Warrant for what?”Minogue asked. Ryan looked over at the squad car. The Guard standing by the open door, a red-haired recruit with pimples and a mobile jaw, looked to Minogue for guidance. Ryan’s sidekick-and Minogue recalled the tremendous kick that Malone had given him-sat next to another Guard in the back seat.
“It’s my car,” said Ryan.
“Of course, it’s your car, Mr. Ryan. That’s why I’m going to examine it.”
“I haven’t done anything. Charge me.”
“All right,” said Malone. “Assaulting a police officer in the course of his duties.”
“I didn’t touch him! Matter of fact it was him did the-”
“Resisting arrest,” said Minogue.
“Obstruction of a Garda off-” Malone added.
“Oh, come on,” Ryan gasped. “You must be fucking joking!”
“Swearing,” Minogue went on.
“What?”
“Breach of the peace,” said Malone.
“I’m going to fucking phone a solicitor!”
“More cursing and swearing.”
“It’s my right to call one!”
“Fire away-but don’t use that car phone. We have to impound it too.”
“I’ll go to another phone then.”
“Phone from the station,” said Minogue. “But only after we have full confidence that the call you make won’t allow related criminal and indictable acts to be concealed or engaged in.”
Ryan began to say something but stopped himself. Minogue studied the patterned shirt. Fifty quid, he guessed.
“You can’t do this,” Ryan said. “It’s entrapment!”
The Guard holding the door of the squad car shifted his feet.
“Let us into the car, Mr. Ryan,” said Minogue. “The stuff you brought.”
Ryan looked at the Garda by the open door, sighed and held his hand out. Minogue handed him the keys he had taken from the heavy. He nodded at the Garda. “Go ahead there. Hold him on assaulting a Garda in the course of. We’ll be in touch by tea-time.”
The alarm beeped once and the door locks popped up.
“Get in the back there,” said Malone, “and start handing us the goods.”
The interior smelled of a soapy aftershave. Minogue took in the leather seats, the sound system, the phone from Star Trek. He sat behind the wheel. There were tapes of rock groups he’d never heard of.
“Nice,” said Malone. He took a folder from Ryan. “How’d you pay for it?”
Ryan folded his arms and looked out the window.
Minogue began leafing through a photo album. He wondered but didn’t much care about whether Ryan or Malone would notice his reactions. He realized that he was holding his breath and he made the effort to breathe normally.
“Christ,” said Malone to nobody. “Nothing they won’t do?”
“It’s a private collection,” said Ryan. “That’s perfectly legal.”
“A collection of privates, you mean,” said Minogue.
The Inspector didn’t always look at the faces first. The fake smiles began to get to him. The phony ecstasy, the make-up, the lie of beckoning, of need, clouded his lust more and more. There were few who didn’t look painfully amateur. Some couldn’t hide their shame. In others he thought he saw a fear beyond the feigned helplessness. It was Malone who spotted Patricia Fahy first. There were two pictures of her. Her face was red, her eyes glistened. He exchanged glances with Malone.
“These don’t look like Scandinavian furniture to me. Are these all the Irish girls?”
“All I’ve got,” said Ryan. He turned from the window. “Look. What are you really after?”
Minogue said nothing.
“Look, is it such a major crisis if I have pictures? All of them are over eighteen, I hasten to add. You’re obviously working on something. I’m nobody really but maybe, you know, I can help out?”
“What does hasten mean?” asked Malone. Ryan frowned.
“What gives?” he said. “I mean, what do you want to know?”
“I think you should hasten to wake yourself up, pal. Who are your customers?”
“Who said I had customers?”
“Do you know all these people?” Minogue asked. “These women?”
“Of course I don’t. But if you’re looking for someone, maybe I might know them.”
“How can you tell who’s who here then,” said Minogue. “It looks like the camera was an inch from various crotches half the time.”
Ryan sat back.
“Well?”
“The people who commission them, well, they want the pictures for their own sake usually.”
“‘Commission?’ ” said Malone.
“I don’t know anything about any other stuff,” said Ryan.
“What ‘other stuff?”
“Whatever it is you’re getting at. I think you’re trying to frame me for something.”
Malone guffawed.
“Frame you? We don’t need to frame you for anything, pal. You’re the accessory to all the charges that landed on Tarzan, there. He works for you, right?”
He closed the folder and shook his head.
“Here, give me another one. I’m nearly getting used to this stuff. What was the name of that folder I just had?”
