John Brady - The good life

“James Tierney,” said the dark-haired one. “I’m Inspector Minogue. I’m arresting you for the murder of Mary Mullen…”

He looked beyond the tall cop to the others. Two of them were already going through the grass with flashlights looking for anything he had dropped. It’s all true, he thought.

“…to remain silent…”

His gaze stayed on the silhouette of one of the cops standing to the side.

“You have the right to consult counsel…”

Why was he on his own?

“Terry?”

“…you will be brought before…”

“Terry!”

“Shut up there,” said the cop next to the one reading him his rights.

“Terry! Over here, man!”

The man turned away. So did the cop who had told him to shut up.

“Do you understand what I have told you?”

“What?”

“Do you understand your rights as I have told them to you?”

The grip tightened on his arms when he tried to see around this tall cop with the eyes boring into him.

“Terry! You bastard! You stoolie bastard!”

“Okay, Fergal,” the cop said. Still he tried to stop them pulling him away.

“Don’t pay that bastard! Yous’re all wrong! He lied! It’s a fix!”

“Out of here, Fergal,” the tall cop was saying. “Before we’re toasted by lightning.”

Kilmartin’s hair reminded Minogue of a villainous professor from a silent film. As though privy to his colleague’s thoughts, the Chief Inspector ran his hands over the wet strands, patting them back over his head.

“You,” he said in a pensive tone, “are getting worse.”

Minogue glanced up at the deserted offices of the Financial Centre as the Citroen glided through the orange light and onto the North Wall. He checked the mirror to make sure the other car had made it through. The Citroen crashed over a puddle.

“You told me that quite a number of years ago.”

“I know I did. I meant it then and I mean it now. Me head’s still spinning with all this. Why didn’t you tell me you had moved on this?”

Minogue looked down at the clock. Half past nine. He felt keen, alert.

“I wanted it to be a surprise. You trust me, don’t you?”

Kilmartin stopped patting his crown.

“I trust you for the next ten minutes. Then your time is up. I want to know everything. That’s the deal.”

“Yes, James.”

“How Tierney got to be there. Where you got the give-away. When. With who-”

“Whom.”

“What?”

“No. With whom.”

“Bugger off trying to show me up! Ten minutes, and counting!”

“Yes, James.”

“This stinks. Worse and worse as the minutes go by.”

“I understand how you feel.”

“The hell you do! Don’t play social worker on me, pal. Who was it decided that I was to have spectator status on this caper?”

“Me. You have Keane and Co. to answer to. All the courtiers. I have to do what I can to make a living.”

“Sweet suffering hand of the divine crucified Je-”

“We’re almost finished, Jim. The world will unfold as it should.”

Kilmartin let out a breath and looked out the side window.

“You bloody well better not be teaching this type of procedure, you know,” he said.

“You’re right. Absolutely.”

“Couldn’t stand up at all if the case gets thrown upstairs at HQ.”

“Well, there’s not much you can do with one arm tied behind your back, is there?”

“Tell that to Serious Crimes and their European pals! Listen. One word I never want to hear about this-are you listening? Not a whisper do I want to hear of it: entrapment. Now or ever. Are you with me?”

Minogue looked across the Liffey as they coasted along, the broken surface of the roadway registering only as a flapping sound over the hiss from the rain.

“All water under the bridge, James.”

“What is? Your trick-acting?”

Minogue turned the wheel sharply just to see how the car would take abrupt driving. Smooth as silk.

“Nice car all the same, don’t you think?”

Kilmartin grunted and looked down at the lights on the dashboard.

“Wake me up when we hit Mars. Where’s the button for making the breakfast?”

Minogue saw the Toyota behind lean hard as it turned in behind. It threw up a wave to the side as it crossed the gutter.

“They have no complaint,” he said. “Have we jeopardized any of their operations?”

“How the hell would I know? They never gave details! Then you decide to keep me in the dark too!”

Minogue looked over and gave a wan smile.

“For your own good, Jim.”

“Oh, my God! Anyway. The father will be trouble.”

“All right. You take her then. There’s me and John Murtagh if Plate-Glass doesn’t feel up to it. Aw’royh’ loike, Jimmo?”

“Jesus, the gurrier lingo out of you. You’re hanging around Molly too much. I have a few choice things to tell that fella whenever he sorts out his personal life.”

“His brother’s personal life, loike.”

“ ‘Loike’ yourself! Will you never learn? Genes! Science! Hard facts! Didn’t you get just one little twinge when we ran into the brother over at Egans’ shop the other day?”

“I don’t get little twinges, Jim. Probably an age thing.”

“Come on! When you saw the brother, didn’t you really think-even for a minute? They look identical, they act identical-”

“Can’t prove it.”

“ Science proves it, man! That’s why we have bloody science! Walks like a duck, talks like a duck-”

“Ever heard of free will?”

“Oh, Christ! And you’re the one always pulling on me about the layabouts in fecking Finglas and the flats and wherever: ‘Ah, Jim, they can’t help it, it’s the environment-’ ”

“You’re way to hell and back offside with that. Context, Jim, context.”

“Spell it out for me then. Context, my arse! Human nature, bucko- since Adam was a boy! Open your eyes, man. We’ll be well rid of feck-ing Molly.”

“He’d be well rid of us, the way you’re talking.”

“Read a thing in the Reader’s Digest about long-lost twins, so I did. Grew up on either side of the bloody States, farmed out to different families-and what happens?”

“You fell asleep.”

“Hah. They turn out to be the same.”

“A miracle.”

“The same clothes. Favourite drinks. Cars. Each had three kids. Petite wives-”

“What’s petite?”

Kilmartin folded his arms and looked away.

“You just don’t want to find out I’m right, that’s your problem.”

Minogue yanked the wheel to take the turn. He released it quickly. The Citroen righted itself immediately. Great stuff. He slowed for the Toyota to close the gap. Ahead of him he saw the Garda van parked. There was no traffic. He pulled into the curb and switched off the engine.

“Asked for a van, did you?”

“Wild West here sometimes, Jim. You never know.”

“ ‘Sometimes’? Christ. Understatement of the year. Okay. Are we right?”

“Yep. Let them go in first.”

“I thought-”

“I don’t want the glory, Jim. I just want the arrest.”

Kilmartin rubbed the passenger-side window as the three figures passed along the footpath. Minogue saw the passenger door of the van open, a uniformed Guard step out.

“Oi! Who’s number three of ours there? Christ! Where’s the bloody winder for the window?”

“The ignition has to be on. It’s electric.”

“Let me out of this bloody box! Where’s the door thing? Jesus Christ! What kind of a shitbox am I stuck in here? Bloody Frenchmen! They shouldn’t be let near anything to do with cars!”

He turned angrily to Minogue. The Inspector ignored him. He switched on the ignition and pushed the wipers. Two detectives were at the door already. Fergal Sheehy was the back-door man.