The safest place to be, that’s right,”said Kilmartin. He leaned forward and pushed in the lighter. “Do you mind?”
“Long as you don’t fart, I don’t.”
“Huh. Like I was saying. Safest of all. It’s the rubber, you know.”
Minogue turned the ignition key and pushed the window button.
Lightning flared again.
“Listen, you’ve had your jaunt now. That’s twice today I gave in to your, what’ll I call it, your obsession, with this new motor of yours. Any excuse to go out for a drive, huh?”
“Maybe.”
“Come on so. We’ve seen enough of nature at her finest. Let’s get out of here. Never liked this kind of fireworks. Sort of puts me in mind of a redemptorist sermon during Lent.”
Minogue listened for the roll of thunder. It came from far off again, like cardboard box falling down the stairs. Eleven seconds: eleven miles.
“Did you hear the screeching earlier on?” he asked Kilmartin.
“What? Where? Back up the other end of the Park?”
“Yes. Just before the first bits of thunder.”
“The Zoo, man. Sure the poor beasts must be terrified. I mean to say. Even if they were born and reared in Ireland here-and there are many of ’em what are, I believe-they’d have their instincts. Yes. Fear. Arra Christ, I’ve had a headache hanging around all day. Like it was waiting a pounce on me. I held off with the bloody aspirin and now I don’t have them with me. Typical, isn’t it? If I wanted this class of tropical-type shagging weather, I would have taken a few bob out of the Get-Away account and toddled off to somewhere you’d expect this class of typhoon. Know what I’m saying?”
“Of course I do, Jim.”
He sensed Kilmartin’s glare on him but he didn’t turn. The lighter popped out.
“Just don’t be using the ashtray, if you please.”
Kilmartin stabbed a cigarette into his mouth and grunted. The car was full of smoke with his first pull. Minogue turned on the ignition and opened the window lower.
“I was checking the dollar the other day,” said Kilmartin. “Always had it in mind for the young lad, you know? He sends money home every now and then. To Maura. For her to buy the odd thing for herself.”
He laughed lightly.
“As if she actually needed it. But he’s a decent boy.”
Minogue wondered if Kilmartin was going to remain maudlin much longer. The Kilmartin’s only child had emigrated to the States three years ago. He turned to his colleague.
“Well I know it, Jim. Always was, as I recall.”
“Damn right, man. Didn’t pick that up off the street either, so he didn’t. Don’t get me wrong now! Maura, I mean. I wasn’t blowing me own trumpet now. Maura was reared to be helping everyone.”
Minogue stared into the darkness where the trees were and listened to Kilmartin drawing on the cigarette again. Another flash of lightning lit up the Park.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” said Kilmartin. He sat back slowly in the seat. “This was sport and games to us, of course. When we were kids, I mean. We’d be terrified, but we’d still want to see it all. The danger thing.”
On to kids now, thought Minogue. Childhood. What next? Maybe the air pressure before a storm had altered the supply of blood to his friend’s head and awakened dormant memories. Maybe Kilmartin was trying to draw him out, to see what Daithi did as regards remittances home from the States.
“They’re never reared, are they?”
“Who?”
“Your kids.”
“Mine are, Jim. They’d better be, is my attitude.”
“Ah, don’t be like that. You know what I mean.”
Minogue turned and looked at his friend.
“Is there something you want to tell me? Is it that you’re feeling sorry about Iseult or something?”
“Not at all, man.”
“You are.”
“I’d be less than candid-”
“Well, be less than candid, for God’s sake.”
“Huh. I think you’re still in shock. That’s why you aren’t able to react. That’s what I think.”
That’s what you think, thought Minogue. But he didn’t feel irritated, Kilmartin had probably thought he was doing him a favour, humouring him by going to the pub, by going along with the jaunt.
“You never know what the boys will come up with,” said Kilmartin. I mean, you worry about girls, of course, but…”
Hasn’t seen his own son since last year, Minogue had to remind himself. Maybe soon he could relay Kilmartin’s hedging to Iseult, turn it into a laugh.
“What’s the word from the States then?”
“Oh, good, good. Always good. He writes every few weeks, you now. As well as the phone calls, of course.”
Cars continued to pass Minogue’s parked Citroen. He and Kilmartin had cruised several roads in the Park before stopping in the middle, by Aras an Uachtaran. He looked down in his lap again to be sure the low-battery light hadn’t come on. The lightning flash was longer this time.
