by John Brady
“I hear you. It’s all aboveboard.”
“Fifteen minutes or so.”
“Fine. Oh, you can tell your guy in the lobby or wherever he is, that I’m not going anywhere.”
Tynan, was Minogue’s first thought: he had left him in the dark on purpose.
“I don’t know anything about that,” he said.
Malone glanced over before racing from the lights at the head of Dame Street. The Audi he had raced kept beeping.
“How much again?” he asked Minogue.
“I heard two hundred million.”
“Dollars or pounds?”
“I can’t remember.”
Malone turned sharply around two cyclists.
“So he says one of ours or some of ours are on the prowl.”
“He, she, or it is not one of mine, Tommy.”
“You don’t care? I still think you should check with C3.”
Minogue bit his lip. He really should get advice on how to give Freeman some serious grief. An American lawyer executing a brief for his client in Ireland. He doesn’t trust the authorities… Had Leyne known he was on his last legs?
“’Cause you’ll find out Tynan has us on a string. ”
“Be quiet, can’t you. I’m thinking.”
“Collar him,” Malone declared “The whole shebang: drag him out of the place, shove him into the back of the car, and bring him around the corner to Pearse Street. Take him apart. What’s the big fu — what’s the big deal here, like?”
Minogue didn’t answer. He’d been thinking about the computer screen, the pictures fading and returning, the drums and the talk of time before the pharaohs.
“Like, what made you change your mind and tell him we’d go to his place.?”
“I don’t know. We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it. Don’t be asking me any more. ”
“Come on now, boss. He killed her. The da knew, because your man phoned him. And this fukken Freeman dude is trying his best to bury it. Share prices, all that’s bullshit. Freeman’s following a plan. Tynan’s after pouring cement on us somewhere too. We’ll be lucky if we even get told what the hell happened.”
Minogue looked up to see the restoration work being done above the facade of what had been a tobacconist shop by Cuffe Street. Dust drifted away from a sandblaster overhead.
Malone pulled hard on the hand brake and stepped out onto the roadway, in one fluid movement.
“Jases, will you look at the doorman,” he said. “The hat on him. Jases.”
Minogue checked his door was locked and looked over the roof of the Nissan at the front of the Aisling Hotel. All glass, brass, and crass.
“Gardai,” Malone said to the doorman. “Won’t be long ”
Minogue quickstepped through the foyer. Carpets up to your ankles, flowers, marble. He looked into two alcoves. Empty except for a group of three elderly women. Hardly C3.
The lift was all tinted mirrors. Minogue didn’t much like the look of the middle-aged cop looking back at him. Annoyed-looking, a bit tired. Malone was trying to get some shape on his hair. The back of his jacket bulged as he leaned forward. Had he been carrying the pistol yesterday, Minogue wondered.
“This better be good,” Malone said. The lift jiggled and opened onto a maroon and gray carpet. The two policemen stood by the door for several moments.
“Someone with him, boss. What do you think?”
Minogue couldn’t make out the words.
He knocked. There was a burr as someone’s shoe slid on the carpet inside. The spyhole darkened, and the handle was turned.
Freeman was a very different kettle of fish now. Denim shirt open two buttons. Minogue declined the hand. He stepped in and stared at Kieran Hayes. Kieran Hayes, as in Mr. Slick from C3, as in fixer and golden boy trailing glory and the glamour of Special Branch intrigue in his wake. “Works out of Harcourt Street,” did he? Angry as he was, Minogue kept trying not to look stunned.
Hayes stood up slowly.
“Matt,” he said. “How are you keeping? And Tommy?”
Declan King was standing by the window. He nodded at the two policemen.
“Anyone else?” Minogue asked. “Under the bed here maybe?”
“Not that we know of,” said Hayes. “Cup of tea?”
Minogue waved off the tea. He nodded at Freeman.
“Mr. Freeman?”
“Yes?”
