Through the doorway at speed came Superintendent Russell. His eyes were on Minogue’s the moment his head appeared around the swinging door. Minogue felt his throat constrict. The light in the room seemed to become a little dimmer. Russell came to an abrupt stop by the counter in front of Minogue.
“Thanks, D.J.,” said Russell.
Ahearne had to work his way around the now firmly planted Superintendent. Minogue sheltered in a slow official monotone.
“We came in to find out if there was progress in the investigation of last night’s shooting at the Howards’ house.”
The door to the public office had stopped swinging but Minogue believed that someone was right behind the door, listening.
“I was in touch with the Commissioner some hours ago,” said Russell. He paused to press his tongue against his front teeth. “And I tried to impress upon him that you two should be hauled back to Dublin and put in front of a Disciplinary Tribunal.”
“ Quam celerime?” asked Minogue.
The sarcasm from Russell was laboured. “I beg your pardon?”
“How soon would you like us to go?”
Russell drew a finger up from his side with a motion that reminded Minogue of a cowboy drawing a gun. He jabbed his finger in the direction of Minogue’s heart.
“Yesterday. That would have left Tom Naughton alive.”
Hoey shuffled his feet. Minogue wanted to tell him to stop.
“I don’t know what yous fellas learn by way of technique in your line of work,” Russell continued, his finger still aimed at Minogue’s chest. “I heard ye could be rough enough if the job had to get done. But, by Jesus”- he directed the finger up to Minogue’s shoulders now-“harassing a retired Guard to the point of doing what he did, or what you say he did-”
“Where did he get the pistol?”
“Shut up, Guard,” Russell snapped and he leaned over the counter. “Dirty work, bucko, that’s what that was. Very dirty work. I can tell you that if I had the full authority, I’d have you two in a cell here or in Tralee or somewhere and then kicked off back up to Dublin to face the music. That way, you’d cause no more havoc here!”
Minogue studied the red-faced Superintendent. The corrugated, wiry hair stayed in place. Like steel wool, he thought, stapled to his head. The furrowed brow like someone had scraped across it with their nails many years ago, the eyes set back in his head, tiny and fierce. Minogue’s eyes moved purposely and impudently down from the Superintendent’s face. Four-button cardigan bought in a shop, a sports shirt which cost a lot.
“Where did Naughton get the gun?” he asked.
Russell slapped his hand on the counter-top. “We’ll find out in due course-not that it’s any damn concern of yours! You’re bloody lucky he didn’t turn the thing on you.”
He began waving his finger in an indeterminate pattern which Minogue believed could be an ellipse.
“If and when I find out how you pressured him into doing what he did-if indeed he did it and you’re to be believed about it-I’ll personally see to it that you two go to the wall for it. Pension and all, by God.”
“No word on the shooting at the Howards’?” asked Minogue.
“No, there isn’t any word of the shooting at the Howards’ last night,” Russell mimicked. The front door opening behind Minogue left Russell’s lips shaped with what he was ready to hurl at the duo. Minogue turned to see the four men filing in. Guards, detectives, they returned Minogue’s nod. Russell took a deep breath and waved at the swing door behind him.
“Go on ahead in, lads,” he said between his teeth.
More detectives, Minogue thought. Russell here after hours, called in from his home-for what? Were they expecting an operation tonight? Russell looked down his shoulder as the last of the foursome went through the doorway. Then he looked, back at Minogue.
“I’m told ye’re not conducting an investigation but merely ‘an inquiry.’”
Sounds like Tynan’s sophistry, Minogue thought. It had probably enraged Russell. The Superintendent’s finger went back to its wavering survey of Minogue’s chest.
“I’ve let it be known that if ye two get in our way here, I won’t be responsible for you.” His finger swivelled across to Hoey but the eyes stayed on Minogue’s.
“Here’s my advice: get to hell out of here. I mean Ennis, Clare and the west of Ireland in general. If you have any legitimate reasons for being here with your ‘inquiries,’ then they have to wait. We have work to do that’s a damn sight more important. Got that?”
Minogue took a step back and put his hands in his coat pockets. Strategic withdrawal as opposed to retreat. He watched Russell pitch a peppermint into his mouth from a considerable distance. Some trick, he thought. Big mouth?
“And another thing,” Russell called out. “I’m going to find out what you did. Then I’m coming after you. This is exactly the kind of fiasco I’ve spent years trying to persuade three Commissioners-soon it’ll be four-that we need to avoid. Dublin doesn’t rule the roost, mister. You tell ’em that up there: Those days are long gone. And tell Kilmartin too.”
“Tell the crowd sitting around the back office in that meeting we dragged you out of too,” said Minogue with an edge in his voice.
Russell hammered the counter before waving them toward the door.
“At least they’re proper professionals! They know what they’re up against!”
“The beef’s nice,” said the waitress. “They don’t overcook it like a lot of places do. Hardly a pick of fat to it.”
Minogue sat down opposite, looking a lot less annoyed. Hoey fiddled with his fork, trying to trap his knife between the tines.
“We’re expecting another one in a few minutes,” said the Inspector. He looked up sideways at her. “Put me down for the fish.”
“Something light,” said Hoey. “An omelette with nothing in it maybe.”
The waitress pencilled it in, smiled and turned on her heel.
“Do you think Russell is trying to cover for Naughton or someone else?”
“I doubt it,” replied the Inspector. “It’s more a case of look-after-our-own, to my way of thinking. Until he knows the facts of what happened down in Naughton’s place, he’ll be full of-”
Hoey shivered and dropped the fork.
“God,” he hissed, and shivered again. “Just remembering it now gives me the willies. I don’t know now if I can face up to a dinner…”
Minogue wondered when the shock would return to him in full. Would he wake up in the early hours, his own heart hammering, the pistol shot echoing in his ears, the awful liquid thud as the bullet tore into Naughton?
Again he considered phoning Tynan. Tell him what, exactly? Something stinks, John. Tynan’s subtle communication by not communicating struck him again. If Inspector Matthew Minogue were actually to phone him, the Garda Commissioner might well be obliged to recall Minogue ex officio to Dublin. Russell had probably levelled warnings at Tynan that the Commissioner could no longer fend off. Tynan had obviously not passed anything on to Kilmartin-yet, at any rate-because the said Chief Inspector’did not seem at all aware of Naughton’s suicide. But this was different now, Minogue knew as he looked across the almost empty dining-room. Guards of any stripe did not like to hear of one of their own killing himself, especially a retired one who was being interviewed by other Guards skilled at driving a man into a corner. Even Jimmy Kilmartin might have to stay on the sidelines if Russell went on a rampage over it.
“You’re sure she didn’t mention anything about a row with Tidy Howard that night?” Hoey asked. “Or that she had left the pub either, in the car-”
“Just let me talk to her first,” Minogue murmured. “Hear what she says. Then we can alibi her or look for corroboration.”
Hoey looked away and took a long drag on his cigarette.
“You’re shielding her from someone, aren’t you?” he said then. “Crossan, is it?”
