Kaddish in Dublin imm-3

by John Brady

  O’Tuaime had the clear eyes of a man who spent time outdoors and he was almost entirely bald. He shook Minogue’s hand and greeted him in Irish. His hat lay on an oak table next to a window which overlooked a small grove of deciduous trees, and it somehow amused Minogue to think that this General’s hat might have a life of its own… might be an awkward item which had to be placed on the head at a correct angle, something which earned a soldier a dressing-down if it were not in place as it should be… something which could so easily make one look silly when it blew off or dislodged as one got out of a car… Would his wife stand in the hallway every morning, holding the hat for him?

  “It’s not often I have the pleasure of seeing officers at work in our Garda Siochana,” O’Tuaime said in Irish.

  Minogue could not think of the Irish for glamorous. “Please God I can make it look showy, then,” he replied in Irish, drawing a polite smile in return.

  “The matter we’re here for is delicate in the extreme. In relation to the need for confidentiality,” he went on in English.

  “We’ve already acquainted the Major-General with the case you’re working on,” said the Commissioner encouragingly.

  Minogue looked momentarily at his feet so that when crossing his legs, as he now wanted to do, he’d not inadvertently kick any furniture. He looked up again, ready to begin, and saw Tynan’s limpid gaze on him. Minogue didn’t mind Tynan; in fact he had rather liked what he had heard of Tynan’s dry humour during the Christmas and retirement parties over the years. He interpreted Tynan’s watery look to mean that he, Inspector Minogue, had better make it good. Hoey’s shoes squeaked as he drew his feet together. Minogue went straight to details.

  “It’s not just the expertise and knowledge of firearms alone which suggests that we have to explore these avenues. It’s also a question of access to the hardware, in particular the ammunition chosen… I’m accepting that for the killer to recover the spent bullets, there had to be planning and premeditation regarding his choice of ammunition. The man was no iijit.”

  “Or the woman,” said O’Tuaime. Cork, Minogue guessed from O’Tuaime’s first words to him in English.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Woman, Inspector. The killer. In these days of women’s lib, we have to give fair treatment to the girls and the boys.”

  “Aha,” the Commissioner interrupted. “That’s the truth, Joe, and well we know it, don’t we?”

  He turned to Minogue with a broad smile. “We were just discussing the Ryan business, Matt. The women are getting to be as tough as the men, hah. I said a minute before you arrived that the Army could do with the likes of Mrs. Ryan and the WAMmers. They’d put the fear of God into any aggressors, hah.”

  So O’Tuaime was interested in the Ryan murder, Minogue mused. Were these men, these nabobs in uniform, having the same dreams that an army of vengeful women was creeping through the fields at night, with bread-knives between their molars, eyes gleaming with hatred? Tynan’s face shared but the smallest fraction of the joke which O’Tuaime and the Commissioner were enjoying. Minogue exchanged a quick glance with Tynan, and found the same baleful gaze, verging on irony, was fixed on him.

  “Our equivalent of the Gurkhas,” said O’Tuaime. The Commissioner slapped his knee with merriment. O’Tuaime rubbed his nose and gave a little snort of what could have been laughter.

  “Of course, the killer may have had access to the murder weapon through a friend or a colleague in the Army or in a branch of the Gardai,” Minogue went on.

  “With all due respect to your good work in these difficult circumstances,” O’Tuaime said as he nodded toward the Commissioner, “and not to put too fine a point on this issue, but the country is full of guns.”

  “And a very sorry state of affairs it is,” said the Commissioner hastily. “Lowers the threshold for violent crime. Very pernicious.”

  Perhaps God Almighty was practising parts of a speech he planned to deliver soon, a more cynical Minogue considered.

  “A road once entered upon, impossible to leave,” added O’Tuaime in Irish.

  Minogue counted to five before continuing. “In any event I need to explore the issues as soon as possible,” he said. “And I need your assistance and advice as to how best to do it.”

  “I’m not sure what exactly you’re proposing,” said O’Tuaime affably.