“‘All for one and one for all,’ ” Ryan muttered.
“I think that’s the one I have,” said Minogue.
“Yours must be ‘Sports’ then,” said Ryan. He handed him another folder.
“What’s this one?”
“‘Workout.’”
Malone rolled his eyes and grabbed the new folder.
“This is the stuff you said you wanted. Painless and them.”
Minogue looked up from his album. Malone opened the folder. A woman who looked like she’d just stepped out of a steam bath was tied by her ankles and wrists to what seemed to be a row of bars in a prison cell. The beads of sweat or water glistened in the harsh light of an overhead bulb. Painted on her breasts or real, Minogue couldn’t tell, were weals from a whip. Malone’s frown deepened. He turned in the seat and glared at Ryan.
“Don’t take this too much to heart, Ryan, but you’re a fucking slug.”
Minogue followed the pages as Malone turned them.
“Where do these come from?” asked Malone. “Who are these girls?”
“People phone me. I bring the equipment and I do the photography.”
“Where?”
“Different places.”
“Don’t be jack-acting around here,” said Malone. “Talk in English.”
Minogue closed the folder and adjusted the mirror. Nice car, he decided. Wouldn’t mind a blast out the Naas Road with it. He watched Ryan’s face.
“I get a call to come to a place and that’s it. Flats, apartments, hotels. Offices even.”
“Yeah, but who are the people that call you?”
“How do I know? Hey, look, I’m just a hired hand.”
“So you go to these places and…?”
“I go to the address, set up and do the routine.”
“Then?”
“I hand over the rolls of film or negs I have from the session. Then I walk out the door.”
“Who do you give the stuff to?”
“Whoever’s at the door.”
“All out of the goodness of your heart. Do you tell the girls what to do too? Is that your kick?”
Ryan let out a sigh.
“A lot of the time it doesn’t take much to get them going.”
“Ah, come on now,” said Minogue. “These girls look like any girl you’d meet walking down O’Connell Street. They’re hardly professional models. You’re trying to tell me they’re volunteering?”
“Volunteering? Jesus, you’re definitely out of touch.”
“Tell me more,” said Minogue. Ryan began nibbling on a fingernail.
“That’s all there is. I told you everything.”
“‘Doesn’t take much,’ you said. What do you mean?”
Ryan still held his hand up under his chin, looking at the fingernails.
“Well, you’re not going to get much done without a leg opener, are you?”
“What kind are you talking about?” asked Minogue.
“I don’t know. A few jars. Whatever. Did I ask? I just showed up and took pictures.”
“How’d you get paid?”
“Who said anything about getting paid?”
“I did,” snapped Malone. “Because I say you wouldn’t lift a finger if you weren’t getting money for it.”
Ryan seemed to be deciding which fingernail to nibble.
“Sometimes I’d get a set of negatives. Not all of them, only some. Then the fee in an envelope. Be delivered to the office.”
He stared back into Minogue’s eyes in the mirror.
“How many girls are there in these books?” the Inspector asked.
“Twenty-five, thirty. Around that.”
“And you run off your own photos of these and sell them.”
“Sell them? Who says-”
“Shut up with that rant. Are these all the girls you’ve done this kind of work for?”
“No.”
“You’re telling me that, whoever your employers are, they only bother with some of these girls?”
“I suppose.” Minogue glanced at Malone.
“So where are the pictures of the rest of them?” asked Malone.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you know a person by the name of Mary Mullen?”
“No.”
“Patricia Fahy?”
“I don’t ask names. Look, I’m only a middleman. This is a business.”
“Who calls you?” Malone asked.
“I told you. I don’t know.”
“The Egans.”
“I don’t know.”
“Record’s stuck,” said Malone. “Get with it there, pal.”
“You know them,” Minogue went on. “You know their do-fors.”
“Well, I heard of them. Who hasn’t?”
“You asked me who I knew and I gave you two names,” said Malone. “You remember them?”
“Maybe I do. Tell them to me again.”
“Like hell I will,” retorted Malone. “You knew them well enough to tell me they liked this stuff. Tying up and that. Do they visit you?”
“No.”
“How do you know them?”
“Same as how you came along today. A phone call, a meeting. I showed them samples.”
“Listen,” said Minogue. “Think very carefully about what I’m going to ask you.”
Ryan blinked. Minogue looked down the street.
