John Brady - A Carra ring

“We might be getting out from under Smith and Company,” Minogue said.

“What, a gouger who’s going to cough up the fells who did for Larry Smith?!”

“There’s a chance,” Minogue said. “Just today, it came up in a court recess. ”

“Huh. Jases, I’d sell anyone, anything, if I was up against a ten-year term. And if I was a junkie? If I was a junkie with bills that could get collected the wrong way in jail, I’d rat on Mother Teresa, so I would.”

There’d be no pleasing Malone now, Minogue decided. He studied the half-built apartments beyond Christ Church. Bow windows, wasn’t that something. Cubicles for yuppies. Then it struck him that Malone could be edgy because he’d been told to attend on the PM for Aoife Hartnett. Minogue decided to waive preliminaries.

“The PM’S not going to be that bad, Tommy. Pierce knows you don’t need the full chapter and verse during.”

“It’s all right,” Malone said.

“I can phone him, leave a message.”

“’It’s okay, boss. No big deal. All right?”

Minogue gave up. He though about putting more life into tracing the missing stuff from Shaughnessy’s car. Somebody doing their job right in Dublin Garda divisions had to have an ear with fences and gougers. Her purse was gone. Access card at least. Shaughnessy’s cards, his camera. Other paraphernalia. And what about all the people at the dos that Shaughnessy or Aoife Hartnett had been at?

Full of questions, Minogue strode into the squad room. He was dimly aware of, and indifferent to, the fact that he was annoyed. The job, he thought, osmosis of Kilmartin’s personality. Maybe it was Malone nagging him about signing for a gun.

Murtagh kept his head down for most of the questions. There were still eighteen cars that needed following up at the long-term car park. Minogue told Murtagh to phone the family of whoever’s name was on the car and find out when the hell he or she had parked their bloody car there.

If Fergal Sheehy was down to the last few interviews then he’d better start finding more: widen the net. A weapon — search the whole damned airport top to bottom. Get Farrell to start right away even. Decide on the motorway even — maybe the weapon was fecked out the window in a panic. And warm up the appeal and put it out again. Specifics: roads in Mayo, person missing. Did Shaughnessy have a camera when he’d arrived in Ireland, or did he bloody-well not? Still trying to figure that out, was Murtagh’s reply. Where were his credit card receipts then? Murtagh pointed to a copy pinned on the boards. Minogue saw Murtagh’s eyes dart to Malone’s as he walked over.

“He paid the hotel here on, what’s this, Mastercard?”

“The last one they have is for the hotel, yes.”

“Are they saying that he didn’t use it afterward or that they don’t know yet?”

“My new pal, Debbie, in the States says that’s it. They’d have it recorded inside of two days now.”

Minogue looked up from the copy at Malone.

“Other cards?”

Murtagh didn’t quite carry off the southern accent on the vowels.

“She done told me she’d run a credit check on heem. He was done flagged bad for priors.”

“What kind of prayers?”

“Naw,” said Murtagh. “Pr-i-ors. He went to hell on an American Express and some other cards a few years back. They nixed him. He only got back on the books a few months ago. There’s a low limit on his new one too.”

“Cash then,” Minogue declared. “Bank records. He must have been carrying, for the love of God.”

Murtagh chose his words carefully.

“I’ll put priority on it, so, boss.”

Minogue couldn’t miss the tone. He turned from the boards again and gave Murtagh the eye.

“Thank you,” he said, just as deliberately.

Murtagh closed a folder and looked up brightly at Eilis.

“Any word from our leader beyond in Boston, Eilis, oul stock?”

“Not yet,” said Eilis. “Quiet for him, isn’t it now?”

“Be nice to get him back,” said Malone. Minogue wasn’t going to ignore this.

“I’ll maybe phone him tonight,” he said to Malone. “I’ll tell him you were asking for him. He’ll like that.”

“Me too,” said Eilis. “Tell him I miss him. His quiet ways. The subtle wit.”

“He’ll be touched, Eilis. It’ll be news to him too, I’d venture to suggest.”

“Don’t forget me,” said Murtagh. Minogue turned his glare back on him.

“I suppose Sheehy and the crew too?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Malone. “Definitely. They asked me to tell you.”

“He’ll be deeply moved, then.”

“All the mob in Serious Crime too,” said Murtagh. “I was at a do there and they were asking after him.”

“Did the president send her wishes too, Eilis?” Minogue asked.

“Oh,” she murmured. “I forgot to write it down. Thanks for reminding me.”

“What about filling in for him over at Keagh’s Pub?” Murtagh asked. “He foots the bill for a few rounds. Did you forget?”

Minogue pinned the copy of the transaction record back on the boards.

“Enough,” he said. “I hear ye. Loud and clear. Wait till I get paid, at least. I’m skint.”

“Ah, you’re always skint,” Malone said.

“Mine’s brandy then,” said Eilis. “Brandy’ll make up for it.”

“I’ll go easy on you,” said Murtagh. “Three pints.”

“One for each day since Jim left, right?”

Murtagh beamed.

“What about you, Tommy?”

“Same as John Boy there. Fifteen pints or so.”

Minogue looked over at the message board. The slips were green this week, were they. Where the hell did Eilis dig up those memo pads? He gave Malone a thoose on the arm as he walked by. “Just gimme the money instead of the pints then,” said Malone. Minogue saw that his partner was losing the battle to hold back a grin. Malone dropped his head, pushed out his elbows, and jabbed at the air with open hands.

“Won’t work,” Minogue warned him. “I have the reach, pal.”

“You better reach into your shagging pocket when payday comes, so.” Minogue put his arms out but Malone was on him too fast. He felt Malone’s arms clamp his as he was shepherded to the wall.

“Yous culchies,” muttered Malone. He feigned a left hook.

“Corner boy,” Minogue said.

Eilis shook her head and lit another cigarette.

“Men,” she said to no one. “The more they begin to cop on how useless they are, the more of a bloody racket they make.”

“Heard that,” said Malone and parried Minogue’s attempt at a shove.

“I give up,” said Eilis.

“Nail him one in the chops, there, you,” said Murtagh.

“Who?”

“Any of yous. I don’t care who.”

Malone let Minogue push him away.

“That’ll learn you,” he grunted. “Fifteen pints and the hiding of your life, you sodbuster.”

“Do you want your messages,” Eilis called out, “or do you want another round to knock the shite out of one another?”

“Eilis!” said Murtagh. “The bleeding language…!”

“Not you,” she said. “His honor here. A personal and a call from the quare fella what’s with Leyne. Freeman. He’s a Yank.”

Minogue straightened his shirt collar.

“Whyn’t you tell me on the cell phone, Eilis, when I was over beyond at Aoife Hartnett’s crowd?”

“He phoned a quarter of an hour ago only. I told him I could raise you and conference you through to him if it was urgent.”

“What did he say?”

“He asked if it was a cell phone. I said it was. He said he’d wait, so.”

Malone exchanged a frown with Minogue. The inspector took the slips from Eilis’s outstretched hand. Kathleen first. Today was her half day. He’d forgotten.