  “I want the Army to provide me with a list of persons in the ranks who admit to being members of Opus Dei and any other confraternities like that, such as the Knights of Columbus. I want an accounting for the use of Army firearms and expenditure of ammunition in the last while. And a note of missing ammunition, high-velocity ammunition, susceptible of being fired by a handgun.”

  O’Tuaime’s boyish face broke into a smile. Minogue heard feet shuffling behind the Commissioner’s desk. Even Tynan was moved to cross his legs and avert his gaze.

  “Confraternities?” asked O’Tuaime, the smile a little more indulgent now, as though he was sure he was dealing with a naive child. “Are you telling me that religious associations are particularly suspect?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ah, but Inspector,” rejoined O’Tuaime quickly in Irish, “this is a kind of an upside-down thing, isn’t it? The more disciplined and honourable are to be heading your list of suspects?”

  O’Tuaime’s Irish translated ‘suspects’ as ‘gangsters’. Minogue believed that O’Tuaime had chosen that word to add a hint of sarcasm.

  “I’m sure that the associations are full of dedicated, honest men, General. It’s merely a lead that I cannot ignore. Were this information to be gathered discreetly, as I’m proposing, the men would have no need of feeling slighted. Nobody’s saying that these associations harbour criminals. If I were looking for a murderer involved in banking, say, would that mean that I considered all bankers suspect?”

  “That’s a good one,” said the Commissioner. “You picked the right crowd there, I’m telling you. They might be all crooks. I like that.”

  O’Tuaime’s smile had settled.

  “Nicely put, Inspector. But we’re talking about a group of responsible and dedicated people here. I can tell you that membership of confraternities in the Army is almost exclusively drawn from commissioned officer ranks. These are men who want to serve their country and their people, and hold to the lights of their religion. There’s nothing sinister about that-except perhaps in a cynical age. It takes the cynic to see and fear the dedicated, thus to scorn him.”

  Minogue didn’t know what to say. O’Tuaime had kept the tone gentle, so much so that the rhetoric had not grated much on Minogue. O’Tuaime’s ease with Irish was so evident that Minogue almost forgot that the man’s use of the language was a rebuff to him.

  “So the Army knows which of its members belongs to confraternities?”

  “That is so,” replied O’Tuaime. “Our oath obliges us to so inform our commanding officers.”

  “What about Opus Dei?”

  “There are Opus Dei members in the Army too, I’m sure,” O’Tuaime replied easily. “But I don’t know for certain.”

  “Do you mean that they might not observe their oath and make their membership known?”

  “I believe from hearsay that that organization explains to its members that its own membership vows are directed toward a higher Commanding Officer,” said O’Tuaime. He glanced briefly at the ceiling. Tynan smiled. “God doesn’t have to tell our Chief-of-Staff what’s going on, you see,” added O’Tuaime.

  “Is Opus Dei a problem, then? For you and the High Command, I mean?”

  O’Tuaime paused before answering.

  “It has been mentioned as a concern before-only on the basis that Opus Dei members don’t inform their superiors of their membership. We have tended to be lenient, and given them the benefit of the doubt.”

  “ ‘Them’, Major-General?”

  “Those officers who may be members of Opus Dei. These officers who we believed were members were in every case exempla
ry soldiers and citizens. There’s been nothing to suggest any conflict in loyalties for a man to be in Opus Dei. In fact membership might even add to an officer’s value as an indicator of his dedication and service.”

  “Will you draw up a list of those officers who are members of Opus Dei?”

  “I have already said that there may be Opus Dei members in the Army.”

  “You mentioned exemplary officers: you must be thinking of specific men.”

  “I am guessing.”

  “Will you give us those names, then?”

  “I will not,” O’Tuaime replied in English. His tone had not changed. He was looking expectantly to Minogue as if waiting for the next question. Ever-ready, Minogue thought sourly. He must have known.

  “I have no rational bases for my guesses, you see,” O’Tuaime went on, oblivious of the spell which had frozen the other men in place. “It would be irresponsible of me to claim that my guesses mean anything to anyone else, especially to a policeman who must of necessity deal with hard facts. You can see my position and my duties, I’m sure.”

  O’Tuaime’s expression suggested an innocence and a happy readiness to be helpful. Without looking over, Minogue knew that Tynan’s eyes had settled on him again. The Commissioner now had a small silver pen doing tricks on his desk.

