Minogue gave him a blank look.
“You’re the expert, right,” he said “Tri… Tan… ”
“Commissioner Tynan,” said Freeman.
“That’s him. He says you’re the goods. But what else would he say? Now look, we need to get to the point here. You can speak your mind, you understand?”
“I’ve told you what we know so far,” Minogue said. “There’s nothing to embellish. We’re going after leads the best we can. That’s about it so far.”
Freeman adjusted his glasses again. He started to say something but Leyne waved him off.
“Look, there, Inspector, is it?”
“Matt’s grand ”
“Matt. You can appreciate where we’re coming from. How we talk, the way things work. You know. The States? Have you been?”
“No. Not yet. But I have a rough idea.”
“Well I’ve been both sides. I watched the Yanks getting off the tourist buses, Christ, I don’t know when — Eisenhower, that’s how long ago. Looking for fairies and leprechauns, the half of them. All I’m saying is, level with me. I’m not going to give you shit. Hell, I’m in no position to. You’re not Dublin are you?”
“No.”
“Where?”
“Clare. West Clare.”
“Family?”
“Two.”
“Grown up, are they?”
“Most of the time.”
“How long are you married?”
Minogue looked out the window.
“Sixty-seven years,” he said.
The driver’s eyes locked on to his in his mirror. Freeman stopped his chewing and looked at the dashboard.
“So it’s your first marriage then, I take it.”
Minogue nodded. Freeman resumed his chewing.
“They told you how much of a pain in the ass I am?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“How’m I doing?”
Minogue looked across at him. Leyne’s eyes were more watery than he’d noticed earlier. The jaw was set even harder. There were blood vessels right up to the iris.
“You’re doing all right so far.”
“Only all right?”
“The shock hits people differently, Mr. Leyne.”
“Ever had someone close to you murdered? Die suddenly?”
Minogue looked around the face. The skin was papery near the eyes too. “I don’t mind you poking,” he said. “But when I do, I’ll tell you. I’ve a job to do, that’s all.”
Leyne turned back to the window. A sagging van belched clouds of diesel smoke.
“You’re a gentleman to spare Geraldine,” he said. “But I’d like to know. What’s your gut instinct?”
Minogue looked through the back window. The security squad would be jumpy if the traffic slowed any more.
“I can’t say. Your son was out of sight for quite a number of days. We’re trying to place him.”
Leyne closed his eyes, let his head back against the headrest. He rubbed at his eyes and sighed. The driver pulled around the slowing traffic by Collins Avenue. He was directed through the junction by two Guards on motorcycles. Three kids waved at the cars. The Mercedes picked up speed again.
“Jeff,” Leyne said then and opened his eyes. “Are we connected?”
Freeman took a cell phone from his briefcase.
“It’s Billy O’Riordan I want.”
Freeman consulted an address book, he dialed, and he listened for a moment. He handed it to Leyne.
The potato millionaire eased himself into the corner. His eyes lost focus.
“Billy? It’s John,” he said. “Yes. Thanks. Christ, I don’t know. About twenty minutes ago.”
Minogue eyed Freeman taking in Summerhill. Not that appetizing an entry to Dublin’s fair city even with the boom times. Freeman leaned in to him.
“Definitely in shock,” he whispered.
Minogue returned Freeman’s gaze. Concerned, sure, but hired concern?
“We left Boston at four,” Freeman added. “Didn’t sleep much…”
Minogue glanced at Leyne. He was pinching the bridge of his nose while he listened. His eyelids fluttered but they stayed closed.
“It’s not personal,” Freeman whispered. “You can appreciate that, right? He’s used to running the show his way.”
“Damn it, Billy,” Leyne said then. “The hell would I know?”
An old man, Minogue realized. The suit and the tan and the darting eyes twitching and floating in the pouches of skin didn’t make him any less than sixty-eight years old.
The Mercedes was waved through red lights by the bridge. Freeman spoke behind his hand now.
“Mr. Leyne’s never forgotten his home country.”
Leyne said all right and handed the phone back to Freeman. He looked out at the new offices by the quays.
“Did Jeff give you more of the hard ass and soft heart routine there?”
Freeman sat back with a rueful smile.
“He better have,” Leyne went on. “That’s what he’s paid to do. Here, see that pub?”
Minogue took in the newly tarted up pub as they passed.
“I worked there for six months on the buildings,” Leyne said “Years and years ago. Carrying concrete blocks up to a black-haired bastard, a brickie. Jimmy Morrissey, from Leitrim. I had a row with him one night. The size of me, huh. He beat the shit out of me. A great education, he gave me that day.”
He nodded at Freeman.
“But Jeff here came up the veal route. Didn’t you, Jeff?”
Freeman smiled.
“Summer house on the Cape Aspen, Jeff?”
“Aspen,” said Freeman. “Yes, sir. Worked two seasons in a pizza joint there.”
Leyne tapped on the window.
“That bastard Morrissey did me a big favor. I went home to those ten acres and got started on learning everything I could about chips. Potato chips. People thought I was mad. I got a job in Mitchelstown. Two jobs.”
“Crisps we call them here,” said Minogue. “Chips you get out of a chipper.”
Leyne strained to look back at a passing building
“I hate Dublin,” he said. “Still. And I shouldn’t, should I. Things have come on a lot here, haven’t they?”
“I suppose.”
“Film industry, the music? Gone mad on the digital economy and all that?”
The car turned sharply around Merrion Row. The trees seemed to be drooping very low over the railings in the square.
“You have a garden, I hope.”
“I do.”
“Do you grow spuds?”
Minogue thought ahead to Kathleen’s disbelief when he’d tell her tonight.
“I do.”
