by John Brady
“Probably one of your best kept secrets, counsellor. But there’s something you’re holding back.”
“Tell me, so.”
“If I could, I would.”
“About me personally or about the Bourke thing?”
“Why separate them?”
Crossan guffawed loud enough for all eyes to turn from Miss Donegal’s spotted bikini.
“As true as God, Minogue, you’re a ticket. I think you’re trying to see how far you can push me. Is it that you want to see me rear up at you?”
“I’m going along with you still because I will find out what happened to Jane Clark and Jamesy Bourke with or without your help. I want you to know that. I also want you to know that I’m doing it for my own reasons. I want you to know that if you’ve kept stuff back from me I’ll crease you.”
Crossan’s smile lingered, diminished.
“A very genteel way of issuing threats… What’s turned you so sour on me?”
Miss Donegal said that she’d like to say hello to her family in Gortahork, her sister in Glenties who was due to have a baby any day now and all her friends in the Department of Finance in Dublin Castle. Lovely teeth, Minogue observed. The compere, his thinning hair expertly and sharply scalloped, blown and sprayed toward his forehead like an unstable Roman emperor, invited her to go ahead.
“Well?” Crossan prodded.
“Well, indeed,” Minogue grunted. “I’m trained to be suspicious. Don’t take it personally.”
Crossan’s smile had dropped off his face and a look of resentment took its place. Minogue shivered and finished his whiskey. He realised that his body was aching. Images of the shooting, the curtains dancing, came to him and his stomach tightened. Miss Donegal waved. High heels and a winning manner, he thought.
“Nine tomorrow,” he said. “See what we can salvage.”
He wished Miss Donegal a silent goodnight-she was leaving the stage-and he stepped out into the night. Muddle-headed, shivering occasionally, Minogue took deep breaths. He wondered when the real effects of the episode at the Howards tonight would take hold of him and frighten him as it should. Crossan’s face stayed with him. Weariness flowed over him in waves and the images came to him quicker: Sheila Howard’s face, the light from the hallway radiating through the dust from the shattered plaster as it eddied out of the doorway. A moment of panic stopped Minogue as he thought of the bullets streaming in the window, ricocheting, tearing into his body. He knew, now that he was alone, he could not avert his thoughts about it. His knees felt watery and the cold air found his neck. He clasped his collar shut against his neck and his body gave one long shudder. A car passed the mouth of the street. Better get somewhere warm, get into bed, he realised.
The door to Considine’s pub opened and Minogue watched one of the late arrivals look up and down the street. The man paused and raised a hand to his hair. He glanced at Minogue and their eyes met momentarily. Then he crossed to the other footpath and searched both ends of the street. Minogue stepped out, walking briskly and woodenly toward Mrs McNamara’s Bed and Breakfast.
Mrs Mac related that Hoey had gone to bed an hour ago. She had almost finished one sock and was still as keen and bright-eyed knitting as she had been nearly four hours earlier.
“God, you look perished,” she said. “Are you coming down with a cold, is it? I have powder and aspirin inside if you want.”
“Thank you, no. Was Shea looking for me or anything like that?” Minogue asked.
“No, he wasn’t. I thought he wanted to go out awhile, on account he looked a bit restless…” She paused to gather a stitch, smiled and went on. “He had a cup of tea and a read of the paper. He said he wasn’t really up to being himself lately.”
She looked up suddenly.
“Are ye related, by any chance?”
Bewildered, Minogue almost smiled. Had she read something into them, some caretaker or parental thing? Clare people had indeed cornered the market on intuition.
“We watched a bit of Miss Ireland,” Mrs McNamara went on. “He fancied Miss Donegal to win.”
“Same as myself,” Minogue blurted out. Mrs McNamara gave him a knowing smile.
“So you saw a bit of the talent where you were?”
“I left after Miss Donegal. She seemed very nice.”
Mrs McNamara smiled at the sock taking shape. “I recall her ankles being a weak spot.”
Minogue shrugged.
