“It wouldn’t be true. Totally.”
“Ah,” she said with gentle scorn. “But if you-know-who was there with you it’d be perfect entirely.”
“You’re determined not to believe me.”
“Guilty as charged,” she said. He could tell that she was smiling.
The printer came to life beside him, drawing a paper in with a lisp. He watched it issue out.
“I have a question for you now,” Kathleen said. “About you-know-who. A certain person phoned me, and she asked for advice — listen, are you sure no-one can hear you there?”
“Are we referring to the same you-know-who we were referring to a minute ago?”
“Oh come on. It was Maura Kilmartin phoned.”
“Do I need to know what ye were gostering about?”
“Don’t be like that. Listen to me. This could be the start of something. Are you ready? She said that Jim put out an overture to her.”
“Fortissimo?”
“Stop that, I said. Through a friend of hers. An overture, you understand.”
“It’s a tin ear you’re talking to, pet. I don’t do overtures.”
“Don’t act the iijit with me now. Give me your take on it. That’s all I’m asking.”
“All right. What harm could it do. That’s my considered take.”
“Go on.”
“That’s all. Look, I have to go.”
“So you’ll do it then?”
“Do what?”
“She says she’d feel secure if we were there, an outing or something.”
“You’re having me on.”
“And Jim will feel more secure too.”
“Jim would, I suppose. If that were ever to happen.”
“What evening will we do it?”
“I’m not in the marriage counselling business.”
“Who asked you to be? All you have to do is sit there, have a pint, and smile every once in a while. Do you think you could do that?”
The conversation was soon over. Minogue squeezed the power button as hard as he could.
He brought the cups back to the caseroom. Wall had made the tea. Its aroma calmed Minogue.
Wall sugared his after it had been drawn, and he put in a bit of milk to colour it.
“I’ll take mine in with me,” he said. “Okay with that?”
“To be sure. Now, the interview room’s set up for recording, I take it.”
“It is that. The controls are in the top drawer of the desk. A digital recorder there too; you can take the data home on a stick.”
Data, a stick going home? Minogue was lost for several moments. Then he remembered USB sticks, and the circulars on their use and abuse that had been repeated several times over the past few months. He tucked his clipboard under his arm and he headed downstairs after Wall.
A corridor leading out from the main office led to a short hall that was chicaned by a photocopier and a newish vertical file folder. Wall’s small tics seemed to be more apparent as he walked: straightening his jacket, gently tugging his shirt collar, spreading his fingers over the knot of his tie. The communications room door was open and Minogue got a glimpse of a uniformed Guard with his headset, stretching. Somebody had farted here recently. Wall pulled the communications room door closed and he approached the first of three doors. He turned and nodded at Minogue and then opened the door.
Minogue waited until the uniform left the room, and then he entered.
Twomey’s face was pale and he frowned so much it looked like a permanent grimace. He kept eye contact with Wall as the detective moved two chairs.
“You’ve decided to help us with our inquiries then,” said Wall.
“Are you bleeding joking me?”
“No, I’m not. Merely inquiring.”
“Those two cops, the two Guards, at the house said I was under arrest. That’s against my rights. No bleeding way am I here voluntarily, I can tell you.”
Dublin accent, Minogue reflected, but not one that would scrape your eardrums. He was already storing impressions: acne; sweat by his hair; a smoker; trying to look confident and much put upon; fidgety. Scared.
He wondered if he were looking at the man who had killed Tadeusz Klos.
“What size of a shoe do you wear,” he said, staring at Twomey.
“Shoe? What are you talking about shoes for? Jases. Shoes?”
There had been no give, Minogue realized.
“Eleven, I’m guessing.”
“Who are you, exactly?”
“I’m a Garda detective,” said Minogue.
“That’s nice. But how do I know? I need to see some ID, don’t I?”
Minogue downed the tea and then the clipboard and pulled out his wallet.
“You look different than your picture.”
“Better or worse, would you say?”
“I’m not going after that one. As a matter of fact I’m not saying nothing to neither of yous. Talk to my lawyer.”
“Your counsel.”
“Lawyer, whatever.”
“What’s your counsel’s name?”
“Legal Aid, whatever. Whoever. When I make my phone call.”
“What phone call?”
“Don’t try that one. Everyone gets a phone call. Basic democratic rights.”
Minogue wrote the date on his clipboard. He opened the drawer and took out the microphones and placed them within arm’s reach. Stretching his arm, his sleeve slid up, and he saw four o’clock on his infallible wedding anniversary watch.
Minogue ejected the tape, looked it over, and slid it back in again. He closed the lid on it and cued it, and then he hit Record and Pause.
“You’re wasting your time with that,” said Twomey, “I’ve nothing to say.”
“So you were saying.”
Minogue looked up to the corner of the ceiling where the Plexiglas covered the camera.
“You know what that is up there?”
“Of course I do. But you won’t be needing it.”
“It’s to help safeguard your rights, Mr. Twomey.”
“I want my phone call.”
“Detective Wall and I have some questions for you. Detective Wall will start, I believe.”
Twomey folded his arms, slouched deeper in the seat, and looked away.
“We have a sworn statement from a person who was with you on the night of the fourteenth of this month,” said Wall, “so be aware that we already have information concerning your actions that evening.”
Both detectives waited for a reaction. Minogue sipped at his tea and glanced down at the tape travelling through the spools.
“You were on Amiens Street, at eleven p.m. or thereabouts in the company of three other parties — people. Do you dispute that or can you confirm that for me?”
Minogue held the mug close to his mouth and watched Twomey’s face.
“Do you dispute the statement that says you were in possession of cannabis resin that evening? Furthermore, that you were trafficking in same?”
“Lawyer,” said Twomey.
“You’re aware of the penalties for drug trafficking, Mr. Twomey?”
