Kenny sat back and crossed his legs.
“Did this, er, person see anyone else talking to her? Or me talking to anyone else in the place?”
Minogue rated the performance. Irritated: good. Little bit of hurt dignity, incredulity: good. Can’t a man have a bit of fun, etcetera.
“I mean,” Kenny went on. “People who go there are sociable, I would have thought. By definition?”
Mild enough sarcasm yet, Minogue considered. A bit of condescension toward thick Guards. All to the good.
“You knew Mary Mullen then, Mr. Kenny. Outside the club too?”
“When you say knew her… No, I didn’t know her.”
Kenny’s folded arms lifted and dropped back to his chest.
“From the little I knew of her, she was there with a couple of regulars. I found out that they were, you know, beyond being shady.”
“Shady?”
“Oh, come on now. I think you know. A family called the Egans.”
“How did you know them?”
“I didn’t know them. I heard about them somewhere. Someone told me. In the club, probably. I forget when. You meet all sorts there. There are people who get a kick out of that mix of customers in the clubs. I mean, accountants mixing with artsy types and shady types. It’s all colour, isn’t it? Adds an edge.”
“You like an edge, do you, Mr. Kenny.”
Kenny let out a breath.
“I suppose I do. For me, it’s business too, sometimes. I’m dealing with film people, theatre people, so I go where their scene is. It’s play and it’s work.”
With his elbows on the table and his cheekbones resting on his knuckles, Malone had been eyeing Kenny. He raised his eyebrows now. Kenny stared back.
“Hey, I’m a workaholic,” he said. He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I admit it. You know, I work on average about eleven hours a day. In the car even. Two phone lines at home, fax and everything. So I just can’t buy all the moaning and whinging we go on about in this country, about unemployment and all that. Sometimes I’m working until eleven or twelve. It’s crazy, I know. So I go to places like Over the Top to let off a bit of steam. Maybe I’m getting too old for it though.”
He shrugged and looked around the room.
“Oh, to be sure, Mr. Kenny,” said Minogue. “To be sure. The night Mary was killed now. Was that a work night for you?”
“No. Like I said. I was in Tobins. There in the Temple Bar?”
Like I said, thought Minogue. Petulance was making a dent in the performance.
“I had a meal with a client at the Marco Polo after that. I’ll give you his name. He’s actually a film producer, you know. Great guy. Ended up at… Well, you’ve already got that there, don’t you?”
Minogue looked down at his notebook and back up at Kenny.
“How right you are. I do. Slatterys. Then you went home. Eleven. Ms. Julie Quinn.”
“My fiancee, yes.”
“So it was an early night for you then. Considering.”
He glanced up from the notebook again. Kenny’s stare was cool now.
“Mr. Kenny? I need to hear from you on this. We need to fill in the gaps that night.”
“Gaps?”
“By my reckoning, you were in transit a lot that night. Twenty minutes here, ten minutes there. You went from place to place.”
“Well, those times I gave you may not be exactly accurate, down to the second, I mean. I’ve been doing my best to be accurate about the times but maybe I was out on a few of them. I mean, when I got into the car and drove from Marco Polo’s…”
Kenny’s eyes had become fixed. He broke his stare with a slight shake of his head.
“What if I can’t account for every single minute of that night? Until I got home to Julie, I mean?”
Minogue took his time sipping the tea. That Mercedes had better cough up enough to float a warrant for Kenny’s house by a JP, he thought-and soon. He laid down the mug.
“What do you know of Eddsy Egan, Mr. Kenny?”
“You didn’t answer my question,” said Kenny. Minogue smiled.
“Nor you mine.”
Kenny moved back up a little in the chair. His jaw moved from side to side.
“I’ve nothing to hide,” he said. “In spite of this, well, I don’t know if it merits the word provocation… This atmosphere of suspicion. Yes, I’ve heard of him. Eddsy Egan. I’ve seen him. In the clubs. He’s the guy I was talking about. Someone told me Mary was his moll.”
“Moll?” said Malone.
“She hung around with him. He looked to me like a fat dwarf with a walking stick. Pasty-faced. Didn’t look much the gangster, I’d have to say.”
“Ever talk to him?” asked Minogue.
“No way. Jesus. The glamour is fine at a distance, thank you very much. I found out that he and his brothers are rough customers.”
“That they are, Mr. Kenny. That they are.”
“You also know Bobby Egan then?”
“I know of him, yes.”
Minogue looked over at Malone.
“Wouldn’t want the likes of Bobby Egan on my case, now, hah, Tommy?”
Malone nodded solemnly. Minogue laid his hand on the file folder he had taken from the car.
“Do you know a man called Dermot Ryan, Mr. Kenny?”
“I don’t think so. No. Is he a criminal type?”
“He works as a photographer. ‘Precious Moments’ is his business.”
Minogue paused to observe Kenny’s expression.
“Do you mean in the film business, is it?”
“Not that I know of,” Minogue replied. “I understand he’s much sought after. In a certain sense.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Ah, it’s a long story. It has to do with the Egans. A modelling agency. A shocked wife somewhere. A disgusted fiancee maybe. Photographs. Rackets-no, not squash. Prostitution, I suppose. Protection. Blackmail.”
Minogue slid the photos out face down. Kenny’s eyes stayed on them until Minogue’s stare awoke him.
“Drugs, Mr. Kenny.”
“Sounds awful.”
“Oh, it is.” He nodded at the cell-phone which Malone had parked on the table.
“We’re all in the Big Time here now, Mr. Kenny. Our place in the sun. Standard of living, etcetera.”
Kenny’s eyes seemed to be getting brighter. Minogue waited some more. Kenny was shrewd enough. It wouldn’t be too long before he would realize that outside of the rigours and the all too often dogged procedures of police science, there were no rules of conduct in a murder investigation. It was useless to guess at how much Mary had or hadn’t told Kenny about her own life, how much she had shown him. It was probable that Mary Mullen had lied to him, lied a lot. Kenny mightn’t be in any of the photos.
“Look,” said Kenny, and swallowed. “You’ve been beating about the bush here. Why don’t you just come out and say what you have on your mind. Get all this, I don’t know what to call it, all this crap out in the open.”
Minogue turned over the first photo. Kenny tried to keep his eyes on the Inspector but he couldn’t.
“A rather poor shot,” murmured the Inspector. “But I’m hardly a good judge. I mean to say, what would I know? I’m your sort of suburban type, am I not, Tommy?”
Malone nodded.
“A culchie too?” Malone shrugged.
“Not your fault, boss.”
