by John Brady
“She phoned Tierney because she knew he couldn’t turn her down.”
“And that’s where it went wrong, you know,” said Kilmartin. “That’s what I decided on the way here in the car. She might have been able to work it out with the Egans. Sure we’ll never know. The main thing is the bullet-proof statement from her nibs, Fahy.”
Minogue remembered when he too had concluded that Patricia Fahy’s statement was what would send her away for murdering her flat-mate. It was when Malone had paused during the reading aloud of the statement she had signed, that he, Minogue, had felt eyes on him. They had belonged to Patricia Fahy’s lawyer and, for that moment, they had a resigned cast to them.
“So,” said Kilmartin. “Any forensic on her helmet yet?”
“No word yet. Maybe I should phone Eimear again.”
Kilmartin waved the suggestion away.
“I tell you, Matt, I believe Tierney when he says he didn’t know until they got home. I do.”
“I sort of believe him myself.”
Kilmartin lit a cigarello.
“Sure, how was he to know he’d started the whole thing just by telling the girl-friend, the Fahy one? I mean, he probably thought it was for the best. Let her have a chat with Mary, see if the two women could sort it out. Calm her down a bit maybe.”
Minogue nodded his agreement.
“And then he lets her have her way,” Kilmartin went on. “Letting her go down to the bridge to talk to Mary first. But did he really think that the Fahy one could sort it out or something? I say he was too scared to go down and talk to her himself.”
Minogue looked over at the thoughtful face of his colleague.
“He thought Patricia Fahy could help out. She admits to suggesting it.”
Kilmartin blew out a cloud of smoke.
“When she takes off the helmet and Mary sees who it is, that’s when the shouting and roaring starts. Patricia Fahy loses her cool and lashes out with the helmet. Bang! And that’s that. Some rap off one of those if you’re swinging it, man. Ow.”
Kilmartin slid his jacket off his shoulder and sat back further on the desk-top. He planted his cigarello between his lips. Minogue looked down at his job list. Eilis returned from the bathroom, nodded at Kilmartin and threw a quick glance at Minogue.
“How’s himself,” she said.
“Steady enough, Eilis. For the day that’s in it. Count us off operational with the Mary Mullen case now, will you. We’ll start back with the hit-and-run John Murtagh has tagged there, rake through the-”
Minogue was closest to the phone. He continued to study Kilmartin’s jacket while Iseult talked. A summer-weight wool, he guessed. That’d be two hundred quid’s worth.
“Did you hear me?”
“Sorry,” he said. “I was distracted. Half twelve, you said.”
“And we’ll bring the stuff. The rolls and things. You like red, right?”
“With soda water, yes.”
“And we’ll bring something waterproof for the grass.”
“Good.”
“You know where I mean now? You won’t get lost?”
“Yes. No. By the trees, back from the fence near the camels.”
“And we’ll pick up Ma, don’t you worry.”
They had a car, he had nearly forgotten.
“I won’t worry.”
He watched Kilmartin’s slow, reflective movements with his cigarello, his gaze set on the window. The Chief Inspector was certainly keeping him guessing as to his real mood.
“It’s just a picnic, okay?”
“That’s what you told me.”
“No questions. If he wants to say something, then that’s okay. Right?”
“Right.”
“Don’t take sides.”
“Any further orders?”
“I want everybody to have a good time, Da. That’s all.”
“Are we there to praise Pat or to bury Pat?”
“Stop it! I’m calling it off if you’re in one of those humours!”
“Okay, okay. So I know how you are anyway. Now tell me, how’s Pat?”
“He’s better.”
“Was he sick or something?”
“Very funny. I’ll tell you one thing, he’s tired.”
“Sick and tired?”
“No, silly! He couldn’t sleep the last week. He was waiting outside the door all night. I got up and there he was. Sitting in the car. I nearly fainted.”
“That’s nice.”
“He actually looks really wrecked. Don’t say it to him though, do you hear?”
“ ‘Pat, I was told not to comment on the fact that you look wrecked.’ ”
“Don’t get mad at him, Da! He’s worn out from worrying and everything. Honestly! You can be very cutting sometimes.”
Minogue closed his eyes for several seconds.
“Are you the same woman who was offering to drop-kick Pat into Dublin Bay?”
“Ah, people say things!”
Minogue held out the receiver and looked at it for a moment.
“What’s the verdict on Pat then? A stay of execution or what?”
“It won’t be fancy wine now. We’re on a budget, so don’t expect a garden party.”
We’re on a budget, he thought. He let the receiver slide down his hand and caught it. He lifted it to his ear again. Kilmartin still wore that same smile. He pushed three of the buttons for Kathleen’s work number and stopped. Kilmartin raised his eyebrows and let out the smoke in balls. Minogue put down the receiver.
“Well,” said Kilmartin.
“Well,” said Minogue. “The phrase ‘we’re on a budget’ was used. What do you think?”
Kilmartin rubbed his lower lip with his thumbnail.
“Sounds serious. She back with her fella?”
“Yes.”
“You still like him?”
“Yes, I do.”
Kilmartin looked away from the window. He winked at Minogue.
“That’s it then. Case adjourned, man.”
Minogue supposed that James Kilmartin was right. He did not tell him that. He looked out the window himself then until his eyes lost their focus. Some time later he was vaguely aware of Kilmartin awakening to his normal mien. The Chief Inspector stood and stretched.
“Christ,” said Kilmartin in mid-groan. “I must be coming down with something. Staring out the bloody window half the day. Getting as bad as you, nearly. Mooning about the place. Come on, let’s tidy up on Mary Mullen.”
“Yes, Jim.”
Kilmartin looked down at Minogue.
“One thing,” he said. Minogue broke his gaze on the view outside. He had been imagining a baby. He looked up at Kilmartin. There was a strange light in his eyes.
“When you talk to Molly or when you see Molly, give him a message for me?”
“To be sure I will. After I hear what it is, Jim.”
“I don’t want to talk to him for a while. And don’t get the idea that I’m still sore after that stunt. I’m not pushed about that. The message is this: one word.”
“Does it start with an F?”
Kilmartin’s lips twitched a little.
“Not that one. Not this time at any rate. No. A very simple word. They even use it in Dublin. Your job is to make sure that Molly has the wit to fully grasp what this one simple word means, all it entails. It’ll have a bad effect on his health and well-being if he does not hear and act accordingly. Are you with me?”
Minogue nodded. He threw a glance at Eilis. She sat stone-faced, pretending not to listen. Small creases appeared by Kilmartin’s eyes.
“Tell that Dublin bowsie this: Quits.”
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