The Citroen crested the Rise and began its descent toward Foster’s Avenue and the Bray Road into Dublin. From the Rise, Minogue caught glimpses of a city webbed in haze below. Spires and towers, cranes and blocks of flats stuck out of the mantle. The sun reflected dully back to them from faraway windows. He turned up the radio.
Iseult remained silent until Leeson Street.
“I’d like to travel, Da.”
“Yes.”
“Tell us about Greece again. The bit about walking around early in the morning.”
He made up bits but she didn’t seem to mind. She insisted that she wanted to be left by the Green. He watched her stride through the gate. She didn’t turn back. He almost nicked a lorry thinking about her later.
Malone was in the squadroom before him. He wondered if the detective’s hair was wet from the shower or gelled.
“Another scorcher,” said Malone.
“Yep and why not, Tommy?” Minogue saw Murtagh’s feet on the desk. He leaned around the cabinet.
“How’s John. No ill effects from the barney with Lenehan?”
Murtagh yawned and smiled. The three policemen headed down the hall.
“Is the Killer up to date on this?” Minogue asked.
“Yep,” said Murtagh. “Says he’ll have a look-in sometime this morning.”
“What’s the condition of our Lollipop then?”
“Sour enough,” said Murtagh. “But I think he knows the stakes.”
Two Guards were lounging at the door of the interview room. Another two were inside with a man in a loose-fitting, black patterned polo shirt and a pony-tail. Lenehan turned as the door opened. Pale and yellow around the eyes, he had a flat look to his expression which put Minogue in mind of priests and gangsters. The three detectives took the place of the two Guards. Lenehan’s halitosis reached halfway to the door. There was also a stale sugary smell. Minogue showed him his card.
“You’ve been advised of the charges against you, Mr. Lenehan?”
Lenehan nodded once.
“You have a criminal record, Mr. Lenehan.”
Lenehan began picking at something on the knee of his trousers. Minogue sat opposite him.
“So you can expect little leeway, if any, in court.”
Lenehan’s lips puckered slightly. His eyebrows went up.
“Does that interest you at all, Mr. Lenehan?”
Lenehan looked up with a quizzical, almost amused expression. Minogue waited while Lenehan looked from face to face. His eyes stayed on Malone.
“Is this fella for real, Tommy?”
Malone exchanged a glance with Minogue.
“He’s the one to bury you for eight to ten,” said Malone. “So, yeah, I’d say he’s for real.”
Minogue studied Lenehan’s acne. Lenehan looked high up on the walls.
“You’ve really hit the wall this time, Mr. Lenehan.”
“Did I, now.” Malone spoke before Minogue could continue.
“Yeah, you did, Lolly. Head-on, man. Get yourself organized. You know what I’m saying?”
Crocodile, thought Minogue, but baby-faced. He liked to cut people up.
“Give up on Mary Mullen, Mr. Lenehan, and that could make the difference.”
“What are you fucking on about? ‘Give up on Mary Mullen.’ What kind of shite is that?”
“As it is, you’re going to get hammered for last night. Then we’re going to put the murder on you. Save us some time, man. Clear the slate.”
“Fuck you, pal,” said Lenehan. “Take me off and do whatever the hell you’re going to do.”
“We can do the business right here, Mr. Lenehan. There’s no taking off anywhere.”
Minogue’s gaze lingered on the pony-tail. Lollipop Lenehan examined the skin on his knuckles.
“Now. Where were you that night?”
“Down at the pictures or something. I don’t know. Ask around.”
“Ask who? Bobby Egan?”
Lenehan looked up with a pained expression.
“You can’t make me wear this, for God’s sake. Grow up.”
“Wear what?”
“Mary Mullen is what.”
“Who told you about her?”
Lenehan shook his head.
“You did. ‘Give up on Mary Mullen.’ ”
Minogue looked again at the copies of the records from Lenehan’s file: aggravated assault; resisting arrest; threats of bodily harm.
“But before that. How’d you know?”
“The papers. Someone told me. I don’t know.”
“How well did you know her?”
“Not well enough to do her in.”
“Who can vouch for you on Monday night?” Malone asked. Lenehan closed his eyes.
“Catherine Hennessy. 592764. Now, happy?”
Minogue glanced at Malone.
“Why were you hanging around Patricia Fahy’s place?”
“Who’s Patricia Fahy?”
“You and who else?”
“Take a fucking walk, why don’t you.”
“Who were you expecting there?”
“Where?”
“At Fahy’s.”
“Who’s Fahy? Is this a quiz? Don’t open the box-I’ll take the money and go.”
“What was Mary’s problem with the Egans?”
Lenehan smiled and held in a breath.
“Jesus Christ, Tommy. What kind of a thick are you paired up with here, man?”
“Come on now,” Minogue went on. “Are you that well paid you’re ready to go for eight years and not even wonder what the Egans think of you, now you messed up? You fell on your face, man.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t expecting two fucking detectives, two ugly-looking bastards, sitting outside my house at five o’clock in the bleeding morning, was I?”
“Show me the rule book on that, why don’t you.”
“How the hell was I supposed to know they were the law? They didn’t identify themselves, for Christ’s sake! What kind of a law is that? They could have been anybody!”
“Oh, you were expecting trouble? Someone wanted to settle a score with you?”
“You’re talking through your bleeding hat.”
“And was it you turned her place upside down too? Or is that beneath you?”
Lenehan took a breath but said nothing. Murtagh opened the door and beckoned to Minogue.
In the hall was Chief Inspector Kilmartin. He held a cigarello cupped behind his back.
“The hard,” he greeted Minogue. “Maggot Number Two in there?”
“Don’t be talking. A double-barrelled gurrier. A good hiding is what he needs.”
“Huh. There was high-jinks enough when they picked him up, I believe.”
“There was that. There’s plenty to throw at him, but the initial reaction is poor.”
“A record on him the length of a nun’s drawers?”
“Every commandment broken. Rank poison. Long day ahead of us, I’m thinking.”
Kilmartin studied the tip of his cigarello.
“Run shifts on him all day then,” he growled. “Sweat it out of him, why don’t you. Did he call for a referee
