the cellophane from a packet of cigarettes. Recruits, he wondered. Start them with packets of fags, let them graduate to fencing stuff they robbed.
“I’m curious, Jim. Aren’t you?”
“Curious? You’re cracked, is what you are. What’s here for us?”
“Remember the man you’ve been chopping at, the man unfortunate enough to be born in Dublin? The one-”
“Voh’ Lay-bah? What’s this got to do with him?”
“Terry, the brother, he’s causing ructions since he got out of the ’Joy the other day.”
“So? So?”
“Well, Tommy had to take time off-”
“I know, I know! Stop telling me things I know!”
“Bear with me now, James. Terry’s in there right now. We can kill a few birds with the one stone now.”
Kilmartin grabbed his arm.
“What are we up to here? Running messages? We have to keep to our own side of the bed with this mob, man!”
“Tommy was out looking for him and called in here. Nearly had a row.”
“Why am I only hearing about this now? This is going to make a hames of the case if-”
“It’s okay, Jim. I read him the Riot Act. I told him I’d have a word with the brother if I could. I, er, asked the lads to phone if they spotted Terry. He’s in there. That’s why I’ve come by.”
“Oh Christ! Now he tells me! First he buys me a dinner, then he tries to soften me up with a few pints! And I, poor iijit, thought we were celebrating something.”
“And I want the Egans to know that we’re out there too, about Mary.”
“Back up there a minute. You want to come the heavy with Malone’s brother here?”
Minogue was in the door now. The shop was small and cluttered and hot. It smelled of newsprint and tobacco and the trays of penny sweets. There was another smell mixed in, the Inspector realized, a beery smell. A radio talk show was on, but not so loud that Minogue could hear more than snatches of the conversation about pollution. The elderly woman Minogue had seen enter the shop several minutes before was effusive.
“Ah, tanks, Eddsy! I knew I could depend on you, tanGod. You’re a star! Jesus…”
She nodded at Minogue and shuffled toward the door. The man leaning against the wall held a cigarette down at his side. He brought it up slowly, rubbed his nose with his thumb and drew on the cigarette.
“Well, fuck me,” he murmured. “Hey, Eddsy. Will you lookit these two?”
The face that Minogue found after several moments of baffled searching was at counter level. Eddsy Egan’s face reminded him of a butcher’s window display. Sausages, he thought: puffy, grey and pink. The eyes were dull like a resting dog’s and there was a cast of tired pain across his face. The face of a man beaten down with a migraine, he thought. Egan looked from him to Kilmartin.
“Oh, quite the resemblance,” Minogue heard Kilmartin murmur.
“Oink, oink,” said Terry Malone. “Sniff, sniff.”
“Yeah?” said Egan.
“Just looking, thanks,” said Minogue.
“You new? You don’t look new.”
“No, I’m not new.”
“What about your pal there.”
Minogue looked over at Kilmartin.
“Him? Oh, no. He’s definitely not new.”
“Oink, oink,” said Malone.
“Something wrong with your mouth there?” asked Kilmartin.
“Me nose. I can’t stand certain smells.”
“Maybe someone could fix that for you. Finish off what your brother left standing.”
Malone frowned and pushed off from the wall.
“What would you fucking know about that, pal?”
Eddsy Egan shook his head. The Inspector saw a gleam on a patch of skin by Egan’s ear, a graft or stitches, he thought. The radio-show host, a man Minogue fervently disliked because he so effortlessly patronized people, said something about a levy on polluters.
“What do you want,” said Egan.
Stitched, stapled and grafted together again, thought Minogue. Was he good at giving pain to others? He stood a foot or more shorter than the Inspector.
“A couple of things. Start with pictures. Girls.”
“Uh, uh. Who wants them? The weaselly guy, Macken? Or the big lad?”
Weaselly, thought Minogue. How did he know the name?
“Me.”
“And?”
“My colleague here.”
“For?”
“They’ll lead me to who killed Mary.”
Minogue followed Egan’s gaze around the meticulously stocked shelves.
“Forecast said rain. Can you believe that though?”
“Eventually it will.”
“What will?”
“Rain. I’m looking for someone in the photos.”
“I don’t mind rain. We need a bit.”
“Same as yourself probably, right?”
“You can’t have a garden without mud.”
“Or maggots,” said Kilmartin. Minogue took slow steps about the floor. He looked up and down the shelves.
“Is he a married man, I wonder. A friend of yours? Someone you trusted, maybe?”
“They sent the wrong guy,” said Egan. “Tell them.”
“How big is your collection?”
“Collection of what.”
“Videos too?”
Egan grimaced as he shifted his weight onto his other foot.
“Doesn’t make sense, does it,” Minogue went on.
“What doesn’t. You nattering on here?”’
“What happened. How it happened. Who it happened to. How much did you lose?”
“The heat. Gets so it screws up your brain.”
“I bet you’re kicking yourself, aren’t you.”
“Haven’t the time. I’m a busy man.”
“Not like some people,” said Malone. Minogue turned to him. Malone smiled. Kilmartin cleared his throat. He kept his eyes on Malone but his words were for Egan.
“You don’t get to do the things you’d like to, Eddsy, do you?”
“I get by.”
“Pictures? Videos even? Are they enough?”
“Tell me more. You don’t meet so many comedians these days.”
“I hear you like to know the faces. That’s unusual, I was told. Revenge, maybe?”
“How much do you want?”
“How much of what?”
Terry Malone sniggered. Egan rubbed his thumb and fingers together.
“You want to get on the books here, don’t you? That’s what this is all about, isn’t it, getting on the take? Like the other cops. How much?”
“That an offer now?”
