and he flinched at, but was grateful for, the cliches that flowed easily. Minogue looked over to Leyne and Mrs. Shaughnessy several times. The light had done something to her face. She sat upright, with that out-of-reach look Minogue hadn’t learned to type conclusively over the years. Anger, sure, he supposed. Grief, tiredness, helplessness; disbelief. All of it.
Leyne sat forward and studied some point in the far corner of the room. Minogue took in the dogged, strained face. The pope was right, but something neanderthal about the jutting jaw too.
Minogue’s armpits began to prickle. He moved the sheaf of papers he’d used as a prop and glanced at King. King cued Mrs. Shaughnessy. She blinked and a tear slid down. She held up a finger to stop it. She sounded close to breathlessness. Leyne’s hand went to her arm again. There was a sudden flurry of camera shutters. Minogue saw the journalists writing more.
It occurred to the inspector that Mrs. Shaughnessy did not like asking for help. That she had practiced what she was going to say. That she was not going to lose her poise. She called her son her only son. She said she had a deep affection for Ireland and his Irish roots. That his visits to Ireland had been high points in his life. She paused and bit her lip. Her son had even thought of moving to Ireland to live. Her voice wavered, she closed her eyes. Thirty-something years in the States and her accent almost wholly Irish still, Minogue realized. Her mother and father, two brothers and two sisters still lived in County Cork. They were strong farmers, well up.
Justice, she said then. Her son would rest but his parents could not until — Tynan was sliding a note across. It had been folded once. “Release cause?” Minogue shook his head. Mrs Shaughnessy finished. To Minogue’s surprise, Leyne said nothing but rose. He and Mrs. Shaughnessy were ushered away from the table. Minogue tried to count the flashes but gave up after ten. Two Guards in uniform blocked reporters from following the couple. Then King threw the conference open for questions.
The first one was from Sean Barrett, a hack who had thought himself an impregnable insider with the Guards until Tynan had come to the commissioner’s job. No more midnight jaunts on drug busts for Barrett, no more helicopter tours of uncovered arms dumps. Barrett, Kilmartin had heard, was more than pissed off at his fall from favor.
Minogue told Barrett he couldn’t release cause of death until he was sure of it. Had the postmortem been performed? It had. There was some doubt remaining? There were details that required careful examination. King picked out a face Minogue didn’t recognize. An English accent, by God. He took in the leather jacket, the hair, the earring.
Was Mr. Shaughnessy the victim of organized criminal groups? Try disorganized, Minogue wanted to say, as criminals tended to be. No, he replied instead. There was nothing to suggest this yet. It was very early in the investigation. It would naturally fall under our consideration. Were there criminal gangs operating at the airport?
Minogue sidestepped it, threw in a decoy: unprecedented. The tabloid had to have its chance then. Minogue saw King almost grimace. The reporter hung on, poked the air with his pencil: Was the Dublin area now acknowledged to be suffering from an epidemic of violent crime? Was there not documented lack of security, an alarming lack of security, at the airport? Was Shaughnessy targeted as a tourist?
Tynan weighed in. Minogue watched Gemma O’Loughlin scribbling fast. Tynan’s tone was almost kindly, the tone that Kilmartin most suspected: this wasn’t the occasion to discuss trends and statistics or crimes. This was investigation, not extrapolation. There was no confirmation or even assertion that the murder had been committed at the airport — hence our appeal for info on Mr. Shaughnessy’s whereabouts over the last several days and weeks.
A radio journalist next.
Had Mr. Shaughnessy been reported as missing? Yes, for eight days. A search made? Fogra Toradh issued to all stations Tuesday morning. Had there been any measures beyond the ordinary taken to locate Mr. Shaughnessy? Minogue had expected it earlier. He noticed that Tynan was sitting forward with his elbows on the table now. The Make My Day move, Kilmartin had called it, like I want the meeting over. Full resources of the Gardai brought to bear, came Tynan’s reply. Particularly tragic when the crime victim was a visitor to our country.
King took Gemma O’Loughlin next. She glanced at Minogue several times as she spoke. Had Mr. Shaughnessy’s family been the subject of any security concerns in the past? Prominent positions, well known, et cetera…? King steered it to Tynan. Public figures was Tynan’s tack; the world we live in, extra measures. Minogue looked from face to face in the front row while Tynan did his slow rehash of the Garda appeal for sightings of Shaughnessy. He let his thoughts go to the maps in the squad room. Donegal, with roads over the bogs like the twists and leavings of thread or wool on the floor after Iseult had been doing a tapestry.
A handful of reporters remained seated. The camera crew had nearly finished disassembling. Tony O’Leary sat on the edge of the deserted table. Minogue watched hotel staff carrying away chairs.
“All right,” said Tynan. “You’re headed back out to the airport?”
“Probably.”
The day was running away on him. He’d need to be back into town again by half-six to get his head straight for the briefing. Traffic…?
“But after I check with Eilis.”
“Tony’ll take you out so,” said Tynan.
O’Leary had parked the commissioner’s Opel at the taxi rank by the top of Dawson Street. Minogue rolled down the window. He was glad of the noise along the green.
“I’ll set up a meeting,” said Tynan. “Tomorrow early, say. Give them a bit of time to get themselves together. They have nothing recent on him, on the son, you know that? But Mrs. knows you want to talk to her.”
Minogue took out his phone.
“Did Leyne tell you anything on the way in?” Tynan asked.
Minogue switched the phone back to standby.
“He told me he was still an Irishman.”
“Did he run us all down as backward iijits, Guards included?”
“More or less.”
Tynan nodded.
“But I fell to thinking,” Minogue resumed, “well, that Leyne has the look of a man not in the whole of his health.”
Tynan stared at Minogue’s forehead for a moment.
“You wouldn’t be the first to notice,” he said. “There’s keen interest in that very subject. He’s sitting on about two hundred million dollars.”
“He didn’t mention that to me on the trip in from the airport.”
Tynan didn’t bite.
“Well did he tell you anything?”
“He did but I don’t know what it means. ‘It’ll all come out eventually,’ he said.”
“What ‘all’?”
“Family, I think,” Minogue said. “The son was a bit wild.”
Tynan stared at the open door of the Opel then across the roof at O’Leary. “I’ll walk it, Tony,” he said. “Meet me up at the office.”
O’Leary glanced at Minogue
“No he wouldn’t be loaded, Tony. We’ll be okay.”
Minogue followed Tynan across to the broad footpath that surrounded Stephen’s Green. The commissioner was a brisk walker.
“All the free advice I get,” Tynan said. “Now Tony is supposed to carry a gun and take bodyguard training.”
“Have you…?”
“Threats? ’Course I have. Tell me, what’d you make of Mrs?”
“I don’t know. Genteel, if the word means anything anymore. Are she and Leyne, what’s the word — ”
“Amicable? They are now The marriage lasted only a few years. He didn’t fight the settlement.”
“Well-heeled, is she.”
Tynan slowed his pace for a moment
