He watched Kilmartin’s slow, reflective movements with his cigarello, his gaze set on the window. The Chief Inspector was certainly keeping him guessing as to his real mood.
“It’s just a picnic, okay?”
“That’s what you told me.”
“No questions. If he wants to say something, then that’s okay. Right?”
“Right.”
“Don’t take sides.”
“Any further orders?”
“I want everybody to have a good time, Da. That’s all.”
“Are we there to praise Pat or to bury Pat?”
“Stop it! I’m calling it off if you’re in one of those humours!”
“Okay, okay. So I know how you are anyway. Now tell me, how’s Pat?”
“He’s better.”
“Was he sick or something?”
“Very funny. I’ll tell you one thing, he’s tired.”
“Sick and tired?”
“No, silly! He couldn’t sleep the last week. He was waiting outside the door all night. I got up and there he was. Sitting in the car. I nearly fainted.”
“That’s nice.”
“He actually looks really wrecked. Don’t say it to him though, do you hear?”
“ ‘Pat, I was told not to comment on the fact that you look wrecked.’ ”
“Don’t get mad at him, Da! He’s worn out from worrying and everything. Honestly! You can be very cutting sometimes.”
Minogue closed his eyes for several seconds.
“Are you the same woman who was offering to drop-kick Pat into Dublin Bay?”
“Ah, people say things!”
Minogue held out the receiver and looked at it for a moment.
“What’s the verdict on Pat then? A stay of execution or what?”
“It won’t be fancy wine now. We’re on a budget, so don’t expect a garden party.”
We’re on a budget, he thought. He let the receiver slide down his hand and caught it. He lifted it to his ear again. Kilmartin still wore that same smile. He pushed three of the buttons for Kathleen’s work number and stopped. Kilmartin raised his eyebrows and let out the smoke in balls. Minogue put down the receiver.
“Well,” said Kilmartin.
“Well,” said Minogue. “The phrase ‘we’re on a budget’ was used. What do you think?”
Kilmartin rubbed his lower lip with his thumbnail.
“Sounds serious. She back with her fella?”
“Yes.”
“You still like him?”
“Yes, I do.”
Kilmartin looked away from the window. He winked at Minogue.
“That’s it then. Case adjourned, man.”
Minogue supposed that James Kilmartin was right. He did not tell him that. He looked out the window himself then until his eyes lost their focus. Some time later he was vaguely aware of Kilmartin awakening to his normal mien. The Chief Inspector stood and stretched.
“Christ,” said Kilmartin in mid-groan. “I must be coming down with something. Staring out the bloody window half the day. Getting as bad as you, nearly. Mooning about the place. Come on, let’s tidy up on Mary Mullen.”
“Yes, Jim.”
Kilmartin looked down at Minogue.
“One thing,” he said. Minogue broke his gaze on the view outside. He had been imagining a baby. He looked up at Kilmartin. There was a strange light in his eyes.
“When you talk to Molly or when you see Molly, give him a message for me?”
“To be sure I will. After I hear what it is, Jim.”
“I don’t want to talk to him for a while. And don’t get the idea that I’m still sore after that stunt. I’m not pushed about that. The message is this: one word.”
“Does it start with an F?”
Kilmartin’s lips twitched a little.
“Not that one. Not this time at any rate. No. A very simple word. They even use it in Dublin. Your job is to make sure that Molly has the wit to fully grasp what this one simple word means, all it entails. It’ll have a bad effect on his health and well-being if he does not hear and act accordingly. Are you with me?”
Minogue nodded. He threw a glance at Eilis. She sat stone-faced, pretending not to listen. Small creases appeared by Kilmartin’s eyes.
“Tell that Dublin bowsie this: Quits.”