  “Can we move on to the arms and ammunition issue, then?” Minogue said.

  “To be sure we can,” said O’Tuaime. “I’m a little rusty on small-arms details, but it seems to me that what you’re looking for, we won’t have. High-velocity ammunition for sidearms makes no sense for Army purposes.” He smiled wanly at Minogue. “Nonetheless, I can have a check done on both for you, and I’ll give it the highest priority.”

  “That would be appreciated,” said Minogue.

  “No bother at all,” O’Tuaime continued. “I should tell you, though, that you’ll have big holes in the book. I know, for example, that several companies had firearms drill and target practice with small-arms down in Wicklow over the weekend. There was a lot of live ammunition used, maybe fifty rounds a man. I don’t know if different stocks of ammunition were used. Naturally we keep track of gross amounts of expenditures there, but accounting for each and every single bullet is impossible. How many are you looking for?” O’Tuaime said guilelessly.

  “Three, actually,” said Minogue.

  “Firing a rifle on automatic is a standard part of practice so the bullets fairly fly when there are dozens of groups taking their turn. There’s some wastage, a small percentage-duds, actual losses we can’t put our hands on right away…”

  Minogue waited before asking: “Could a person take ammunition for his own use off the firing range?”

  “Yes,” O’Tuaime replied without hesitation. “Nothing is watertight. Ever.”

  “Could a soldier take a firearm home with him?”

  “It is very, very unlikely that he’d get away with that. We’re acutely aware of what Army weapons could be used for if they fell into the wrong hands, Inspector. Our security is as tight as a drum.”

  “Do you know if soldiers who were abroad could have brought home guns illegally?”

  “I do. There were two corporals court-martialled several years ago for that offence. It was a matter of grave importance for us. These men had been representing Ireland as members of a UN peace-keeping force. They brought souvenirs home here in the form of an automatic pistol and a Russian-made pistol. Two fine careers ruined-but that’s how we run our ship.”

  Every avenue covered. Quick accurate answers. Was he born like this, Minogue wondered.

  “Tell me this now, Inspector,” said O’Tuaime then. He folded his arms and looked genially at Minogue. “Will your investigation, applying the same rigorous checks to the Garda Siochana?”

  “It certainly will,” Minogue replied quickly.

  Tynan showed O’Tuaime out after handshakes all around and Hoey moved with speed when the Commissioner suggested that ‘Haughey’ could meet Minogue outside.

  “Hoey,” corrected Minogue.

  “Right,” said the Commissioner, watching the door close behind Hoey. He clasped his hands together and leaned his elbows on to the desk. “About you wanting to run a check on the Gardai, the same as O’Tuaime there in the Army…”

  “We can’t be asking them to do things that we wouldn’t be willing to do ourselves,” said Minogue. “We have firearms and dedicated and good-living officers as well.”

  Whether or not he noticed the irony, the Commissioner did not appear to be mollified.

  “I’m not overly interested in what O’Tuaime or any other Ta Se thinks,” he said ominously. “I’m wondering if uprooting the Gardai is going to help anyone. People need to have confidence in their police, I don’t need to tell you that. There has to be a better way.”

  Minogue was a little surprised at the derogatory term Ta Se, especially since the Commissioner and O’Tuaime had seemed to be on the best of terms. The phrase, meaning literally ‘he is’, referred to those who chose to use Irish on the basis that this linguistic sacred cow, which had been the scourge and bane of most schoolchildren’s existence, was an official language of the Irish Republic.

  “I had to answer him honestly. I didn’t want him leaving here thinking we don’t apply the same scrutiny to our own officers,” Minogue tried. He was very close now to losing his temper.

  The Commissioner observed Minogue as though viewing a painting. “Skimpy though, Matt, for all the upset it’ll mean, isn’t it?”

  “If Paul Fine was murdered by a Garda or a soldier, or with the collusion of a Guard or soldier, we’d better go to a lot of trouble and upset ourselves. If the public finds out otherwise, there’ll be a damn sight more trouble,” said Minogue. He knew already that God Almighty would be on the phone to Kilmartin the minute he, Minogue, left this room. Kilmartin would be wanting to deliver himself of his own bad humour later, too.

