by John Brady
“You know that, I know that, but it’s been reviewed independently.” Minogue looked at Kilmartin’s clock.
“You know,” said Purcell. “I never get pally when we go in like this. Never. I shouldn’t even be talking to you probably. It’s just that, well, this isn’t some hooligan getting his arm broken in a squad car, this is a case of the best we have here. No one seriously believes what that bitch said in the paper. She parroted anything the Smiths said just to sell papers.”
Bitch, Minogue reflected. Well, now. Purcell should move on to a different department. A different job, maybe.
“Nobody in their right minds could believe what she was letting these gangsters say through her column. Really, I mean . . .”
Minogue said nothing. Purcell finally shrugged and looked away.
TWENTY-TWO
Minogue watched Murtagh checking the levels on the cassette recorder by the phone. He lifted the phone and got a line several times, listening.
“Go ahead,” said Murtagh. “Anytime now. It’s line one, don’t forget.”
Minogue glanced down at the phone number for the Aisling Hotel. The receptionist had an odd accent. Like the ad for that new detergent. He didn’t get a chance to thank her before he was switched. Two rings. Gone, was he — “Yes? Hello?”
“Jeffrey Freeman?”
“Yes. Hi. Is this Officer Minogue?”
Officer, Minogue thought: that’d do nicely.
“It is, indeed. You phoned me.”
“Can we meet? Soon?”
None of this Thank You For Returning My Call? He let the pause linger.
“Why?”
“It concerns the Shaughnessy Case.”
“The Shaughnessy Case. You better explain where you fit with that now, like a good man.”
“Okay. I can give you background but we really should meet, personally.”
“Talk for now, Mr. Freeman.”
“You know about Mr. Leyne, right?”
“What have I been told about Mr. Leyne?”
“I understand you were informed he’s on a life support system at the . . .”
“The Blackrock Clinic, yes.”
“Your Commissioner, right?”
“He didn’t put him there, Mr. Freeman. He only told me about it.”
“And that it is absolutely confidential?”
“Words to that effect, yes.”
“You haven’t told anyone about it, have you?”
Minogue looked across at Malone.
“Mr. Freeman — ”
“Jeff, please — ”
“Jeff. I have two phones here on my desk. Tell me why I shouldn’t lift the other one and call in a squad car to go to your hotel room and drag you out here?”
“What? I mean excuse me? Is this some kind of, intimidation, I’m hearing?”
“It’s notice of intent.”
“It sounds like a threat — ”
“It’s not a threat,” Minogue broke in. “Threats are about the future. What I’m keen to do would take all of about seven minutes.”
Malone had made his way over. He raised his eyebrows at Minogue, held up his hand and clamped his fingers on his wrist. Minogue shook his head.
“You’re serious, I do believe you’re being serious. This is unbelievable.”
“If I believe you are a threat to public order or you’re trying to obstruct a murder investigation, there’ll be a half a dozen coming through your door.”
“Well, let me relay that news to the embassy. They’d be interested, I’m sure. Then your Commissioner.”
“Good day to you, Mr. Freeman. You’ll be coming here in person in about a half an hour to see for yourself just how mistaken you are.”
“Wait! Look — let’s take a step back from this. I’m a visitor here. Maybe I haven’t come across the way people here are used to.”
“You’re going to be a resident here if you don’t get smart. You’ve got about ten seconds.”
“My client here — ”
“Your employer, you mean. Play by the rules. To me you’re a person obstructing a murder investigation.”
“Okay,” said Freeman, “say what you like, but I have a legal obligation to my client. I’m telling you that I have to respect it. I can only do that by meeting you in person. And I don’t want any police, Garda I mean, tail this time.”
Minogue sat in tighter to the desk.
“What do you mean, this time?”
“Let’s not waste time on that one. Please? I was told you were in on everything. So: we don’t need the ‘escort.’”
Minogue said nothing.
“Okay? So we can get together on this? I’ll hand over what I’m supposed to and then we can proceed whatever way you like.”
“Take a taxi here then. Or I can have you picked up.”
“Please. Mr. Leyne directed me to deal with you. You only.”
“Me?”
“Mr. Leyne doesn’t have confidence in the authorities here,” Freeman said. “You’re known. So is your boss, the one on vacation. He was very specific.”
“Was?”
“‘Is,’ ‘was.’” Freeman’s voice dropped. “I need your assurance that what I tell you stays confidential?”
“Why?”
“I have to execute Mr. Leyne’s instructions,” he said. “When he becomes, well, when he becomes incapacitated.”
“I’m a policeman, Mr. Freeman. Get serious now, or — ”
“Do you know much about Leyne’s Foods? How stock markets work?”
Minogue’s Biro broke through the paper.
“Look,” said Freeman. “Mr. Leyne’s son telephoned from Ireland. I have a signed statement from Mr. Leyne here stating the substance of their conversation.”
“What did he say?”
“I’m afraid I have to repeat that my instructions are to contact you in person and deliver the material to you.”
Minogue caught Malone’s eye.
“Enough of this trick-of-the-loop play-acting. I’m bringing you in.”
Malone pointed down at Freeman’s name. Minogue nodded.
“Wait,” said Freeman. “This won’t help. It’s a goddamn mess already.”
“Do you think so, now,” Minogue said. “Well, it’s only starting for you. You’re about money, mister; I’m about crime.”
“If you give me a chance,” Freeman said.
“You should have handed this over when your boss dragged in those reports, the private-eye stuff on Shaughnessy.”
“Believe me,” Freeman said. “We’re acting in good faith here. Please.”
Minogue let down his arm, held his hand over the mouthpiece.
“Throw him out the window, boss?”
He looked up at Malone. Murtagh was slowly nodding. But Freeman didn’t need to phone, he realized. And this “You’re known”? Leyne’s bluster in the car coming in from the airport, he’d known about Minogue all along. There had been a broad enough hint, with Leyne’s happy disdain for the “researchers” he hired. How Leyne got himself those copies of police investigation records involving this wayward son of his back in the States, that said something about his reach, too. The personal touch, insiders. Now this Freeman fella was holding his nose, for a fine fee, too, no doubt, and trying to engineer another inside track for Leyne to get to Inspector Minogue.
He closed his eyes for several seconds. He saw Leyne’s sallow face again, the strain as he laboured out of the car. Damn! He shoved the phone back on his ear.
“Listen,” he said, “I’m coming over.”
“I really appreciate it, and so will, so would — ”
“Well, I don’t, let me tell you. Give me everything you’ve got. I want a statement from you. I want whatever documents and records you have. I want your utter and undivided attention. I don’t want to hear name dropping or flag waving or client privilege talk. Leyne picked you for something, I don’t know what, but I hope for your sake he picked right. Are you with me on this n
ow?”
“I hear you. It’s all above-board.”
“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 façade 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 grey 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 said. “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 your phone there — ”
Hayes turned and walked to the window, dialing. Minogue gave Malone the nod.
Malone came around the table and grabbed Hayes’ 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: 2 I C in the Branch. Malone pulled Hayes’ 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’ 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 in 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 . . .?”
“Goodbye, 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 someone 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.
