The good life imm-5

by John Brady

  TWELVE

  A half century and more of mortal existence and he still hadn’t copped on to the basics: you cannot make yourself sleep. Minogue opened his eyes again and looked at his watch. Seven, not bad. Last night’s shandy had left him gassy but without the melancholy wake-up he expected of Guinness.

  He loaded the coffee-maker, switched it on and stepped into the garden. His forsythia had cascaded even further over the walls into the neighbours’. No problem. He ambled by the potato drills. British Queens, Duke of York. Leaves looked starchy. Drought in Ireland, he thought. That he should live to see it. He remembered Kathleen fussing over Iseult last night: would Iseult like a nice bubble bath? Apple tart with real cream? All Iseult wanted, damn it all, Kathleen, was to slip into the house and be left alone.

  The phone sounded shriller than usual. He skipped back over the grass.

  “Are you awake?” It was Murtagh.

  “No. Go ahead.”

  “Sorry. Just thought I’d wait until after seven. We found the other hard-chaw, Painless Balfe’s sidekick. Lenehan. Call him Lollipop.”

  “Where is he?”

  “We took him up to Fitzgibbon Street. Five o’clock he came rolling on home.”

  “Oh? You waited for him, John?”

  “Me and Doyler. We had a grand old time of it. I even got a couple of hours’ kip.”

  “Have you talked to him yet?”

  “Talk, is it? He was high on something. He threw shapes right there in the street. Fab, it was.” Minogue heard the coffeemaker hiss.

  “How fab was it?”

  “He didn’t buy the ID. He thought we were hit men or something. He pulled out knuckles. Swear to God, boss. We had to call in the cavalry. It took four of them and then the two of us. When he saw the squad car screaming up, he went berserk.”

  “Are ye all right?”

  “Never better. Such a row! It was Doyler who finally gave him one in the nuts. Had to tie the feet and all then. Three fellas sitting on him all the way back to the station. What a madman. Pony-tail, face like a crocodile. Acne. The mugshot didn’t do him justice.”

  “So we can have him for the long haul?”

  “Yep. Weapon. Assault. Assault with intent. Battery. Resisting. Causing a disturbance. Malicious damage. He’s a goner.”

  “Does he know he’s up the creek?”

  “Yep. He’s been dropping hints. I think he’s trying to suss out a deal.”

  The excitement came to Minogue mixed in with the scent of brewing coffee.

  “Great, John. Great. Now tell me, is he our man?”

  “Could be. Christ, he’s a reptile. Vicious. He could be our man.”

  Minogue put on the boiled eggs. If Lollipop Lenehan was a lifer, he could clam up and take the charges without a word. One of the eggs popped. He looked in to see the albumen issuing out into the dancing water. Iseult stood in the doorway.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “I wanted to be awake. Will you give me a lift into town and you going?”

  She sat at the table. Her mother’s dressing gown was a foot short on her.

  “I’ll get stuck into me stuff and I’ll be right as rain.”

  He poured her coffee. He listened for Kathleen’s step on the stairs.

  “Did you talk to your mother?”

  “A bit.”

  She threw her hair back. There was a glint in her eye to match the edge in her voice.

  The Citroen crested the Rise and began its descent toward Foster’s Avenue and the Bray Road into Dublin. From the Rise, Minogue caught glimpses of a city webbed in haze below. Spires and towers, cranes and blocks of flats stuck out of the mantle. The sun reflected dully back to them from faraway windows. He turned up the radio.

  Iseult remained silent until Leeson Street.

  “I’d like to travel, Da.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell us about Greece again. The bit about walking around early in the morning.”

  He made up bits but she didn’t seem to mind. She insisted that she wanted to be left by the Green. He watched her stride through the gate. She didn’t turn back. He almost nicked a lorry thinking about her later.

  Malone was in the squadroom before him. He wondered if the detective’s hair was wet from the shower or gelled.

  “Another scorcher,” said Malone.

  “Yep and why not, Tommy?” Minogue saw Murtagh’s feet on the desk. He leaned around the cabinet.

  “How’s John. No ill effects from the barney with Lenehan?”

  Murtagh yawned and smiled. The three policemen headed down the hall.

