“You look a bit shook,” said Hoey. “Did you overdo it a bit last night?”
“Did I what? Wait’ll I tell you what came my way last night.” The memory of the swirling dust, the thumps as the bullets hit the walls made Minogue shudder.
“Miss Kerry?” said Hoey.
Minogue thought of the porpoises, the crowds watching the house on fire. He heard himself begin to tell Hoey about last night. He saw Hoey’s jaw drop and his face take on the lines and arches of incredulity. He wondered how his own words came out with so little effort from his thoughts. It was only when Hoey, agog, jarred his own cup into his saucer and spilled tea that Minogue realised the effect his story was having on him.
“Yes,” he murmured, and shivered again.
“Jesus.” Hoey sat taut out over the table now. “You’re joking me. Why didn’t you wake me up or something?”
“For what?”
“So’s I could, you know…”
Minogue shrugged.
“Is there any follow-up on it yet?”
The Inspector shook his head. “I’m going to get the car now. I hope it’s still in one piece.”
Hoey narrowed his eyes and flicked a glance at the closed door.
“Wait a minute, here,” he said. “Do we really need to get caught up in some shooting match here in Ennis? Do we? This sort of says to me. that it’s time to pull back. For the moment, at any rate.”
Minogue did a quick calculation of Hoey’s words, his tone.
“With those Response Units foostering around, like,” Hoey added. “It’s like waiting for something to blow up.”
Minogue didn’t want to argue with a Hoey who this morning looked almost robust compared to how Minogue himself felt. He dodged Hoey’s eyes.
“Well. I’ll have a wash and a shave and we’ll mosey on over to the hotel for now.”
An unmarked Garda car materialised out of the fog, a creature with lights for eyes. Faces turned to look at Minogue as the car purred alongside. A face on the passenger side nodded at Minogue, and the car pulled in ahead of the two policemen.
“Who’re these fellas?” asked Hoey.
The far end of the street disappeared into the fog. Through the muffled whiteness Minogue heard the sounds of Ennis-clanging aluminium kegs as they were slung empty onto the brewery lorries from the doors of pubs, the shutters being rolled up on shops, the dull thumping of a hammer on metal somewhere close by-being carried on all around them.
“Cuddy, from Limerick. Special Branch. I met him down at the brother’s farm and I down visiting.”
“How’s the man?” said Cuddy.
“Better met than the last time, I’m thinking,” said Minogue. Cuddy gave a wan smile and nodded at Hoey.
“Shea Hoey,” said Minogue. “Works with me.”
“Are ye official here?”
“No, we’re not. But there seems to be an oversupply of Guards who are.”
A squeaky transmission erupted from a radio in the car. The driver turned it down.
“Were ye in town here last night?” asked Cuddy.
“Matter of fact, we were.”
Cuddy looked down the street before confiding more.
“We’re going to keep up the pressure. Something has to give, I just know it.”
He looked up under his eyebrows at Minogue as if daring him to recall aloud the episode at the farm. The Inspector looked beyond the policeman at the shroud of fog.
“Good luck,” he said to Cuddy.
The car slid down the street ahead of them before being swallowed up in the whiteness.
Alo Crossan was not yet in the dining room, but the Howards were. So were two detectives-replacements for the ones Minogue had travelled with last night. Their eyes were on Minogue and Hoey from the moment they appeared in the door of the dining-room. One of the detectives stood and the other kicked his chair back slightly with a coiled, careful nudge of his leg, Minogue noticed, as he laid his hands in his lap. His jacket came open as he leaned forward in his chair.
Howard waved, his mouth full.
“They’re Guards,” he struggled to say around the food. “Don’t worry.”
The Howards wore the same clothes he had seen them in last night. Minogue wondered if he himself could ever get away with such dereliction and still look well-dressed. Howard, with his shirt open two buttons, unshaven, looked genially rakish. Sheila Howard looked relaxed and curious. Something in the couple’s appearance startled the Inspector. He felt the beginnings of a blush as he approached them. They looked to him like a couple full and languid after a night of lovemaking. Howard made an elaborate swallow.
“…absolutely refused to eat a breakfast above in a hotel room,” he said. Minogue felt Sheila Howard’s eyes on him.
“Yes, yes,” the Inspector replied, working clumsily around an image of Sheila Howard’s body. He glanced at her by way of greeting. The detective sat down and the other sat back in his chair with a nod.
“Howarya,” one said to Hoey.
Dan Howard waved his arm at two vacant chairs. “Join us, can’t you?”
“Thanks, but we’re expecting company.” Minogue looked at his watch. It was ten minutes before nine.
“How are you now?” asked Minogue.
Howard exchanged looks with his wife.
“Could be better,” he said. “But sure, considering the alternatives… Yourself?”
“I’ve been worse,” Minogue avoided. “Any news from the house?”
Howard sat up and crossed his ankles.
“Yes, there is, and it’s not bad at all. There was nothing in the cars. And there’s nothing else suspicious about the house itself. So there.”
“Was that your yoke up at the house?” one of the detectives asked. “The blue one?”
Minogue glanced over at the boxer’s nose, the untidy moustache.
“Yep. Is it in one piece?”
“For the most part. Sure, that wasn’t a new car anyhow.”
“That Fiat was and is a damn fine car,” said Minogue. “What did they do to it?”
“They wheeled up a big shield. First they shook the car, then they drilled the lock on the boot-”
“They drilled out me lock?”
“The robot did.”
“With the video camera next to it,” the other detective piped in. “That’s it. Never saw the likes of it in action. It was great.”
His partner nodded, sharing in an accomplishment he had had no part in. Minogue sat down heavily next to Hoey. A waitress approached. Minogue looked to the window: no Jamesy Bourke standing vigil across the street ever again, he thought. At least the fog was beginning to lift. The waitress picked at a button on her blouse.
“I dunno,” said Minogue. “Coffee for a start, I suppose.”
Dan Howard rose from the table and cocked an eye at the Inspector. Me? Minogue fingered his chest. Howard nodded in the direction of the foyer.
“I’ll be back in a minute.”
Hoey shifted in his chair and reached for his cigarettes. The hard-case with the moustache accompanied Howard to the foyer.
“I have to make me confession,” Howard said to him. “You wouldn’t want to listen in on my sins, would you, but?”
The detective backed away a couple of paces. Howard’s amused expression lingered as he made a quick search of Minogue’s face.