“I’ve a feeling that you’ve dealt with Guards before. Am I right?”
“Spoke with some, yes.”
“You know Detective John Doyle?”
“Heard of him.”
“Umm. I note that you have no criminal record, Mr. Ryan. I’m impressed. I’m impressed because I believe you hang around the fringes of criminal groups and individuals. You’ve been trying to persuade Detective Malone and me that you were not aware of these dimensions. All very nice. Happy events. Wedding photographs. Do you do graduations?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
“Baptism, First Communions? Confirmations too?”
“Done plenty of those.”
“That’s nice. Car, home out there in Howth. Nice. I’ll bet you good money that you’re thinking we can’t do much to you. Get yourself a good barrister and push the private collection bit? Maybe there’s a grand, big, flexible law has landed on us from the New Europe guaranteeing our individual rights and freedoms in the line of dirty pictures?”
Ryan almost smiled.
“Who knows,” he said. “It’s time we caught up with the rest of the world, isn’t it?”
“Is it?” asked Minogue. “What’s the worst, you’re thinking maybe. These two Guards sell me off to the Revenue Commissioners. I pay up, say, even a couple of thousand quid on undeclared income. Who’s to know, right? I bet you see that as the soft option to be sure. Compared to the other option. Right?”
“What option?”
“I believe you know exactly what I’m talking about-”
“What? The photos? What’s the big deal? Christ, Ireland’s not some bloody backwater with everybody shuffling off to Mass all the time! Look: people do what they want to do now. Life’s what you make it these days. Those girls weren’t forced into doing that. So it’s not like they didn’t know what they were into. Everybody wants to make something of themselves. That’s human nature, isn’t it?”
“Tell me about human nature then, Mr. Ryan,” said Minogue. “But some other time.”
Ryan’s face grew flushed.
“I’m doing a fucking service to those girls in actual fact!”
“Now, now, Mr. Ryan. Language.”
“I am! You don’t know a damn thing about life out there. A lot of these girls have nothing! Working in shops, no prospects. They want to get into, you know, modelling and stuff. It’s a free choice.”
“‘Modelling,” said Malone. “You’re a model, Ryan.”
“Nobody made them do it. What’s wrong with them wanting things? Clothes, money, a good time? You guys are all right, you have jobs. What if you’re twenty or twenty-one and there’s nothing coming your way?”
“What the hell do you know about growing up in the flats?” Malone demanded.
“It’s all about selling yourself,” said Ryan. “Everybody does it in one way or another.”
Minogue thought of the lipstick, the fake rapture. He was groggy with the heat now. He felt himself slipping into a stupor. He pushed buttons but the windows stayed up.
“You have to turn on the ignition,” said Ryan.
Minogue did so. He opened both windows. Malone was nibbling on his upper lip.
“Okay, Mr. Ryan. How many of these folders do you have?”
“The four you see there.”
“That’s all?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t believe you,” said Malone.
“Swear to God.”
“We’ll send a squad car out to your place in Howth and give it a good shake to be sure, then.”
“I told you-”
“Who else has stuff like this?”
“Christ, I don’t know! Whoever sets up the sessions, whatever they do with it. I don’t know!”
“Have you ever seen your stuff around? With other people?”
“No.”
“You’re a liar, Ryan,” said Malone. “And I’m going to find that out for sure. And when I do, I’m gonna be all over you.”
“What’s the charge?”
Malone looked over at Minogue. The Inspector rubbed at his eyes as he spoke.
“Obstructing police offers, inciting and abetting others to assault police off-”
“Aw, come on! You can’t be serious, man!”
Minogue took his fingers away and opened his eyes.
“And accessory to murder.” Ryan sat very still, staring into Minogue’s eyes.
“You’re bluffing,” he whispered.
“Me?” said Minogue. “Oh, no. You’re the one’s bluffing. Hot and grumpy-and the rest of it-I may be; bluffing, I am not.”
“I don’t believe you. I just don’t.”
“I don’t care,” said Minogue. He began rubbing his eyes again. He heard the soft clicks as his eyelids stretched and relaxed across his eyeballs.
“In your, em, collection there, Mr. Ryan,” he went on, “there is a picture of a woman who was associated with a murder victim. It is my opinion now that this associate of the murder victim may have concealed information vital to our investigation.”
He paused, glanced at Ryan and resumed rubbing.
“Do you want to tell us again you don’t believe us, Mr. Ryan?”
