John Brady - All souls

“Why wouldn’t he?” said Kilmartin. “It’s only the truth.”

“I suppose that they get the Independent down in Ennis or thereabouts,” Tynan said. Kilmartin gave the Commissioner a knowing look.

“‘Out with the old Guard, in with the new,’” said Tynan. “Catchy, isn’t it?” Kilmartin grunted.

“Well,” Tynan sighed. “Just thought I’d drop by. Not often I get the chance.” He drew the lapels of his coat tighter.

“Oh,” he said, and turned to Minogue. “I asked Jim if you’d be long away.”

Minogue frowned. Kilmartin began to sway again, but he did not take his eyes from the view to return Minogue’s glare. Tynan resumed his prodding.

“Told me he didn’t know. You, ah, hadn’t told him yet.”

The Inspector looked beyond Kilmartin to the spectacle of the night city below. The music had stopped. A door opened and the three policemen looked back at two men laughing raucously in the yard. The dark mass of the mountain above the pub seemed closer, larger. Hoey heading for Africa. How things turn out, Hoey had said to him in Bewleys the other day. Hoey hadn’t looked at him when he had said that, he recalled. Minogue turned back to the city view.

The lights of the city fell into no overall pattern that he could discern. He let his eyes drift up a little. The few stars he could make out in the city’s dull glow did not follow any pattern either. How the hell did people see chariots and horses and ploughs and goddesses up there? But as he looked, Minogue was startled to find that more stars seemed to be appearing. How did that happen? Kilmartin cleared his throat.

“Two weeks or so, I imagine,” Minogue heard himself say. “Then I’m back.”

Kilmartin turned. Tynan nodded. Minogue emptied his glass.