Minogue switched off the flashlight. The van turned on to Oscar Traynor Road. Malone pulled out after a taxi.
“Unless he’s going out to the Malahide Road,” he muttered. “And then taking that way back down to the studio. Why would he be going that way?”
Hackett’s home address was Terenure, Minogue remembered.
“Any sign of him there, boss?”
The traffic slowed at the lights for the Malahide Road.
“There he is ahead. He’s gone straight.”
Malone glanced over at Minogue.
“He’s headed out to Kilbarrack? Raheny?”
Minogue ran the flashlight over the street map.
“He’s not hanging around either,” said Malone. “Are we going to bust your man’s gaff now, Halloran’s? See what’s in the box?”
Minogue took the radio up from his lap.
“Mazurka to Polka One. Over.”
“Go ahead, Mazurka,” said Farrell.
“Move in now. No calls, sit tight. Over.”
“Are we expecting anything?”
“Our friend might be phoning or your fella might try to phone out,” replied Minogue. “ Bi ullamh. Over.”
“Read you, Mazurka. Over.”
Malone sprayed the windscreen. He left the wipers on full for several seconds. Minogue caught a glimpse of the van three cars ahead.
“ Bi ullamh,” said Malone “Last time I heard that one was the Killer, up with that lunatic in the South Circular, who was he. Mac something. The suicide. After he shot the wife’s new fella. ”
It was drizzling like this then too, Minogue remembered. Kilmartin had gotten a call for a talker. There’d been a shooting and the gunman was still in the flat. He wanted some “serious cop,” someone who knew their stuff, someone from the Murder Squad, not some fukken chancers trying to play shrink. Kilmartin had muttered the Irish boy scout motto as he and Minogue and Malone had pushed their backs harder into the wall to let the armed response team scurry by.
“I just got that feeling, boss,” said Malone.
“What?”
‘“Member I told you about the boxing? When you got hurt with a punch and you know you’re hurt?”
Minogue looked over. Malone’s somber tone was rare.
“And you know that he knows it,” Malone went on. “And he’s really going to let you have it now. The both of you know that neither of yous can stop it. You’re hurt but you’re wide awake. You know everything’s out of hand but it’s going to play itself out, and finish.”
Malone flicked the wipers back to normal. He let out a sigh.
“Ah, I don’t know,” he added. “Maybe I’m only beginning to freak out after the mess this morning. The delay, like…?”
Minogue waited. Malone shifted in the seat.
“It’s just I can’t stop thinking, well, we’re headed in the wrong direction here,” he said. “Ah Christ — forget it. Look, there’s the DART.”
Minogue caught a glimpse of the passengers in the train before the Opel bobbed as it came over the bridge. The van picked up speed.
“What’s he doing…” Malone whispered.
“Polka One to Mazurka.”
“Go ahead Polka.”
“We’re on board here,” said Farrell. “No problems. Over.”
“Have you had a look through?” Minogue asked.
“I’m in the garage now. Yours truly’s got your man in the kitchen, him and his missus.”
“No trouble getting in?”
“Not a bother. Made no run for a phone or the like.”
“Do you think he expected us?” Minogue asked.
“Can’t say. He didn’t freak when I gave him the grounds, the receiving goods one. ‘Go ahead,’ says he. ‘I’ve nothing to hide.’”
“What’s the story then?”
“There’s a big speaker and wires,” Farrell replied. “That’s it.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing. ‘I been doing repairs for years,’ says he. They send me stuff to fix. It’s the nephew; I got him started a few years ago. Never forgot where he came from.’ ”
Malone smacked the steering wheel.
“What’s he say about the driver?”
“Doesn’t know him from Adam.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all. Over.”
“You were right,” said Malone. Minogue’s thumb danced over the button.
“Will we stay put, Mazurka? Over.”
“Stand by.”
“Maybe he was given two drops,” said Malone. “He could be blind himself, you know, a dummy? Is this the Howth Road already…?”
The van wasn’t indicating a turn back into the city center. Minogue watched the brake lights of the car ahead.
“Mazurka to Polka One. Over.”
“Go ahead.”
“Stay put,” said Minogue. “Bring them in, the two of them, if he starts with you. Over.”
“Good enough. If- hold on, I think I hear the phone.”
Minogue squeezed the button hard.
“Listen,” he said to Farrell. “Let him answer. I want every word. Over.”
“I’m going in the kitchen door now. Read you.”
“He’s headed the other way,” said Malone.
Minogue watched the streetlamps on the Howth Road slide along the panel of the van as it turned.
“I think he’s on the phone,” said Malone. “Look, will you. He is, isn’t he?”
Minogue couldn’t decide. The hand was up by his head. Headlights from a city-bound car came closer.
“He is, boss. I’m telling you. They’re in on it.”
Only a much-abused Mini Metro sagging at one side separated them from the van now. The van began to pull away. Minogue heard the breathing grow louder. It was his own.
“He’s slowing,” said Malone. “Look.”
Minogue looked across at the speedometer.
“He’s finished talking,” said Malone.
“Polka One to Mazurka. Over.”
“Go ahead, Polka One.”
“Very short and sweet,” said Farrell. “Nothing clear to us. Over.”
“Did you pick up on it?”
“Only this end. And I think it was a code or the like.”
“What did he say exactly though?”
“‘Yeah,’” said Farrell. “And ‘Not so bad.’ Then, ‘Buy me a pint.’ Laughed a bit. Then he hung up after a ‘yeah’ or two.”
“Nothing clear?”
Minogue’s throat was tight now
