as regards Mary Mullen and the Egans. It’s from the surveillance reports. The phone calls are marked with three fat dots at the beginning and the end. The stuff is date-ordered. We went back a month for this. If you turn to the fifth page, I think it is, there’s a surveillance log of Eddsy Egan’s house.”
Hand flipped the board back and began tapping the marker on some words. The Inspector let his eyes return to focus on them. The Egan family had been mapped out in red, green and blue.
“Eddsy was number one,” said Hand. “Before he was run over. It was a gang thing. He has plastic knees and pins and bits of things holding him together now.”
“Christ,” murmured Kilmartin. “We could have saved the taxpayer a pile of money if I’d have been driving, let me tell you. At least I know where reverse is.”
“Martin runs things day-to-day,” said Hand. “Eddsy sits in the shop. Martin’s on the go. Carphones, faxes, the whole bit. Martin’s the brain, the planner. Eddsy had set up the rackets but he had to bow out. Last is Bobby. Bobby’s a madman. He’s into drugs but we don’t know if he’s into them on a regular basis. Probably. He has a very short fuse. Bobby scares everyone, his brothers included. He’s the one who looks after the enforcement end of things. Mention of him is enough to get the job done.”
“So he’s the one who looks after the whores?” asked Malone.
“There’s a loose confederation of pimps and gougers in the trade. The Egans decide about some areas. They don’t exactly control the pimps or the trade, but pimps give them some of their take or a quid pro quo, at least.”
“What quid pro quo?” demanded Kilmartin.
“Girls. Information on clients that the Egans could use. We think the Egans pass drugs along a network of girls. For their clients, like, or for the girls themselves.”
“What’s the extent of that now?” asked Minogue. Hand shrugged.
“We don’t know. But we’re working on the belief that the Egans are trying to develop new markets for drugs away from the street. It’s getting a bit hairy for them there on the streets. So Bobby has two or three fellas on the payroll as enforcers. They move between the operations- drugs, fencing stolen goods, moving property and money around. We’ve put some away but there are always fellas available. Fellas get out of jail and, bang, they show up on surveillance. Next thing is they’re caught again. It’s like a merry-go-round with them.”
Kilmartin exchanged a glance with Minogue. Tommy Malone was examining the backs of his hands. Minogue wondered if Hand knew of Terry Malone.
“This Bobby Egan character,” said Kilmartin. “Drag him in and work at him. Squeeze him a while?”
Hand scratched at the back of his neck. Kilmartin’s eyes had taken on a glint.
“Well, now, I don’t know,” said Hand. He didn’t return Kilmartin’s gaze.
“Well, we shagging well do, Mick. Bring ’em in tied onto the back bumper of a squad car for all we care.”
Hand cleared his throat and glanced at Kilmartin.
“Well, as I said to you earlier on, Jim…”
Kilmartin wasn’t budging, Minogue saw. He’d make Hand say it in front of the Squad.
“Yes?” said Kilmartin. Hand’s tongue worked around his upper teeth. Minogue sat back and joined his hands behind his neck.
“What are we hearing here, Mick?” asked Kilmartin. “A hands-off, is it?”
Hand shifted in his seat.
“God, no,” he said. “But there’s a very big operation ongoing. Very big thing now.”
“Very big,” said Kilmartin. “How big? Sure, we’re very big here ourselves.”
Hand smiled wanly.
“Well, it’s really a matter of co-ordinating your involvement now,” he said. Minogue felt a little sorry for Hand. Mere messenger or not, he still deserved to leave with one arrow in his back.
Hand looked hopefully to the faces in the room. “Your investigation could turn out to be a really valuable tool, another bit of leverage-”
“We don’t queue here, Mick,” said Kilmartin. “Murder’s top of the list. Garda Handbook, sweet pea. Page 777. Criminal code. We’re in first. All the time, every time.”
Hand shrugged and looked down at his notes. Kilmartin looked from face to face and then back to Hand.
“Before you go now, Mick. Bring us back to the house you had under surveillance. Eddsy Egan’s place, where Mary Mullen was spotted.”
Relieved, Hand sat up.
“Okay. Sure. She arrived the night before in the taxi-actually the morning. Half-two, with Eddsy. No sign of her until eleven then. A taxi rolled up and she came out.”
The whole afternoon ahead of her, thought Minogue. “Now, if you look back to the summary, you’ll see that she seems to have come and gone from the house fairly regularly…”
Hand stopped by Eilis on his way out. Minogue studied Kilmartin’s expression as he, the Chief Inspector, watched Hand give a tentative wave before heading out to the car-park.
“To hell and damnation with that,” said Kilmartin. “He’s bloody lucky not to be leaving here with skid marks all over his arse, I can tell you.”
He blew smoke out the side of his mouth.
“Did you ever hear the like? Yahoos. Is this what all the guff about joint operations is about? Let me tell you something. Joe Keane is still top dog over in Serious Crimes. I’ll be on the blower to him in a few minutes. Lift him out of it I will bejases. Sending Hand over with bits of paper to keep us quiet. What does he take us for at all, at all?”
None of the policemen spoke.
“I can live with Joe,” Kilmartin went on. “Joe’s all right. But the rest of them can be desperate messers. Christ, the crap you hear some days! ‘European police methods…’ ‘In Germany they do this…’ ‘On the continent…’ Iijits. Conferences and duty-free hangovers!”
Malone began tapping his biro on his forehead. Kilmartin broke his stare on the doorway where Hand had disappeared and looked over.
“Stop that, Molly,” said Kilmartin. “Or you’ll be giving me ideas. Now. See those names? I have me own mind on this. Let’s be thinking about the runners and hangers-on that the Egans use. The enforcers.”
Minogue looked back at the board. Lenehan. Balfe. Malone cleared his throat.
“I, er, well, I sort of know one of them,” he said. Kilmartin’s brows shot up.
“You do, do you, now?”
Was this why Malone had looked so distracted during the briefing, Minogue wondered. He took in Kilmartin’s sardonic grin.
“Yeah,” said Malone. “That Balfe fella.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “It was years ago. He was in a boxing club.”
“Anything you can tell us about him then?”
“I kind of lost track of him. He went the other way.”
Kilmartin looked at his cigarette.
“Like that brother of yours?”
Minogue stared at Kilmartin but the Chief Inspector was looking about the squadroom.
“Let’s see if we can pin those thugs,” Kilmartin said then. “Those enforcers.”
He turned back to Malone and eyed him.
“Pick ’em up, even. Spin ’em around, see what falls out, like.”
He took a last pull of his cigarette and leaned over the desk to reach an ashtray.
“Who do you think might fall out if we did that, Molly? Our Mary?”
Malone glanced at Minogue.
“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe Hickey.”
Kilmartin turned and leered.
“Attaboy there, by God, Molly,” he whispered. “That’s one for the Dublin team.”