“I am arresting you for obstruction of — ”
“Whoa, there,” said Hayes. “We have a big misunderstanding here now, Matt. Let’s talk this out. That phone call you made here, well — ”
“Out of me way. ”
“What?” asked Hayes.
“You going to obstruct the investigation too?”
“Enough now,” said Hayes. “That’s not going to help.”
“Enough is right,” Minogue said. He took out his phone.
“We’ll fill you in on the gaps now,” King said.
“What are you doing?” asked Hayes. Minogue ignored him. Murtagh answered.
“John? Yes. We ran into a bit of a barney here at Freeman’s. Get’s a wagon and two or three uniforms. Large size.”
“Wait a minute, hey!”
Minogue turned away and plugged his other ear.
“No, no trouble,” he said to Murtagh. “Yet. And place a call to Tynan’s office. Tell O’Leary I’ll be phoning later on. Tell him the show’s over. We’re tired of the routine. We want our man.”
He closed the phone and dropped it in his jacket pocket. Hayes looked from him to Malone and back. Minogue studied the curtains and the carpet. Let them eat cake up in Ballymun; this is the real Ireland. Someone should tell Colm Tierney that Ireland had reappeared. It was high class, European, and it smelled nice.
“Did I hear you right?” from Freeman.
“I don’t know. Tommy, give Mr. Freeman his rights and bring him in.”
King was up now. Hayes had taken out his phone now. Comical, Minogue was thinking, the phones being pulled out. The Wild West, but polite.
“Mr. Hayes,” Minogue began. “Or is it Garda Officer Hayes? I’m placing you under arrest on a charge of — ”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Hayes said. “Where do you think you are?”
Minogue took a breath and sighed.
“Conspiracy to prevent — ” he resumed.
“You’re out of your mind,” Hayes said.
“Resisting arrest is number two — oh, shut down that phone there — ”
Hayes turned and walked to the window, dialing. Minogue gave Malone the nod.
Malone came around the table and grabbed Hayes’s arm. Minogue heard Hayes swear as he shoved hard against Malone. He kept his eyes on King, watched the mouth open. Freeman looked over Minogue’s shoulder at the door. The inspector shook his head.
“Put your phone away there, Hayes. And sit down and shut up.”
Hayes had turned away from Malone. He began shouting into the phone. Minogue recognized the name: second in command in the branch. Malone pulled Hayes’s arm and made a grab for the phone. Hayes elbowed him hard. Minogue heard Malone’s grunt, saw his knee come up, and then Hayes stagger back. The voice on Hayes’s phone kept on saying hello. Minogue picked it up.
“This is Inspector Minogue,” he said. “Your man is all right, or will be. Except for resisting arrest. You’ll be able to get hold of him at the Pearse Street station.”
He held his thumb on the end button. Hayes got to his feet. Declan King began making his way along the wall to the door.
“Stay put, Mr. King,” Minogue said. “You’re in the pot along with these two clowns.”
“You stupid fucking iijits,” Hayes said. “Give me the phone back.”
“No phone,” said Minogue. “Sit. And stop the language. Mr. Freeman here is a visitor from America.”
Freeman looked very pale now. His hands were wavering.
“I have no idea what this is,” he began. “I’m not going to be arrested, am I?”
“You are arrested. So are these two.”
“But Mr. Hayes is a police officer,” said Freeman. “A Garda officer.”
“I understand that too, yes. But he’s also a considerable pain in the arse here.”
“And Mr. King here has been my main contact with the government.”
Minogue glanced at King.
“Inspector, I have to butt in here,” King began. The house phone began to ring. Minogue waved Freeman away.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Freeman?”
“No. He’s busy.”
“Who’s this?”
“I’m a Garda inspector. Who’s this?”
“Front desk — you’re not filming a movie or something and we weren’t told?”
“No.”
“There are five Guards on the way up. One of them stopped by to check the room number.”
“Why are you phoning here then?”
“Well, Mr. Freeman asked us to.”