“Ye mightn’t notice, being men, but thick ankles have a habit of making a girl look very flat on her feet. Not to speak, you’ll excuse me saying this now, of a girl having legs like a table. It’s the diet down the country, I maintain. The fat tends to settle.”
Minogue vaguely recalled an adage about Irishwomen having a unique dispensation from God to wear their legs upside down.
“Well. Miss Kerry walked away with it in the end,” Mrs McNamara sighed.
Her tongue moved around her lips as she negotiated a difficult part of the sock. She approached the toe now and Minogue watched her draw out the needle.
“Good for you,” he said. She drew her tongue in and squinted at the television.
“But she had a tan on her that came out of a bottle,” she declared. “How would she come by such a burn honestly in Kerry, I ask you? It’s a cod.”
“I suppose,” Minogue allowed. “I’ll be off now and goodnight.”
“Ye must be very tired. What with all the work ye’re doing?”
Minogue gave her a broad, fake grin.
“Do you know,” she went on. “A woman down the street was telling me-now she does be around the town a lot more than myself-there’s a lot of Guards in the town. Well, so she says, but she’s very quick to pick up on things, don’t you know.”
Minogue said that he did know what Mrs McNamara meant about other people. He paused by the door.
“I wonder if there’s something going on here in town now.”
He rested his hand on the door handle.
“Ennis is always full of life, as I recall,” he said.
Mrs McNamara looked up with a little mischief in her eye. “You know where you are. Down the hall, like.”
The porpoises were smiling as they talked. He knew what they were saying without the need to hear their words. They surrounded him and he wondered if he should swim back to the surface to take a breath. But it was windy and raining there. Far cosier here. How could they talk underwater? Stay here if you like, one of them, he didn’t know which one, told him. Why would you want to go back? It’s better here.
It was neither light nor dark; the water was neither warm nor cold. The water must be clear because he could see anything he wanted. How far can we go before we have to turn back, he wanted to know. Look where we are now, he was told. Without any effort, he was able to stand in the water and look at the cliffs. I wanted to come here, I know, he said, but not like this. I must go home. That’s all right, but you’d be foolish to want that, one told him. You can’t keep me here if I don’t want to stay. In an instant he was in the Shannon. Watch for nets, they said, but he couldn’t see them anymore. Come back to the ocean and…
He was over the water now, clear of it, still, and he knew that wings had grown on his shoulders. Hoey was sitting on the rocks, staring out to sea. His feet were bare and his trousers were rolled up to his knees. I don’t know, said Hoey. What was the question? Eilo McInerny was searching for seashells and periwinkles in the pools between rocks covered in seaweed. Her daughter stood next to her. Naked and unconcerned, she was brushing her hair. See, said Hoey, still staring at the swells of the retreating tide. Although it was Hoey, he knew, it wasn’t Hoey’s face. It was the face of that stranger again, the one with the moustache. In the air now. I’ll fall. No. There was the fire. The stone walls were patterned like a child’s puzzle, a maze. Help little Jane find her way home. He knew the way and he hovered over the blazing cottage. The man was screaming and his body was blackened. How can I see and it dark, he wondered, but he didn’t
care.
He looked through the burning thatch and the woman was there. Her body was white, untouched by the inferno. She lay on the floor, her eyes still and calm, looking up at him. It was Sheila Howard. This, she said. He looked away and the people had come. They leaned on the walls and watched the fire. The whole town is here, the whole county, he knew. The crowd was gathered in a perfect circle about the fire. He felt the heat on his wings and he wished for the ocean again. The faces turned up to the sky and he knew them all. Now you know, the porpoises said. I don’t, he said.
He focussed on a corner of the room. The bedroom was full of a milky light, soft shadows. No Kathleen? I’m in Ennis. Fragments of his dream came and left his mind. The unfamiliar smells of the house drew his thoughts away. He realised that he had slept deeply. Was that a radio on somewhere? He was stiff. It was half-past seven.
In the parlour, Hoey looked up from the Clare Champion and did a quick examination of the Inspector’s face.