  “Is the Killer up to date on this?” Minogue asked.

  “Yep,” said Murtagh. “Says he’ll have a look-in sometime this morning.”

  “What’s the condition of our Lollipop then?”

  “Sour enough,” said Murtagh. “But I think he knows the stakes.”

  Two Guards were lounging at the door of the interview room. Another two were inside with a man in a loose-fitting, black patterned polo shirt and a pony-tail. Lenehan turned as the door opened. Pale and yellow around the eyes, he had a flat look to his expression which put Minogue in mind of priests and gangsters. The three detectives took the place of the two Guards. Lenehan’s halitosis reached halfway to the door. There was also a stale sugary smell. Minogue showed him his card.

  “You’ve been advised of the charges against you, Mr. Lenehan?”

  Lenehan nodded once.

  “You have a criminal record, Mr. Lenehan.”

  Lenehan began picking at something on the knee of his trousers. Minogue sat opposite him.

  “So you can expect little leeway, if any, in court.”

  Lenehan’s lips puckered slightly. His eyebrows went up.

  “Does that interest you at all, Mr. Lenehan?”

  Lenehan looked up with a quizzical, almost amused expression. Minogue waited while Lenehan looked from face to face. His eyes stayed on Malone.

  “Is this fella for real, Tommy?”

  Malone exchanged a glance with Minogue.

  “He’s the one to bury you for eight to ten,” said Malone. “So, yeah, I’d say he’s for real.”

  Minogue studied Lenehan’s acne. Lenehan looked high up on the walls.

  “You’ve really hit the wall this time, Mr. Lenehan.”

  “Did I, now.” Malone spoke before Minogue could continue.

  “Yeah, you did, Lolly. Head-on, man. Get yourself organized. You know what I’m saying?”

  Crocodile, thought Minogue, but baby-faced. He liked to cut people up.

  “Give up on Mary Mullen, Mr. Lenehan, and that could make the difference.”

  “What are you fucking on about? ‘Give up on Mary Mullen.’ What kind of shite is that?”

  “As it is, you’re going to get hammered for last night. Then we’re going to put the murder on you. Save us some time, man. Clear the slate.”

  “Fuck you, pal,” said Lenehan. “Take me off and do whatever the hell you’re going to do.”

  “We can do the business right here, Mr. Lenehan. There’s no taking off anywhere.”

  Minogue’s gaze lingered on the pony-tail. Lollipop Lenehan examined the skin on his knuckles.

  “Now. Where were you that night?”

  “Down at the pictures or something. I don’t know. Ask around.”

  “Ask who? Bobby Egan?”

  Lenehan looked up with a pained expression.

  “You can’t make me wear this, for God’s sake. Grow up.”

  “Wear what?”

  “Mary Mullen is what.”

  “Who told you about her?”

  Lenehan shook his head.

  “You did. ‘Give up on Mary Mullen.’ ”

  Minogue looked again at the copies of the records from Lenehan’s file: aggravated assault; resisting arrest; threats of bodily harm.

  “But before that. How’d you know?”

  “The papers. Someone told me. I don’t know.”

 
“How well did you know her?”

  “Not well enough to do her in.”

  “Who can vouch for you on Monday night?” Malone asked. Lenehan closed his eyes.

  “Catherine Hennessy. 592764. Now, happy?”

  Minogue glanced at Malone.

  “Why were you hanging around Patricia Fahy’s place?”

  “Who’s Patricia Fahy?”

  “You and who else?”

  “Take a fucking walk, why don’t you.”

  “Who were you expecting there?”

  “Where?”

  “At Fahy’s.”

  “Who’s Fahy? Is this a quiz? Don’t open the box-I’ll take the money and go.”

  “What was Mary’s problem with the Egans?”

  Lenehan smiled and held in a breath.

  “Jesus Christ, Tommy. What kind of a thick are you paired up with here, man?”

  “Come on now,” Minogue went on. “Are you that well paid you’re ready to go for eight years and not even wonder what the Egans think of you, now you messed up? You fell on your face, man.”

  “Yeah, well, I wasn’t expecting two fucking detectives, two ugly-looking bastards, sitting outside my house at five o’clock in the bleeding morning, was I?”