“Asked you to what?”
“He said he was wondering if there was someone following him, but I told him, I says, if you think that you should be talking to the Guards, I told him…”
Freeman and his cloak-and-dagger stuff, was Minogue’s first thought. Maybe Leyne had been telling him everyone in Ireland was crooked, chancers at least
“Okay. What’s your name, like, a good man?”
“Liam. ”
“Okay, Liam, listen. Everything’s all right here. There’s no one hurt, there’s no property damage. We’re all in fine fettle here. So a piece of advice. Never, ever phone up ahead of a Garda who’s on his way to apprehend someone. ”
“I just thought — okay. Is this a sting, like?”
Minogue glanced at Hayes.
“A sting?”
“Yeah, like when, you know?”
“Good-bye, Liam. And remember what I told you. ”
Minogue nodded at Freeman.
“Get all the stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“Are we going to carry on like this all day? The stuff you should have given me the minute you stepped off that plane at Dublin Airport.”
Freeman exchanged a look with King.
Minogue walked to the table and flicked open the folder. A signed affidavit or something, signed by Leyne and Freeman and some Villani, same name as the firm on the letterhead. He heard murmuring from the hallway now. Malone opened the door. A tall Garda had one arm raised to knock.
“You come with us,” Minogue said to Freeman.
Hayes began arguing with the Garda. The tall one inspected Hayes’s photocard on both sides and glanced at Minogue several times.
“It’s these two bloody lunatics you should be taking in,” said Hayes. “I want him on assault too — him Malone. ”
“They’ve had the caution,” said Minogue. “Hayes there belongs to the cell phone there. ”
Hayes pointed at Minogue.
“You are talking your way out of a job,” he said.
“Give him his call at the station,” Minogue said to the Guard.
He paused and eyed Hayes.
“Unless you have reason to believe, as I do, that that call might further hinder the prosecution by police of a serious crime — ”
“That’s a load of crap — ”
“- or to the commission of another.”
The Garda pushed his hat back, and studied the photocard again. Then he motioned Minogue over to the door.
“This says C3, you know,” he murmured. “They’re the tin gods aren’t they?”
Minogue gave him a glazed look but said nothing.
“The highfliers,” the Guard murmured. “And he’s a sergeant. Are you sure about this?”
Minogue nodded toward King.
“That’s nothing compared to the other fella here,” he said. “He’s up in the stratosphere in Justice. But he knows enough to keep his gob shut there now. ”
“Both of ’em?” asked the Garda. Under the wariness, the skepticism, Minogue was sure he saw a smile begin.
“Take them in,” he said. “Obstructing a police officer. I’ll follow up with a call within the hour. This Freeman fella is the same but he’s going to the squad for a chat first.”
CHAPTER 23
Minogue had noticed the tic on the left side of Freeman’s face first. A quick blink of both eyes, a tilt of the head, and then his nose would wrinkle. It was usually followed by an intake of breath which Freeman seemed to hold on to for a long time.
“It’s not withholding,” said Freeman. “Mr. Leyne would never have suggested that.”
“Me bollocks,” said Malone.
“What?”
“He doesn’t believe you,” Minogue said. He looked up from the statements.
“Whose idea was it to produce these?” he asked Freeman.
“Mr. Leyne got advice from our firm.”
“Before or after the news that the son had been found?”
“Does this matter at the moment?”
“It matters,” said Malone.
“He never said directly. The date here is after you found him.”
“How do we know it stayed sealed until he was put on life support here?”
“He’s my client, and I’m an ethical lawyer. ”
Malone snorted. Minogue watched another tic. He was almost ready to feel sorry for him. Cruising around Dublin with two detectives who had just busted an arrangement he’d thought was official, high level, wasn’t in a day’s work for him.
“Mr. Leyne knew he was taking a risk coming here,” Freeman went on. “You saw him. You heard him. He wouldn’t take a physician, a doctor, with him. ‘I don’t need a doctor anymore,’ he said. Is that nor — I mean, is that the way people are here, usually?”