“By the divine hand a…! Will you look at that! Another one!”
Kilmartin nudged his colleague.
“Here, Matt, answer me this: who do you think organized this bloody show here tonight? Hah? All that stuff above there? We knew it was God when we were kids. What do you think it is?”
Minogue lifted the phone from his lap in the hopes it would ring.
“Who are you waiting for to get in touch there, Matt? The Man Himself? Ha, ha!”
Kilmartin threw his butt out onto the road. A tick on the window was followed by more.
“Okay,” he said. “That’s it. We’re away. Now, about starting fresh tomorrow. Round two, like. Instead of Molly, I really want Fergal-”
The phone trilled in Minogue’s hand. He jammed it against his ear.
“Now?” he asked. “Yes.”
He started the car.
“What,” said Kilmartin.
Minogue spun the tires as he accelerated away from the side of the road. Rain hit the glass like pebbles now. He brought the Citroen up to seventy before Kilmartin could finally take no more.
“Jases! Where are you taking us-to the shagging mortuary? Slow down, man!”
He put his head down as the drops hit harder and broke into a jog. Terry Malone could do what he bloody well wanted. He was pissed anyway. High too, probably. Thunderstorm or not, he was going to tear out of here on his bike. The rain began to beat the grass down and it snagged his feet as the drops landed. They drummed on his head and his sleeves. He pulled the collar of his jacket tighter under his neck and glanced back to see where Terry Malone was. He couldn’t see him. He stopped and held his hand over his eyebrows. The raindrops stung the back of his hand now. Already he felt rain-water running down the back of his ears.
“Terry!”
Sheets of rain drifted like smoke across the city’s yellow glow. To hell with him, he whispered. Maybe he’d gone back to get something from the van. He turned back toward the road and began walking. The water soaked in over his toes. He wiped the rain from his face but it kept flowing down his forehead. Was he headed the right way? The flash started as white but exploded into yellow. He dropped to his knees. He flinched and sank lower but kept his eyes open as another flash broke over him. His heart froze. For several seconds all he knew was the rainwater creeping along his spine, the drumming on his head, the tufts of wet grass between his fingers. Whoever they were, they had come out from behind the trees. The two cars beyond them couldn’t have been there before.
“My Jesus,” said Kilmartin. He sat forward in the seat and rubbed the glass with the heel of his hand. “What are you trying to prove? That this bloody car can float or something?”
Minogue had slowed to second gear. He sat over the wheel and changed the speed of the wipers every now and then. The rain drummed harder on the roof. Minogue checked the sun-roof for the fifth time and squinted out through the flow on the windscreen.
“Now that’s a cloudburst,” said Kilmartin. “And any man with any titter of wit would pull over to the side of the bloody road-”
“Be quiet, Jim. It’s hard enough trying to see anything without you ologoning. We’re nearly there.”
“Nearly where? Christ, man, you’re after driving us in the wrong direction!”
Kilmartin sat back and waved his hand toward the dash.
“What the hell use are all your feck-me-do buttons and switches now. Pull in off the road, man, or we’ll be under the wheels of some big lorry here.”
A flash showed the rain as needles but it was enough for Minogue to spot the cars.
“Now we’re in business,” he murmured.
“What business? What’re all those cars there? They looked like unmarkeds… What are they doing in there off the road?”
Minogue pulled the lever next to the hand-brake and turned in over the grass. He heard Kilmartin’s failing efforts to find words. He aimed the nose of the car toward the pair of dark-coloured Corollas by the edge of the grove.
“The bloody car is after rising up!”
“It’s supposed to, Jim. The suspension-”
“Shag this, man! You’re up to serious messing now, I’m telling you. Stop this circus-”
“There it is.”
“There’s what?”
“His motorbike. It’s parked just off the road.”
The Citroen wallowed but came out of the depression without bottoming out.
“You knew there was something on here. You-”
Kilmartin stopped talking when the beams went on. Two sets at the same time, then more, some moving until he gave up trying to decide how many cars there were. Minogue stopped the Citroen.
“Come on out,” said Minogue. “We can fill a space somewhere.” Kilmartin was staring at the headlights.
“Those are Guards out there,” he said. “Am I right?”
Minogue nodded.
“That’s him,” he added. “And there are patrol bikes in or around here if he tries to leg it over the fields.”