  “Show me the rule book on that, why don’t you.”

  “How the hell was I supposed to know they were the law? They didn’t identify themselves, for Christ’s sake! What kind of a law is that? They could have been anybody!”

  “Oh, you were expecting trouble? Someone wanted to settle a score with you?”

  “You’re talking through your bleeding hat.”

  “And was it you turned her place upside down too? Or is that beneath you?”

  Lenehan took a breath but said nothing. Murtagh opened the door and beckoned to Minogue.

  In the hall was Chief Inspector Kilmartin. He held a cigarello cupped behind his back.

  “The hard,” he greeted Minogue. “Maggot Number Two in there?”

  “Don’t be talking. A double-barrelled gurrier. A good hiding is what he needs.”

  “Huh. There was high-jinks enough when they picked him up, I believe.”

  “There was that. There’s plenty to throw at him, but the initial reaction is poor.”

  “A record on him the length of a nun’s drawers?”

  “Every commandment broken. Rank poison. Long day ahead of us, I’m thinking.”

  Kilmartin studied the tip of his cigarello.

  “Run shifts on him all day then,” he growled. “Sweat it out of him, why don’t you. Did he call for a referee yet?”

  “No. But he doesn’t seem to care if his goose is cooked.”

  Kilmartin cleared his throat. He gathered the phlegm behind his front teeth.

  “Maybe the Egans’ll send in some brigand of a solicitor when they find he’s been taken in. Send him my way, why don’t you.”

  “Lollipop Lenehan?”

  “No, the bloody solicitor. I’m in the humour of barracking someone. Move Lenehan somewhere if a solicitor shows. Do you need me here?”

  “Thank you, no, Jimmy. I’ll only use you for a big threat later on.”

  “Ho ho ho! You’re only jealous.”

  “Still no word on this Leonardo yet, is there?”

  Kilmartin cut short his chortling.

  “Neither hide nor hair of the little bastard. He’ll be Case 2 now, wait’n’you see. Turn up in a ditch with his throat cut or something.”

  Kilmartin stared at the floor as though committing something sage to memory.

  “Oh, well, what the hell,” he said. “Y’all have a nice day now, y’hear?”

  Minogue watched Kilmartin’s jaunty walk back down the hall. Then he looked through the oblong safety glass set into the door. Lenehan was talking to his hands it seemed, and didn’t notice the Inspector looking in. Malone did, and his eyes widened for a moment as he glanced at Minogue. The Inspector reciprocated. Malone nodded once. Minogue elbowed into the monitoring room.

  “Listen to this now,” said the Guard on the tapes. The Inspector picked up the headphones and looked through the one-way mirror.

  “Yeah, so you knew her that way then,” Malone was saying. Murtagh pushed his chair back on two legs and cast the odd furtive glance at the glass.

  “Well, fuck, everybody knew her,” said Lenehan. “Isn’t that the whole idea, like? I mean to say, do you know any other reason why a woman’d want to peel off her clothes in front of a camera?”

  “I don’t know,” said Malone.

  “You don’t know? Modelling, man. Sure, everyone’s at it. Fucking Madonna’s gotten everyone in on the act this time. Everyone thinks they’re stars. Jases.”

  “There’s more than the family album changing hands in this business though,” said Malone. “Isn’t there now, Lolly?”

  “Like what?”

  “Drugs?”

  Lenehan looked up under his eyebrows at Malone.

  “You ought to know, Tommy. Unless you were walking around blindfolded since your mother got kicked out of the Rotunda with you under her arm.”

  “What do I know?”

  “The only real fucking drug is money.”

  “Who has pictures of Mary?”

  “I don’t know. Tell me.”

  “Come on, Lolly. Who?”

  “Don’t know. I seen some of them, that was all. They looked like the real McCoy too. Hardly recognize her.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Lenehan shrugged.

  “Seen one, you seen them all, man. Or didn’t you know?”

  Minogue gritted his teeth. Malone was slipping. He was challenging Lenehan too directly after finding out that he was a veteran head-case, someone who knew something from the inside.

  “You’re fucking lying,” said Malone.

