“Sierra?” snapped Balfe. “Such a shitbox. Only cops drive them. I drove one four years ago.”
“Do you own a blue Escort XR3?”
Balfe shook his head. Minogue flipped open a folder and gave the top page a quick look.
“There’s a discrepancy in your car’s tax book, Mr. Balfe. Who did you buy the car off?”
“Oh, Christ, here we go. What’s it going to be this time?”
Minogue sat heavily into a chair opposite Balfe. He nodded at one of the detectives to go to the monitor room. Painless Balfe’s eyes slid around the room before resting on the mirrored glass.
“Hello, Mammy and Daddy,” he said, and leered at Minogue. “Will this make me a star?”
Malone dragged his chair into the end of the table.
“So, Tommy. What are you up to these days, oul son?”
“Cleaning up the streets, oul son,” said Malone.
Balfe put up his fists and made a mock feint.
“Still at the you-know-what?”
“Matter of fact, I am, yeah.”
“Not the real thing though, right?”
“That’s right. It’s only sissy stuff, Painless. I only take on fellas who know how to box.”
Minogue studied Balfe’s reaction. His face slackened and his eyes became very still.
“You’re such a fucking smart alec, Tommy. You probably think you’re even funny.”
“Last Monday, Mr. Balfe,” said Minogue. He sat up and grasped his pencil.
“Yeah? What about last Monday?”
“Where were you?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Try. We certainly would appreciate the effort.”
“Got up. Had a cup of tea. A smoke.”
“You were at home Sunday night? Twenty-one Oriel Street, Ballybough?”
“My jases. The fan club’s really up to date. Yeah.”
“Alone?”
“With someone.”
“Theresa Joyce?” asked Malone.
“You said it. That was fast. I must tell her she’s getting famous.”
“And?”
“Well now. Monday. Went into town. Met me friends. Had a smoke. Et me dinner. Went to the bookies, watched the ponies. Played a few games of pool. Had a few jars. Had me tea. Went to the boozer. Oh, I forgot. Had a haircut.” He winked. “The whole thing: shampoo and blow dry. Ever get one of those, Tommy?”
“Haircut’s a haircut.”
“Well done, Mr. Balfe,” said Minogue. “Start again now. This time we’ll try the time element.”
Balfe looked from Minogue to Malone.
“Who’s Gentleman Jim here, Tommy?”
“Excuse me, Mr. Balfe. I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Inspector Minogue.”
“You’re not one of my normal fans.”
“Serious Crime Squad, Mr. Balfe? Oh, no. They’re the tough guys to be sure. I’m much more reserved and genteel really. Murder Squad.”
Balfe frowned.
“Murder Squad?”
“Let’s begin again now, Mr. Balfe. Start us Monday morning and take us with you all the way through until you woke up Tuesday morning.”
ELEVEN
Minogue listened to Kilmartin’s rationale. An hour and a half with that head-case Balfe and he was no wiser. The phone slid around in his hand. He pushed Polaroids of Mary Mullen’s trashed flat around the desktop with his biro.
“What about the other character, the sidekick? Lenehan.”
“No sign of him. To get back to Balfe here.”
“What do you want to do? Put him to the wall or through the wall?”
“Through the wall, James. Doyler ranks him number one in the bully league.”
He spun one of the photographs. He heard Kilmartin flicking a lighter.
“He talks like he has a wallet full of alibis, Jim. I haven’t found a gap yet.”
“So? You can’t put him near Mary Mullen in the recent past?”
“Not yet. He said he met her once but that he didn’t know anything about her.”
“Well, you got that out of him. Fire it back in his face if we find out different later on. The way you talk it’s obvious we need more. This Lenehan fella, he’ll turn up soon enough.”
“Any word on Hickey yet?”
“No. Still on the run, it looks like. Look, Matt. Push this clown Balfe on any association with the Leonardo fella. Tire him out, catch him- the routine.”
“I’ve done that,” said Minogue. “There’s no sign of a giveaway. He didn’t try to dirty anyone. No hint of a deal either. He seems willing to take the hard option.”
Kilmartin said nothing.
“I want to pitch him out, Jimmy. I’m tired. We can hammer away at the alibis and his statement on paper and then work from there.”
“Fine and well then.”
From the tone, Minogue knew that Kilmartin felt different. He waited.
“Well,” said the Chief Inspector. “You could round up a couple of lads there from CDU, lads what know Balfe. Then take yourself off for a little walk. Down to Bewleys, your usual shirking zone. Come back in a while and there might be a different tune. Falling down the stairs can do a lot for a man’s tongue.”
“Come on now, Jim. All those conferences on methods? The tour of the FBI college?”
“Get smart there, hair-oil. Do you think they never take the gloves off over there?”
“Balfe knows the routine. He’s been broadcasting about his solicitor since he got here. Either we hold him now and get serious or we call it a day.”
“Umhhk,” said Kilmartin with a soft belch. “Well, far be it from me, etcetera.”
Far indeed, thought Minogue. He trudged back to the interview room. The air was stale. Arms folded, Malone had slid down the chair. He was staring at Balfe.
“Aha,” said Balfe. “You found a phone that makes outside calls?”
Minogue glanced at Malone.
“Okay, Mr. Balfe. That’ll be all for the moment.”
Balfe gave him a blank look. He blinked and sat back in his chair.
“Just when we’d got to the interesting bit, huh, Tommy?”
Malone gathered himself up and stood. Balfe also stood.
“You think I’m messing, Tommy, do you? Not this thing, the girl who got killed. I mean the psychology thing. Very interesting, no joke. How come you’re the Lone Ranger and Terry’s not?”
Minogue leaned against the wall. Whatever that was about, the tape would have picked it up.
“What did she have belonging to you, Mr. Balfe?” Minogue asked.
“Who?”
“Mary Mullen. When you went through her flat, Mr. Balfe. Did you find it?”
Balfe’s eyes seemed to recede a little into his head.
“You’ll have to do a lot better than that if you want to try stitching me up, pal,” he said. Minogue thought about Kilmartin’s suggestion that he go for a stroll and leave three or four Guards from the Hold-up Squad with