Malone turned down Ship Street, down toward the back gate of Dublin Castle.
“Where are we going?”
“We’re taking the scenic route back to our office,” said Minogue.
“You’re buying time, to stay out of touch so no one can reach me. That’s illegal.”
“Listen,” said Minogue. “It’s in your interests here to put all your cards on the table. What did Leyne tell the son to do in those phone conversations?”
“I don’t know. Nobody knows.”
“You’re covering for Leyne,” said Malone. “Or the business, or something. You’ve got two hundred million reasons to do what you’re doing, right?”
“Ridiculous. Shield him from what?”
“Liability,” said Minogue. “Accessory. That’s what.”
“Wait a minute: are you accusing him of counseling Patrick to commit a crime? Or to cooperate in one?”
“What did he tell the son on the phone then?” Minogue asked. “To go ahead and take this stone?”
“Of course not!”
“He collects this kind of stuff, doesn’t he?”
“What’s on the open market at auctions, yes,” said Freeman. “Where ownership is established. And legal, of course.”
“Did the son tell him he’d killed someone to get his hands on it?”
“Oh, come on!” said Freeman. “Don’t even think of pushing this. I’m a lawyer, for God’s sake. If this is the way you intend to carry on here — ”
“What happens now to the company?”
Freeman sat back against the door. He stared at Minogue. Another tic. Minogue knew that Freeman had seen it, noticed.
“And his foundations here?” Minogue added. “His family?”
“There’s no way I’m even going to reply to that,” Freeman said. “Much less speculate on this, this innuendo. Anyone can see what you’re leading to.”
“His will,” said Minogue. “Have you seen it? Did the son know something about it?”
“I can tell you this, that he never wanted anything from Patrick except to be left in peace, to see out the rest of his days.”
“Changed his will after the operation, did he?” Malone joined in. “So a lawyer
was more important than a doctor to have with him on the trip here? In case he had to make some change to the will in a big hurry — ”
“This is getting more and more bizarre — ”
“What was it?” Minogue asked. “Bypass? They found cancer?”
Freeman shook his head and looked at the traffic.
“Book me,” he said, “and give me my call. Anything’s better than this.”
“Two hundred million,” said Malone. “That’s a lot of jack, man.”
“Was Leyne behaving erratically?” Minogue tried. “According to shareholders or directors, maybe?”
Malone had to slow down for the cobblestones. Freeman surveyed the high walls, the graffiti on doors long sealed.
“Why are we going along here?” he asked. Minogue looked in the envelope where he had taken the documents from. No, nothing more.
“Is this your idea of sending me a message or something, cruising by here?”
“This is an historic part of the city,” Minogue murmured. He took another look across the covering letter. “So don’t be complaining just because it looks like a bomb hit it.”
Malone pulled in to let a taxi and a lorry pass. Minogue looked out at the line of parked cars, the steering lock contraptions so prominent in the windows. People still willing to take a chance and park here instead of paying through the nose for car parking. He noted the leftovers of a shattered window on the roadway, a relic of a recent break-in, no doubt.
“If it’s any news to you, Mr. Leyne didn’t exactly have confidence in the police here. He was right.”
Minogue cocked an eye at Freeman.
“Whatever he has or had, Mr. Freeman, whatever he decided to do with his company, his foundations, his family, his will — all that, these are things others would be very keen to know about, can we agree?”
Freeman kept his stare on the headrest.
“Patrick Shaughnessy in particular would be one who’d have a stake.”
Still Freeman said nothing.
“Who else, then?” Minogue went on. “Who else would get burned if Leyne did something like turn things he had into some class of charitable foundation? Or if he was to liquidate a company, sell off a bit of one? Stock prices, would they drop, would they catch fire?”
“I don’t play the market,” Freeman muttered. “And from the sound of things, you shouldn’t either.”