“How’s Shea?” said Minogue.
“Middling to good.”
“I was about to knock,” said Mrs McNamara from the kitchen. She came through moments later, carrying a tray with steaming scones and tea.
“Are ye sure ye won’t have a proper breakfast, a fry? I have rashers in the fridge.”
“Thanks, no, Mrs McNamara.”
Minogue let the smell of brewing tea soothe him. Mrs McNamara retreated to the kitchen.
“Did you have a good night?” he asked Hoey.
There had been no light under Hoey’s door last night, he recalled. He had dithered over checking on him, but he had fallen into sleep himself while thinking about it.
“I did.”
The Inspector rubbed at his eyes. Hoey did look rested, less cautious. Mrs Mac returned with jam.
“Did ye see outside?” she asked. Fog dense as smoke, still and white, had covered Ennis overnight.
“I did,” said Minogue.
“You can’t see twenty feet in front of your nose now,” she said. “It must have got warm in the night.”
She left with a warning to eat all the bread and scones. Minogue slumped into the chair as the door closed behind her.
“You look a bit shook,” said Hoey. “Did you overdo it a bit last night?”
“Did I what? Wait’ll I tell you what came my way last night.” The memory of the swirling dust, the thumps as the bullets hit the walls made Minogue shudder.
“Miss Kerry?” said Hoey.
Minogue thought of the porpoises, the crowds watching the house on fire. He heard himself begin to tell Hoey about last night. He saw Hoey’s jaw drop and his face take on the lines and arches of incredulity. He wondered how his own words came out with so little effort from his thoughts. It was only when Hoey, agog, jarred his own cup into his saucer and spilled tea that Minogue realised the effect his story was having on him.
“Yes,” he murmured, and shivered again.
“Jesus.” Hoey sat taut out over the table now. “You’re joking me. Why didn’t you wake me up or something?”
“For what?”
“So’s I could, you know…”
Minogue shrugged.
“Is there any follow-up on it yet?”
The Inspector shook his head. “I’m going to get the car now. I hope it’s still in one piece.”
Hoey narrowed his eyes and flicked a glance at the closed door.
“Wait a minute, here,” he said. “Do we really need to get caught up in some shooting match here in Ennis? Do we? This sort of says to me. that it’s time to pull back. For the moment, at any rate.”
Minogue did a quick calculation of Hoey’s words, his tone.
“With those Response Units foostering around, like,” Hoey added. “It’s like waiting for something to blow up.”
Minogue didn’t want to argue with a Hoey who this morning looked almost robust compared to how Minogue himself felt. He dodged Hoey’s eyes.
“Well. I’ll have a wash and a shave and we’ll mosey on over to the hotel for now.”
An unmarked Garda car materialised out of the fog, a creature with lights for eyes. Faces turned to look at Minogue as the car purred alongside. A face on the passenger side nodded at Minogue, and the car pulled in ahead of the two policemen.
“Who’re these fellas?” asked Hoey.
The far end of the street disappeared into the fog. Through the muffled whiteness Minogue heard the sounds of Ennis-clanging aluminium kegs as they were slung empty onto the brewery lorries from the doors of pubs, the shutters being rolled up on shops, the dull thumping of a hammer on metal somewhere close by-being carried on all around them.
“Cuddy, from Limerick. Special Branch. I met him down at the brother’s farm and I down visiting.”
“How’s the man?” said Cuddy.
“Better met than the last time, I’m thinking,” said Minogue. Cuddy gave a wan smile and nodded at Hoey.
“Shea Hoey,” said Minogue. “Works with me.”
“Are ye official here?”
“No, we’re not. But there seems to be an oversupply of Guards who are.”
A squeaky transmission erupted from a radio in the car. The driver turned it down.
“Were ye in town here last night?” asked Cuddy.
“Matter of fact, we were.”
Cuddy looked down the street before confiding more.
“We’re going to keep up the pressure. Something has to give, I just know it.”
He looked up under his eyebrows at Minogue as if daring him to recall aloud the episode at the farm. The Inspector looked beyond the policeman at the shroud of fog.
