Malone waited for a lorry to move out of the junction by Kevin Street.
“Why are you so touchy about it, then?”
“I’m not.”
“See? I told you you were.”
“There’s no inside track. It’s social with him.”
“How could it be social only?”
“Because I say so. Because it can’t be any other way.”
Malone looked over. The hooded eyes, the tightening to one side of his mouth, could only be Dublin, Minogue knew.
“That a fact, boss? Twice today we’ve been bounced around.”
“It’s part of the investigation. There’s pressure. Don’t you be adding more.”
Malone’s eyebrow stayed up. He dropped a gear and raced the engine.
“Get used to it,” Minogue said. “There’ll be others looking over our shoulder on this one. Ask Jimmy about his digestive system when he gets back.”
“Is that the one about the surgeons being able to make a map of his guts based on the big cases he’d run?”
“That’s it. So don’t be picking on me. I’m only an innocent countryman up here in the Big Smoke trying to get by.”
“Me arse and Katty Barry to that,” said Malone.
Minogue couldn’t but laugh. It turned to a cough. He tried to volley back with his own concocted Dublin accent but he lost it halfway. Malone kept correcting him on how to pronounce bollocks, a la East Wall. Minogue started laughing again. “Owney a culchie,” Malone said. He kept jabbing the inspector all the way up Camden Street. Sodbusters. Sheep shaggers.
Minogue hadn’t realized just how good a mimic this gurrier colleague was. Cork met Kerry, Kerry met Mayo and even Clare. Malone got better the more he said. Minogue heard Kilmartin, his own throwaway expressions, even Sheehy’s aggressively laconic tones.
Malone didn’t let up until he had pulled in by the checkpoint at Harcourt Terrace. Beads of rain flew off the car when Malone slammed the driver’s door. He looked over the roof at Minogue. The same look an opponent would get as the bell rang to start the round, Minogue decided.
“I’ll wait here,” Malone said. “Polish the car or something while I’m waiting.”
“Don’t start up this again, Tommy. For the love of God, man.”
Malone held his coat tighter.
“Hey, don’t get me wrong, boss. I like the variety, et cetera. But I’m not a fucking gofer here.”
“It’s part of the case here, man.”
“Oh yeah? Isn’t the whole idea to get out of our way, let us do the job?”
“ ’Couse it is. We get the staff, the OT. The lab priority, the carryovers from the other branches, Intelligence — ”
“Then how come we’re heading up to talk to the Big One here?”
“Call it an education then, Tommy.”
“Me bollocks. We’re on a leash, I say.”
“Tell him then. Don’t be annoying me.”
Malone cleared his throat, looked around, and spat. He followed Minogue at a distance. O’Leary met them by the door to the commissioner’s office. He ignored Malone’s glare.
“Poxy out,” he said. “Isn’t it?”
“Good for the greens, Tony.”
“Ah. A sign you’re finally coming around?”
“I can’t take it seriously, Tony. Sorry and all. It’s the clothes basically. Himself is free now?”
“In a manner of,” said O’Leary. “He’s with those people.”
O’Leary’s face betrayed nothing. Minogue understood again that he couldn’t help liking this how’s-it-goin’- drop-dead Garda sergeant. Wasn’t shy of a dust-up, loyal, quiet. Still waters, etc.
Tynan had told Minogue about several incidents involving O’Leary while he was doing his stint with the UN. O’Leary had knocked down a fellow UN policeman, a Dane he had become friendly with, for coming the heavy when a food riot was feared in a godforsaken village in Ethiopia. Self-preservation had been O’Leary’s explanation. A mob had been restless and then angry after a badly parachuted mess of supplies had fallen on fresh graves where mostly children had been interred. The golf course that O’Leary had made was rumored to still exist and be maintained. It had been play a bit of golf or go off the deep end, he had told Tynan. The Dane visited Dublin almost yearly. O’Leary was said to know every bar in a particular part of Copenhagen.
“So,” Minogue said. “Leyne. Who else is in there?”
“Billy O’Riordan. There’s a handler too, a Yank. A lawyer fella, I think.”
“Freeman?”
“The very one.”
“Tony, I don’t want to be giving you grief, now. But we don’t work for Foreign Affairs or Industry and Commerce. Much less Bord Failte.”
O’Leary glanced over as Malone crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.
“I know, Matt,” he said.
“So I want a word with himself before we’re dropped into this whatever you call it. This, er, cabaret.”
“I’ll tell him.”
Malone stared at the door after O’Leary closed it behind him.
“Fucking golfer,” he said. “Paper boy ”
“Give over, will you, Tommy. He’s holding his nose too.”
Malone strolled down the hall toward the lift. Tynan’s head and shoulders appeared leaning out of the doorway. For a moment, Minogue didn’t recognize the face sideways. What was the name of that header from Monty Python years ago?
Malone came in from the hallway last. Tynan sat on the edge of a secretary’s desk. O’Leary stood by the door to a conference room. Malone began to take a keen interest in a postcard on a partition wall.
“Long day for you,” said Tynan.
“It is that,” said Minogue. “But there’s plenty more of it left.”
Tynan nodded toward the door by O’Leary.
“There’s Leyne, Billy O’Riordan. A fella by the name of Freeman. You met him earlier on the way in from the airport.”
Minogue nodded. Malone folded him arms again and leaned against a wall.
“I asked them in,” Tynan went on. “They’d phoned earlier.”
Minogue rubbed at his nose. It was getting sore from wiping and blowing.
“Can we park the badges a minute here, John?”
“Certainly.”
“How much do we have to deal with these people in the near future?”
“As you need them. They’re here to talk. It’s information and it helps.”
“Talk about what?”
“The deceased.”
“Why are they in here, and not down at the squad?”
“They could and would if I’d told them. If I couldn’t have raised you here on the phone while you were in town and handy to here, they’d have been dispatched there. He wanted to get my advice first.”
“The deceased,” said Minogue. “Our case.”
“There’s history to him,” Tynan said.
“He has form?”
“It’s not a criminal record,” Tynan replied. “He’s dirtied his bib. It goes beyond police files, so we can use it.”
“Police files from where?”
“The hat holder, Freeman, has copies of files from Boston police. There’s even an FBI mention. State police
