moustache which had strained plenty of drink earlier in the night, readied the boom. The frogmen surfaced and moved to the bank. The stink they drew out of the waters wafted across to Minogue. Kilmartin and Malone stood next to the anchor of the railings where the nylon rope was tied. Malone signalled to the lock-keeper who pushed at the boom. Water began to spout, then to gush through the gap. The body stirred and drifted against the wood. Over the cascading water Minogue heard a low moan from the bystanders. It stopped abruptly when someone shouted. The shout had come from one of the frogmen. He donned his mask, chewed onto the mouthpiece and slid into the water with the pink safety rope trailing behind. The hair seemed to be sinking. Minogue stepped over to Kilmartin and looked at the rope tied to the body. It had grown slack.
“Bollicks,” said Malone. “Have we lost her?”
Kilmartin laid a hand on Malone’s arm and snorted.
Clearer as it ascended, the three policemen saw the blonde head appear, then the dark clothing Minogue took to be a blouse. A hand. A Guard hurriedly blessed himself. Malone began pulling on the rope. A blood vessel stood out on his neck. Then he relaxed.
“Close it up again!” Kilmartin called out. “She’s free.”
TWO
Dillon was sitting in the passenger seat of the van taping labels onto videocassettes. Minogue’s back ached now. He looked back at the white boiler suits by the water’s edge, the torch-beams wavering in the weeds.
“Anything yet?” Dillon asked.
“No, Paddy. We’ve sent the prints off.”
“Looks to me that she wasn’t long in it.”
“Do you think.”
“A few hours.”
“Is the side of her face clear on the tape you took?”
Dillon nodded.
“Hell of a belt and that’s no lie, Matt. She bruised. Died in the water too, I’ll bet you.”
Minogue returned to where Kilmartin and Malone were crouched. The woman’s body had been cradled in the water-stretcher and hoisted onto the bank. The Sub Aqua team had left the water a half-hour ago. They sat in their van waiting for Kilmartin to decide. The Chief Inspector stood up and took a deep breath. He unrolled the gloves, picking at the tips where they clung, and frowned into the lights trained on the water.
“No match to any recent call-ins?”
“No. They’ve started into Missing Persons.”
“Christ. Let’s see what Feeney makes of her now. We’ll let her go then.”
“Do we give the Sub Aqua mob the billy to leave, like?” asked Malone. Minogue saw the Chief Inspector’s lip curl a little. The Sub Aqua squad would never have asked Kilmartin himself.
“Yes, indeedy, Molly. They’re done with. Is Feeney ready to sign her over?”
Dr. Feeney stepped out of his car with a clipboard under his arm. He looked down the form.
“Body temperature…colour…well, she’s not dead more than six hours. A good look at the tissue on the table will tidy up that, but I’m pretty sure.”
Kilmartin raised an eyebrow.
“Anything you can make of the big bruise on the side of her face?”
“She was hit,” said Feeney. “I wouldn’t be surprised if her cheekbone’s fractured. I didn’t look at her teeth. Somebody, something big walloped her. The skin’s not split.”
“Her head rapped off a wall maybe?” asked Malone. Feeney blinked.
“A reasonable guess, er…”
“Garda Malone,” said Kilmartin. “Molly Malone, loike.”
Feeney’s grin fell away when he looked from Kilmartin to Malone’s face.
“Best I can do,” he said. “Leave it for the PM now.”
The three detectives watched as the body was carried to the van.
“Typed up, for the love of God,” said Kilmartin to Callinan. “And photocopies of the lads’ books. One of us will phone in the morning.”
“Okay,” said Callinan. “Yiz have your work cut out for you here by the look of things.”
The van door slammed. Kilmartin’s gaze lingered on Malone.
“Well, I don’t know now,” he said to Callinan. “We have one solid lead here.”
Callinan scratched under his arm again. “The trade here by the canal, like?”
“It’s relating to the perpendicular parking all right,” said Kilmartin. “She’s definitely not from Dublin.”
Callinan stopped scratching and eyed Minogue for a clue. Kilmartin’s eyes were wide but he wasn’t smiling.
“Didn’t spot it? Easy enough, I’d have thought. No? She had her knickers on.”
A startled look came to Callinan’s face. Malone looked down at his shoes. Kilmartin trudged off toward the lock again. Minogue followed him.
“Jimmy. Give over with the digs.”
“What digs?”
“It’s not the best time for Tommy to appreciate your, er, sense of humour.”
Kilmartin gave his colleague a hard look.
“That a fact now? He acts like he knows it all. The gloves on, the site taped up before we even get there. Calling in the frogmen. Walking around with the phone in his pocket. Cock of the walk.”
“So he’s keen, Jimmy.”
“Keen? He’s a gurrier is what he is. Hair-style cop. Television etcetera. Where does he think he is, LA, is it?”
“Just for the record-”
“Record-hah! It’s his brother has the record, isn’t it? Assault, three convictions-starting from the age of fourteen. B and E list the length of the Naas Road. The brother’s a druggie-”
“You’ve done a lot of homework on the brother, I can see.”
“A damn sight more than you have, and you handing Molly the frigging job! Ever hear the word genes?”
“Is he his brother’s keeper?” Kilmartin snorted and lit a cigarette.
“Oh, very slick one there. Very slick, to be sure. Say a decade of the rosary while you’re at it. Have you heard of heredity? How come one’s a Guard and the other’s a gouger?”
“Give him a chance at least, Jim. A fair trial, then you can hang him.”
Kilmartin pursed his lips. His eyelids drooped a little.
“There was a time when no one looked twice at the Squad, mister. I hired, I sired, I fired. It’s your mate, Mr. Refrigerator Tynan, left this bloody bomb behind him, the way he wanted the hiring done. He had me over a barrel, by God.”
“Look, Jim. Something has to give here with this. If it’s you and Tommy Malone together on this, there’ll be-”
“Skin and hair flying. I know, I know. It’s the heat. It’s his gurrier accent. It’s-”
“Let me put him through this one then. Himself and myself. I’ll show him the ropes.”
Kilmartin studied the lights playing on the water.
“Huh?”
“Well, all right. Better your rope than the one I’d like for him probably. Me and John Murtagh’ll hold down the back line then. I’ll pull him off the reviews. He can do the desk and feed us what comes in on the hoof from the teams. You and Molly can sweat it out here. Maybe being a Dublin jackeen might help on this one. Oh, yes.”
Minogue caught up with Malone.
“It’s you and me from here on, Tommy.”
“You mean it’s your turn to pick a row with me, is that it?”
Minogue stared at him.