“Good luck,” he said to Cuddy.
The car slid down the street ahead of them before being swallowed up in the whiteness.
Alo Crossan was not yet in the dining room, but the Howards were. So were two detectives-replacements for the ones Minogue had travelled with last night. Their eyes were on Minogue and Hoey from the moment they appeared in the door of the dining-room. One of the detectives stood and the other kicked his chair back slightly with a coiled, careful nudge of his leg, Minogue noticed, as he laid his hands in his lap. His jacket came open as he leaned forward in his chair.
Howard waved, his mouth full.
“They’re Guards,” he struggled to say around the food. “Don’t worry.”
The Howards wore the same clothes he had seen them in last night. Minogue wondered if he himself could ever get away with such dereliction and still look well-dressed. Howard, with his shirt open two buttons, unshaven, looked genially rakish. Sheila Howard looked relaxed and curious. Something in the couple’s appearance startled the Inspector. He felt the beginnings of a blush as he approached them. They looked to him like a couple full and languid after a night of lovemaking. Howard made an elaborate swallow.
“…absolutely refused to eat a breakfast above in a hotel room,” he said. Minogue felt Sheila Howard’s eyes on him.
“Yes, yes,” the Inspector replied, working clumsily around an image of Sheila Howard’s body. He glanced at her by way of greeting. The detective sat down and the other sat back in his chair with a nod.
“Howarya,” one said to Hoey.
Dan Howard waved his arm at two vacant chairs. “Join us, can’t you?”
“Thanks, but we’re expecting company.” Minogue looked at his watch. It was ten minutes before nine.
“How are you now?” asked Minogue.
Howard exchanged looks with his wife.
“Could be better,” he said. “But sure, considering the alternatives… Yourself?”
“I’ve been worse,” Minogue avoided. “Any news from the house?”
Howard sat up and crossed his ankles.
“Yes, there is, and it’s not bad at all. There was nothing in the cars. And there’s nothing else suspicious about the house itself. So there.”
“Was that your yoke up at the house?” one of the detectives asked. “The blue one?”
Minogue glanced over
at the boxer’s nose, the untidy moustache.
“Yep. Is it in one piece?”
“For the most part. Sure, that wasn’t a new car anyhow.”
“That Fiat was and is a damn fine car,” said Minogue. “What did they do to it?”
“They wheeled up a big shield. First they shook the car, then they drilled the lock on the boot-”
“They drilled out me lock?”
“The robot did.”
“With the video camera next to it,” the other detective piped in. “That’s it. Never saw the likes of it in action. It was great.”
His partner nodded, sharing in an accomplishment he had had no part in. Minogue sat down heavily next to Hoey. A waitress approached. Minogue looked to the window: no Jamesy Bourke standing vigil across the street ever again, he thought. At least the fog was beginning to lift. The waitress picked at a button on her blouse.
“I dunno,” said Minogue. “Coffee for a start, I suppose.”
Dan Howard rose from the table and cocked an eye at the Inspector. Me? Minogue fingered his chest. Howard nodded in the direction of the foyer.
“I’ll be back in a minute.”
Hoey shifted in his chair and reached for his cigarettes. The hard-case with the moustache accompanied Howard to the foyer.
“I have to make me confession,” Howard said to him. “You wouldn’t want to listen in on my sins, would you, but?”
The detective backed away a couple of paces. Howard’s amused expression lingered as he made a quick search of Minogue’s face.
“A word out of earshot of Sheila, if you don’t mind,” Howard began. “I woke up shaking this morning, I can tell you. But not that shook that I couldn’t see that the thing last night wasn’t about murdering anybody.” He paused and smiled. “What do you think, yourself?”
Minogue studied the smile.
“I’m inclined to agree with you.”
“Publicity, I put it down to,” said Howard. “Brazen, cocky. A half-arsed effort to be like the War of Independence, making the country ungovernable.”
“I thought the parliamentarians and public service were well on the way to achieving that already.”
