unvarnished truth.”
“As you picture it, you mean,” retorted Kenny. “It’s not how my solicitor will see it.”
“Oh, well,” said Minogue. “Maybe we’re wrong.” He returned Kenny’s look.
“I mean about the snapshots,” he added. “Maybe Eddsy Egan hasn’t a good shot of your face. If so, I can’t imagine what parts of your anatomy he might trace you from. For your sake, I hope the light was bad. Maybe Mary never let slip enough about you to anyone who could give Mr. Egan a trail to your door.”
The Inspector drummed his nails in a quick tattoo on the chair-back. He stopped abruptly.
“You’re free to go, Mr. Kenny. Take care now. Detective Malone here will drop you off. And your Mercedes. It’s a Two…?”
“It’s a 190.”
Minogue beamed. “Ah! The pocket Mercedes. A gem entirely. Tell me, how do you find it at speed? On a twisty road, more particularly?”
Kenny’s cheeks inflated. Minogue maintained the smile. It’d be some recompense to hear a good, rich curse from Alan Kenny. Nothing.
“Your car should be processed by midday tomorrow, Mr. Kenny. If all goes well.”
Kenny let the air out from his cheeks with a pop. He bit his lip.
“Are there facilities?” he said. “A toilet, I mean.”
Minogue almost smiled. He looked over at Malone but the detective shrugged. Right, thought the Inspector. Malone didn’t know his way around the place.
“Follow me, Mr. Kenny.”
Kenny closed the door behind him. Minogue stepped over to the urinal. He was happier than he wanted to admit to have discovered that he was dealing with a fastidious man. Kenny was probably up in a heap about being monitored in the toilet by a cop. Doubtless a chartered accountant would do his best to piss to the side of the bowl.
Minogue zipped and headed for the washbasin. There was no sound from the cubicle.
“Are we right there now, Mr. Kenny?”
The intake of breath stopped Minogue dead.
“Fine. Yes.”
Like hell, thought Minogue. He studied his own reflection in the mirror.
“You’re er…?”
Minogue heard the vomit an instant before the gagging sound. Damn, he thought, had this bugger swallowed something? Another scratching sound from Kenny’s throat now but less puke this time. A sweet, soupy stench reached the Inspector’s nostrils. He pushed up from the handbasin. Well now: Mr. Hairstyle Mercedes had come undone. He had better make sure that this clown didn’t damage himself on police premises. Did drug users have episodes like this? Maybe Mr. Hairstyle was proof they did.
“Mr. Kenny?” The answer came in a wheeze.
“I’m okay.”
He ran water over his hands and rubbed the soap around his knuckles. The soap made slurping sounds as he worked it toward a lather.
“I’m serious about the Egans, Mr. Kenny. And I’m serious about the photo sessions.”
He waited for Kenny to say something.
“When I find photos of you and Mary, you’ll be glad it’s me walking by your secretary’s desk first.”
Sounds of toilet-paper being tugged and torn. Minogue turned the tap on high. Drops of water splashed onto his shirt and trousers but he didn’t care. He glared at the reflection of the cubicle’s closed door.
“Me and not Eddsy Egan, I mean. Can you hear me?”
A whistley, choked-off sigh sounded from behind the door.
“Listen now. If you’re that worried, you should talk.”
Kenny said nothing. The Inspector swore under his breath, shook the water off his hands and walked into the adjoining cubicle. He let down the seat and stood on it. With his feet to either side of the seat he jammed his cheek against the ceiling and tried for whatever he could see in the three or four inches between the cubicle wall and the ceiling. Kenny’s glossy hair was all that he saw. It moved down over his forehead until he shook it back.
“Come out and wash your face. You’ll be the better of it.”
With the shudder and the wheeze, Minogue realized that Kenny was sobbing. His wet hands on the wall felt colder. Kenny’s hair began to tumble forward again. He sniffed and flicked it back.
“Talk to me, man. You can’t just hide in the corner, for the love of God.”
Kenny turned and looked at the door.
“Up here,” said Minogue. “I don’t normally do this class of thing, mind you.”
Kenny’s watery, red eyes turned up toward him. He stood and rubbed at his face.
“She told me that he could do anything,” he whispered. “Anywhere. Anytime. I wouldn’t even be safe behind bars.”
The stench began to make Minogue woozy. “Almighty God… Open up the door, man. We can talk outside.”
“Do you think he knows?”
“Who? Eddsy Egan?”
“Yes.”
“Possibly. Probably. Don’t bet that he doesn’t. Or can’t find out.”
Kenny was drawing the door back when Minogue stepped out of the cubicle. Minogue watched him roll up his shirtsleeves with his fingertips. He turned on the hot tap for him.
“You’re going to talk to me now.”
Kenny cupped water in his hands.
“I need guarantees,” he said.
“You want what?” The Inspector took a step back and pointed a finger at him.
“Do you think you’re buying a new kettle or something? I’ll give you guarantees then. If and when Eddsy Egan finds out who you are and where you fit, that he will call on you when you will be least able to escape his attentions. Is that the kind of guarantee you’re talking about?”
Kenny grasped the edges of the basin and let his head drop. He let out a deep sigh.
“You don’t understand,” he whispered.
“What-the meaning of life? Enough of this caper: you’re under arrest.”
Kenny stared at the Inspector’s face in the mirror.
“How can you do that?”
“You killed her, that’s how.”
“No, I didn’t! I couldn’t! No!”
“You hung Mary out to dry, that’s what you did. You left her out there, didn’t you?”
Kenny’s jaws worked but no words came.
“No deals! Dry up there and let’s get going. Mr. Alan Kenny, I am placing you under arrest in the death of Mary Mullen. It is my duty to inform you that anything you say can and will be used-”
“She never told me! Never! I swear to you!”
“-as evidence against you. You have the right-”
“Never! She just said…”
Drops of lather still fell from Kenny’s outstretched hands.
“Said what?”
“If I didn’t take it off her hands, she’d say that I’d ripped her off. She did!”
“What?”
Kenny began shaking his head.
“Look. She thought… she thought…”
Kenny seemed to buckle at the waist. His hands sought the hand-basin and he hunkered down before it, shuddering. Minogue looked down at him. He had been right: there were highlights in his hair.