  “I don’t want you to think that you’re under pressure from Justice Fine here, now,” said the Commissioner in a measured tone. “Because you’re not working for him. You’re working for me and the Minister for Justice and the man in the street. Just because Fine is a bigwig and we took into consideration his request for you to be heading the case, this doesn’t mean a free hand to be pulling away at anything. If the investigation is flat, I want to know about it immediately.”

  Minogue made no reply, but turned aside before the Commissioner could read the anger on his face. The trees outside were alive with the breeze, the sky behind them calm and empty of clouds. No wonder astronauts liked their job, Minogue thought.

  “It’s easy enough for a man with his own particular loyalties to misunderstand the loyalties of others,” said the Commissioner.

  “How do you mean?” Minogue snapped. “That I’m contrary enough not to be marching along in step with God and Ireland like the good little men marching around in the Army?”

  The Commissioner sat back in his chair, rubbing his cheek as though recovering from a blow. An awkward smile crept over his face. “Hold your horses there, Matt: I was just testing. I’ll have John Tynan go to work on this. Just don’t be thinking you can ask the world here one morning and expect not to have questions asked.”

  Minogue stood. “It’s really imperative to keep the search secret,” he said.

  “Don’t be worrying. The Deputy Comm is well aware of that. And here, look… don’t be getting in a huff about O’Tuaime. He’s the old school. Pog mo than.”

  The Commissioner barked his laughter in response to his own suggestion that Major-General O’Tuaime should kiss his arse. Minogue had been forgiven, apparently. The price of reassimilation was that he was expected to join in the Commissioner’s distaste for Irish-speakers, to join the fray in the rivalry between Gardai and Army.

  Minogue met Hoey in the hall and they walked to the car without saying a word. Inside the car, Minogue stretched out with the seat half-way reclined. He breathed in and then out deeply, twice. Hoey was scrabbl
ing for a cigarette. “There goes your promotion,” he joked lamely as he drew on the cigarette. “I wouldn’t want too many mornings like that. Me knees are still knocking,” he added.

  “Well I don’t care what they say, Shea,” said Minogue regaining his cheer.

  “What? Who says?”

  “All of them: Jimmy Kilmartin, the talking heads on the telly, the ones with the sure solutions and the tough attitudes. The ‘dedicated service’ lads, the men of high morals. All of them.”

  “Oh,” said Hoey wisely. Minogue thought of Mickey Fitzgerald’s biting sarcasm.

  “The place isn’t Chile or Argentina yet, not by a long shot. Am I right or am I right?”

  “Dead on,” said Hoey, plainly a talent lost to the diplomatic calling. “We’ll get them all yet, so we will.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Hoey drove through Thomas Street, skirting the fringes of the Liberties. They drove past St Catherine’s church where the body of the hanged Robert Emmet had been decapitated and put on display to dissuade would-be rebels, who were welcome to observe dogs licking up Emmet’s blood. The streets were busy and full of a harsher afternoon sunlight which threw cutting shadows and glared off windscreens. Small groups stood by the bus stops looking for lifts here too. The bright light was not kind to Minogue’s humour and he found himself slipping from his morning cheer while the play of the sun on this old part of the city suggested the bare and frightening spaces of de Chirico and Magritte’s more unsettling works.

  The city looked tired and over-used. Minogue thought of the pathetic fallacy and he made a half-hearted attempt to notice the school-children skipping by the pedestrians on the footpath. Idly he wondered which parts of Bloom’s long day and night had been spent in this part of the city. Should he try harder to read Ulysses again? But wouldn’t that resolve ruin the reading? It might help if he were to take a keener interest in the place-names and pubs and shops mentioned in the book. Kathleen had heard about walking tours of places mentioned in Joyce’s books, and she had suggested that her husband go on one instead of grumbling about not being able to get a handle on the book. There’d be Yanks, he protested, and he’d feel silly. But the man leading the tour is that fella from Trinity, the expert on James Joyce and he’s meant to be a howl… Minogue had never taken the tour.