John Brady - A Carra ring

“Oh, like people who’d not be pleased with your success?”

“Exactly,” said Daly, with that light inflection Minogue remembered of impatient teachers. “Now you’ve got it. Begrudgers. The old story here.”

Daly was looking from Minogue to Malone and back now. Lesson over, Minogue thought, even for the dunces who were slow to catch on. Plodders.

“Okay?” Daly asked. “I’m off, all right? Here, take this card.”

He waited for Minogue to say something.

“Sorry now,” Daly went on when he saw that neither detective seemed to have more to say. “I don’t mean to come across too heavy on this but I’ve nothing for you. If you’re really serious here, phone and I’ll be happy to sit down with you. ”

Minogue smacked the tabletop lightly with his hands. Daly made to stand.

“You’re headed for the States now in what, three days?”

Daly rose slowly from his crouch over the chair.

“That’s right.”

“The murdered man was American. You know that, of course.”

Daly picked up his phone and began swapping it from hand to hand.

“Spell that one out, will you?”

“One of our lines of inquiry is that this person may have involved himself in illegal activity, here in Ireland ”

“What illegal activity?”

Daly seemed to grasp an answer before Minogue had offered. He smacked his forehead with his palm and closed his eyes for a moment. He spoke slowly then, his gaze on the table at first.

“Come on, you can’t be serious,” he said He looked up at Minogue. “You’re not going to try a drug thing on us, are you? What is this, a shakedown?”

“Listen now, Mr. Daly,” said Minogue. “That’s exactly the wrong thing to say.”

“Listen you,” Daly shot back “If this is a shakedown it’s the lamest, stupidest effort I’ve ever seen. ”

He used his phone to point to the two detectives in turn.

“What do you know,” he said. “If you had ever consulted with your pals back in Harcourt Street, you’d know just what’s involved in running a phenomenon like Public Works.”

“What’s that got to do with Harcourt Street, or Guards?” Malone asked.

“This is an industry,” Daly said, “a valuable export industry. Do you know how many blackmail attempts we get in an average month? Pregnant sixteen-year-olds? The most disgusting stories about drugs? Fellas phoning up who want ten grand so’s one of the band doesn’t get his legs broken? We’ve had it all.”

“That bad, huh,” murmured Malone.

Daly glared at him.

“Yes, it fucking is. Excuse me. But I’m not complaining. There are gobshites everywhere. Let me tell you something: we have the best security in this country — well maybe not like the British ambassador or them but that’s a different — ah, what’s the point…”

Minogue watched Daly sling his overnight over his shoulder.

“Before you take your leave, Mr. Daly.”

“What? ‘It’s a mistake’?”

“No,” said Minogue. “Hardly that. We’d like to close off this, er, line of inquiry. The possibility that your band was being set up as transport for material being taken out of the country. Illegally?”

Daly said nothing. Minogue watched the scorn change to anger on his face. It quickly became bewilderment. Daly put the phone in his pocket and rubbed at his face. He let the overnight bag down on the back of his chair. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Am I hearing you right, you’re saying that…?”

“Nothing is watertight,” said Minogue. “The band takes pretty serious amounts of gear when they go on tour, am I right?”

Daly sat back. His frown deepened. Minogue rubbed at his elbow again and tried to straighten his arm.

“Jesus,” said Daly. He sat down slowly, looked across at the detectives. “My God. Now I see where you’re coming from.”

" Mules,” said Daly. “That’s what you’re getting at.”

“How do you mean?” Minogue asked. He’d been thinking of Paddy Mac the hair like a crop, his pigeons hurtling hell-for-leather through the air for home. Pigeons could hit sixty miles an hour.

“You know,” said Daly. “Carriers? Dummies, who wouldn’t even be aware of what they were doing.”

“I suppose,” said Minogue. “Yes. Mules.”

“Drugs, then? Is that where you’re leading?”

“We don’t think so. Some stolen property.”

“This American…?”

Minogue nodded.

“Wait a minute now,” said Daly. “Hang on there. I’m not going to let on I don’t know who this guy was.”

“Oh,” said Malone. “You remember him now do you?”

“No, I don’t. What I mean is that I know he’s connected or was connected to a big shot. Something to do with Leynes, the food guy in the States. Right?”

“That’s right,” Minogue said. Daly sat back.

“I was curious,” he said. “Maria — she runs the studio with Noel — she told me the next day. I was on the phone early before the first take. If this guy was well-to-do, what’s he trying to move? Why would he be doing that, I mean?”

Minogue shrugged.

“There you have me now,” he said. “That’s why we’re chasing down any small leads we have.”

Daly looked down at his bag and back at Minogue. Then he shook his head and let out a sigh. Minogue eyed the capped teeth as Daly yawned.

“Look,” Daly murmured. “I think I’ve made a bollocks of meself.”

The face had turned boyish, Minogue realized. Maybe the smile was genuine.

“Ah, you’re all right,” said Minogue. “Pressure and all that. Maybe our timing’s not the best here. I just thought, well, being as we’re out here, we’d… ”

“Ah, don’t be talking about pressure.”

Minogue managed a smile in return

“Between yourself and myself now, Mr. Daly — ”

“Call me Kevin, will you.”

“Thanks, Kevin. Well, we have very little to go on, Kevin. The family want answers, and sure why wouldn’t they. We have to chase down every lead. So there you have it now.”

Daly nodded his head.

“I understand,” he said “The Guards have been taking a lot of stick this last while.”

He glanced over and met Malone’s stare for several moments.

“What with the gangs and that, the, er. Well, you know what I mean.”

“The drug trade,” Minogue murmured. “The paramilitaries? The open cases on two murdered Gardai. The flood of guns that hit Dublin last year.”

Daly nodded and looked down at the floor.

“As well as the usual fucking losers,” said Malone. Daly half-smiled at him. He doesn’t get it, Minogue thought. It took practice to recognize Malone’s anger.

“Joey — Cortina — mentioned you,” Daly said. “‘Funny fella.’ Weren’t you the one asking for your sister’s blouse back?”

Malone chewed his gum several times.

“So let me ask you,” Minogue said. “Are there places where your baggage, your equipment, I mean, could be interfered with?”

Daly stroked his neck, looked up at the ceiling for several moments.

“If someone could stash something in there, like,” he murmured. “Maybe. Well, I mean, if someone really wanted to and it was small… I’d have to ask. I could find out for you, no bother.”

“That’d be grand,” said Minogue. “Yes. Thanks now. But tell me, wouldn’t you be on the ball to such a possibility? With your security and that?”

“Oh, I think so. Yes. We have Coughlin, you know them? Worked for the Guards. Very thorough.”

“Do they look after such things for you?”

Daly made a short huff and looked ruefully at the inspector.

“Well to tell you the truth, I don’t actually know,” he said. “So there. Doesn’t sound too professional, does it? I don’t know the exact detail, I mean. But Maria would. ”