“Point in his favour, I had to conclude, James.”
“Really, Captain? So’s the fact he puked all over the jakes, you’ll be telling me next.”
“So’s the fact he pu-”
“All right, all right! Very smart.”
“Tell me something now before I go, Jim. Do you remember Maura being pregnant?”
“Maura? My Maura? My current wife?”
“Yes. That Maura.”
Kilmartin gave his colleague a flinty glare.
“There are some things I don’t mind forgetting. What about Kathleen? Shouldn’t your memory be twice as good as mine? Sorry. Three times, I meant to say.”
“I remember Kathleen being sick with Iseult.”
“Long before she got to be a teenager?”
“I’ll tell her that one, James. She’ll love that one. Your timing couldn’t be worse.”
“What is this anyway? Are you after joining up some group to get in touch with your feelings or something? Who was it put out the idea that life is a shagging holiday anyway?”
Kilmartin paused to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. “’Cause if you’re into that stuff, you better keep way to hell away from me. I can’t abide that shite.”
“You do remember then.”
“Damn right I do.”
He leaned toward Minogue to whisper.
“Why do you think we have only the one?” He sat back again and examined his nails.
“World War III around the house, as I recall. Jases, we could have had the Russians bet into the ground with a platoon of expectant mothers. Honour of God, man! And the humours! Floods of tears and then the next thing she’d look like a holy picture or something. All cuddly and what have you, full of plans, talking all night long. Oh, well I remember that bit. Too well! ‘The nesting instinct.’ New curtains, crockery, furniture, paint the house-God in heaven, man, sure I was years paying it off! Running around like a red-shank I was. She was ordered off the feet in the finish-up. Swelling in the legs.”
Kilmartin swilled the remains of his tea in the mug.
“Hormones, man. Sure you know yourself. Giddy: pure giddy. Wild out by times.”
“Did she ever offer-threaten, I mean-to maim you? In a red-hot row, like.”
“Mind your own business. That’s personal.”
“Did she, Jim?”
Kilmartin gave him a limpid stare for several seconds.
“What kind of a question is that? Of course she did. Is there a married man above ground that hasn’t had that? Wake up there. It’s par for the course, that stuff.”
“Out of character for Maura, of course.”
“To be sure it was. Oh, now I get it! You’re playing doctor! This diagnosis of Mary Mullen flying off the handle due to having a bun in the oven?”
“Pressure, Jim. She was desperate.”
“Christ, she’s not the only one. You’re telling me that she lost the head? It’s not the same these days, you know. ‘In trouble’: I’ll tell you who’s in trouble-it’s the likes of you and me what’s having to pay Social Welfare for these single mothers sitting around the house on their fannies.”
Kilmartin’s epiglottis issued a wet flap as he downed the last of his tea. It was followed by another gassy belch between his teeth.
“Plenty of work to be done,” he growled. “I don’t care what they say in the lab. They’re going to go over the videos again, bejases. And all this talk about computer enhancements! Sure, the frigging machine does everything. What are they complaining about?”
It took several moments for Minogue to realize what his colleague was talking about. The video footage of the site, the gawkers that night, the parked cars.
“What about the Big Bust, James.”
“What are you on about now? Elizabeth Taylor, is it?”
“Keane. The police officers here and in our brethren European countries who are waiting for D-Day on the Egans.”
“Oh, very clever. Ask me something else.”
“Plate-Glass Sheehy’s brigade. Have they new stuff?”
“Nothing since this Kenny lead.”
“No bag?”
“No bag.”
“Jack Mullen?”
“Much as it pains me to tell you, pal, Holy Jack Mullen is almost in the clear. John Murtagh traced a fare last night, a drive-off what never showed on the meter.”
“No Hickey?” Kilmartin cleared his throat.
“No Hickey. But maybe these Egans’ll get him first.”
Minogue picked up his mug and stood. Malone was walking in arcs the length of the phone wire now, nodding and listening. Minogue eyed Kilmartin.
“Listen, you big Mayo bullock. I’m taking time to rake over all the statements again. We’ve missed someone or something. I’ll even pick up Patricia Fahy again. Kenny. Anyone. Who could Mary have called in, if she wasn’t bluffing-that’s what we have to know.”
Kilmartin began pushing his mug around the desk-top.
“Listen to you,” he muttered. “You Clare gamog. Tough guy, are you? Maybe the answer is right under our noses but we’re too busy gawking all over with binoculars. Think Hickey, man. What have you got stuck in your brain there with him, anyhow? Is it just because he does a bit of the art stuff that you think he could never commit a murder? Sure man dear, the wind is whistling through his alibi.”
Minogue decamped to his own desk. Malone was still on the other phone. By the look on his face, Minogue judged that he was trying to explain something that he knew his listener couldn’t or wouldn’t understand.
TWENTY-ONE
Minogue phoned his daughter’s flat. He let it ring seven times before he put down the phone. Malone was peeling back the Elastoplasts from his knuckles, rolling them back on. He looked up as the Inspector sauntered over.
“A bit more of the other stuff, Tommy?”
Malone nodded.
“Trouble all right. Terry. He’s left the house. Said something about going over to see Bobby Egan. What am I going to do?”
Minogue shrugged. Malone nodded at the door to Kilmartin’s office.
“It could screw up everything,” he said. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know what to tell you. Except to keep away from him. Can you do that?”
“Christ. It’s like a game they’re playing. I could kill them for this.”
“How’s your ma?”
Malone sighed. He yanked one of the plasters clean off his knuckle and studied it.
“In bits.”
“Go visit her then.”
“Aw, Jesus-excuse me. I can’t. Really. I mean I’ve already taken time off yesterday-”
“Go, will you. We’ll be okay.”
Malone looked up from his raw knuckles at the Inspector.
“You think I’d better get away from here so’s you-know-who in there doesn’t get under my skin enough to…