  He was staring at Lenehan now. Minogue unhooked the head-set and headed for the door. The Guard on the switches grabbed his arm as he passed. Minogue picked up the head-set again. Malone went on in the same mild tone. Lenehan was licking his lips.

  “I can’t believe you’re such a gobshite, Lolly. Here you go, sitting here, looking down the hole, and all you can do is lie through your teeth. You’re such a liar, I can smell it off you.”

  Lenehan’s voice came out as a whisper.

  “Fuck you, Tommy. You’re nothing more than a thick shit rozzer.”

  “Oh, yeah? What about you? You never could make it with real people. Couldn’t go in a ring without a knife.”

  “I know all about your fucked-up mind from Terry. You’re the one’s screwed up. Mr. Morality. Take a fucking jump.”

  Malone laughed. Minogue exchanged a look with the Guard.

  “And you think you’re tough,” said Malone. “You think that because you’re a lying fuck that’s going away for eight to ten, for real years, that the Egans are going to have a marble statue put up to you? You stupid iijit. They’ll leave you buried in there, Lolly. You’ll get out and you’ll be, lemme see, thirty-six, thirty-seven. Christ, you might as well jack it in here and now. If you can do your time without going stupid or getting an ugly boyfriend, you’ll stagger out of the ’Joy just in time to get walked on by fellas who aren’t even teenagers right now. Smart move there, Lolly. I’ve got to hand it to you there, man. Here-I’ll do you a favour: I’ll smuggle you in a shank so’s you can top yourself.”

  “God, the language,” Minogue murmured. But Lenehan still hadn’t called for a solicitor. Malone’s eyes travelled around the room, stopped for several moments on the glass and then went on to Murtagh.

  “Let’s get this gobshite a solicitor, John. Start burying him now. He’s good for nothing.”

  Lenehan’s eyes were slits now. Minogue watched, appalled. Malone was throwing a key to this murder investigation out the window. Maybe even the killer. Whatever Minogue himself thought, Kilmartin would hit the roof. Murtagh seemed to be playing along but kept looking to the glass.

  “What’s the fuss over a few bleeding snapshot
s, for Jases’ sake?” Lenehan burst out. “You’d have no trouble finding them if yous were real cops!”

  Malone leaped out of his chair.

  “Yeah, well, let’s say I was a real cop then!” he shouted. Lenehan looked up at him and his mouth opened. “Where would I get them? Where would I start?”

  “Well, I don’t know, do I,” said Lenehan.

  “What do you know, you fucking waster? When did you meet her? Where was it?”

  “I didn’t meet her, meet her! I seen her in a pub. Someone said something. I don’t know! Then I was looking through pictures somewhere and I seen her again.”

  “Where?”

  “Where what?”

  “Where did you see her in person?”

  “Some pub.”

  “Come on, Lolly.”

  “I had a few jars on me! Some pub we called in to, near Baggot Street. I don’t know. I never said a word to her. He says to me-”

  “Who says?”

  “Painless. Says to me, ‘Not as nice as her family album.’ Nudge nudge, wink wink, like.”

  “And you remembered her.”

  “So? You would too. If you were normal.”

  “Where’d you see the pictures?”

  “I don’t know. Some place. Something to do with Ali Baba. What do you call it?”

  “The forty thieves?”

  “Fuck, I don’t know! It was a couple of years ago.”

  “Okay. Some place called Ali Baba’s. What is it, a knocking-shop? A club?”

  “It was just an office, a place with a phone. Up a few flights of stairs somewhere. Near Mercer’s hospital. Where the rag trade is.”

  “That’s all you can do? Something about Ali shagging Baba?”

  “A hundred nights…something like that.”

  “What is it, a telephone job? Rent-a-girl?”

  “‘Models.’ Yeah. Dates and stuff.”

  “All the way?”

  Lenehan shrugged.

  “I suppose. What’s ‘all the way’ for you?”

  Malone continued to stare at him. Lenehan kept stroking his bottom lip. Finally he looked up.

  “What about a smoke or something,” he said.

  “No, thanks,” said Malone. He strolled to the door. “I haven’t had a smoke since I was ten or eleven, Lolly.”