Ryan swallowed.
“I don’t know anything about this,” he whispered. “I swear to you.”
“A slippery slope, this, Mr. Ryan,” said Minogue. “If I had a pound for every brigand and smart-arse that’s come my way with their routines, their cat-farting around and lying and making fools of themselves, well, I’d be on my yacht parked below in the Mediterranean. I don’t like the idea that someone concealed potential evidence from me, Mr. Ryan. I really don’t. But she’s frightened. If I were her, I might be the same way. But you? I won’t be putting up with any tripe out of you.”
“But what do you want from me?”
“All your little collection.”
“It’s all here. Every bit. Who was murdered?”
“Someone that I believe you took pictures of. We want all of your stuff.”
“You didn’t find her here? Let me look…no, I don’t even know who she is.”
“You say that you only get some of the pictures back.”
“Right. Yes. Only some of them.”
“Your employer, for lack of a better word, kept the ones he liked best, do you think?”
“I suppose. Look, really. The most I’d ever know might be a first name.”
“Try ‘Mary.’ ”
Ryan blinked and scratched at his forehead.
“Well, Mary’s a common name like, isn’t it? I can’t really say I remember.”
“Maybe a session down in Harcourt Street station would refresh your memory.”
“I’m doing the best I can! A lot of the time you wouldn’t really remember a face even. Honestly, it gets like that. Then there’s make-up.”
“Who put it on?” asked Malone.
“Themselves, or to one another. Some of them really pour it on so as they won’t be recognized. It’d get all messed up then and we’d have to wipe it off.”
“‘We’?”
“Me and Danny. Danny, the fella driving my car. Look-have you got a picture of this girl that was, you know…?”
“Murdered?”
“Yes.”
“Before she was murdered, Mr. Ryan, or after?”
Ryan bit his lip.
“Bring over both if you please, Tommy,” said Minogue.
He watched as Malone reached into the Citroen for the folder.
“Are you nervous, Mr. Ryan?”
“It’s boiling here. I’m not used to being… to being talked to by the Guards. That’s all.”
Malone slammed the door and walked to a traffic warden who was surveying the parked Citroen. It was almost rush hour.
“You know the kind of things the Egans get up to, don’t you,” said Minogue.
“Yes.”
“You’re scared of them, aren’t you.”
Ryan stopped rubbing his hands. The parking attendant scrutinized Malone’s card and nodded.
“Well…”
“Was it Lenehan and Balfe together used to, er, supervise these sessions of yours?”
He kept his eyes on Malone but he heard Ryan swallow.
“Well,” his voice turned to a creak. He cleared his throat. “Four times out of five, it’d be, em, Lolly-Lenehan.”
“He likes to hurt girls, right? Or see them hurt.”
When Ryan didn’t answer, Minogue turned around. Head down, Ryan was rubbing his thumb and forefinger through his eyebrows. Minogue studied his scalp.
“He’d show for the other stuff usually,” said Ryan. “The props. The bars and stuff.”
“Has he got some of these photos?”
Ryan’s fingers now ran up from his forehead through his hair.
“Wouldn’t surprise me.”
Malone flopped back into the seat and opened the folder.
“Before,” said Minogue. Malone handed him a photocopy of Mary Mullen’s record. Minogue folded the sheet until only the face was uppermost.
“Just the face now, Mr. Ryan. Do you recognize this person?”
He studied Ryan’s frown in the mirror.
“Sometimes it’s hard to tell… Make-up and hair-dos, you know. That’s a good photocopier, I tell you… I think she was in one of the sessions. Yes. I think so.”
“You think so,” said Malone. Ryan raised his hands.
“You’re trying to trap me,” he said. “I’m being totally on the level with you. I can’t be certain and I have to tell you that. Jesus, I wish I could say ‘no’ but I want you to know-”
“When?” asked Malone.
“Wait a minute now,” said Ryan. “No matter what I say here, how do I know you’re going to take it the right way? I mean to say. I can’t remember ‘when.’ I just think she was one. Obviously she’s not one of the ones I got back.”
“Obviously,” said Malone.
“She’s graduated then,” murmured the Inspector. He handed the photocopy back to Malone.
“Pardon?”
“She passed the test.”
“What test?”
Minogue took the keys out of the ignition.
“Is this over with now?” Ryan asked. Minogue glared at him while he muttered to his partner.
“A word outside, Tommy.”