Gibney’s carrying a gun, it’ll be in the car.” Kilmartin kept up the commentary in a murmured monotone. “Farrell should have got one of his wizards to pump the lock on his car out there and get inside it for the gun… They wouldn’t need to be pissing their pants now, I’m telling you…”
“Still talking.”
Minogue didn’t bother to argue with Kilmartin. Farrell hadn’t wanted to give any alert to people in the street, but had put his faith in his own arrest-team.
Kilmartin continued his monologue, directing events: “Aisy-daisy and gently Bentley. Gorman’ll expect two coppers on guard anyway… Let the one walking down the path put it on Gibney, and the two in the car can back him up and get Gorman out of the action…”
Minogue imagined the other detectives converging on the two men at the front gate; coming around the side of the house, behind the hedge…
“Come on now, boys and girls,” murmured Kilmartin in a nursery-school sing-song. “Step up to the citizen and make the arrest. Just like in training…”
“Shaking hands. Gibney’s opening the gate.”
“How far is Gibney’s car down the street, again?” Minogue asked.
“Four or five cars down, sir,” said Hoey. “He has to pass the two doing guard duty in the car.”
The detective who had walked from the bus stop slowed his pace. Wants Gibney through the gate so Gorman’s on the other side of it, Minogue thought. Good training: Gorman could be taken by the detectives who were coming from the side garden. Minogue pressed his head against the glass to see further down the street.
“Get your big head outa me light, would you?” said Kilmartin.
The detective had slowed almost to a halt. If he stops to tie his shoelace that’ll be a television cop, Minogue