“Who? Who, for the love of God?”
He rose up slowly. He wasn’t sure if his knees would hold him. The words and hoarse pants he had been hearing were his own. The trees, he thought. They’ve staked the motorbike, so head into the trees. Headlights came on as he began his run. Two sets ahead caught him immediately. He stopped and turned. Others came on. The lights which aimed away began to turn toward him. They were all around. Something began to give way in his stomach. Would Bobby Egan have all this stuff? Where was Terry Malone? The bastard. A single light detached itself from the others and began weaving its way toward him. Still he stood, frozen, his lips moving, his breath coming in huge gulps. It was a motorbike. Mesmerized, he followed its passage over rises and bumps. It stopped fifty yards from him. Over the rain he heard engines now. He turned and tried to see where the gaps were. He could take a run toward-
The tinny screech stopped his thoughts. A loudspeaker? It had said his name. The rain was streaming over his eyes now. What, he called out. He heard “Gardai” before the flash. Ducking, he saw the white helmet of the cop on the bike as he too flinched. He sank to his knees in the grass. The rain hit his neck harder. He didn’t lift his head even when he heard them telling him to lie down. They told him again. He sat back on his heels. The motorbike put on blue flashing lights as it approached. Two cars came in. He heard doors being slammed shut and he looked out into the glare. The lights were on the move again, coming closer. The cops walked in front of the beams. Voices shouting at him now, using his name. Lie down. He wasn’t going to lie down. They had been tailing Terry Malone since he got out, that’s what did it. The rain was made up of solid lines all the way back to the clouds, he thought. Like waves across the headlights. He was staring at the rain by his knees when he felt them push him over. The bands on his wrists were pulled tight. They pulled him up. He looked into their faces and saw that they looked kind of scared. More cops walked in out of the glare. A tall one with his hair plastered down over his eyebrows came up. He waved something at him. It caught the lights once before he put it away. Another big cop came up behind him.
“James Tierney,” said the dark-haired one. “I’m Inspector Minogue. I’m arresting you for the murder of Mary Mullen…”
He looked beyond the tall cop to the others. Two of them were already going through the grass with flashlights looking for anything he had dropped. It’s all true, he thought.
“…to remain silent…”
His gaze stayed on the silhouette of one of the cops standing to the side.
“You have the right to consult counsel…”
Why was he on his own?
“Terry?”
“…you will be brought before…”
“Terry!”
“Shut up there,” said the cop next to the one reading him his rights.
“Terry! Over here, man!”
The man turned away. So did the cop who had told him to shut up.
“Do you understand what I have told you?”
“What?”
“Do you understand your rights as I have told them to you?”
The grip tightened on his arms when he tried to see around this tall cop with the eyes boring into him.
“Terry! You bastard! You stoolie bastard!”
“Okay, Fergal,” the cop said. Still he tried to stop them pulling him away.
“Don’t pay that bastard! Yous’re all wrong! He lied! It’s a fix!”
“Out of here, Fergal,” the tall cop was saying. “Before we’re toasted by lightning.”
Kilmartin’s hair reminded Minogue of a villainous professor from a silent film. As though privy to his colleague’s thoughts, the Chief Inspector ran his hands over the wet strands, patting them back over his head.
“You,” he said in a pensive tone, “are getting worse.”
Minogue glanced up at the deserted offices of the Financial Centre as the Citroen glided through the orange light and onto the North Wall. He checked the mirror to make sure the other car had made it through. The Citroen crashed over a puddle.
“You told me that quite a number of years ago.”
“I know I did. I meant it then and I mean it now. Me head’s still spinning with all this. Why didn’t you tell me you had moved on this?”
Minogue looked down at the clock. Half past nine. He felt keen, alert.
“I wanted it to be a surprise. You trust me, don’t you?”
Kilmartin stopped patting his crown.
“I trust you for the next ten minutes. Then your time is up. I want to know everything. That’s the deal.”
“Yes, James.”
“How Tierney got to be there. Where you got the give-away. When. With who-”
“Whom.”
“What?”
“No. With whom.”
“Bugger off trying to show me up! Ten minutes, and counting!”
“Yes, James.”
“This stinks. Worse and worse as the minutes go by.”
“I understand how you feel.”
“The hell you do! Don’t play social worker on me, pal. Who was it decided that I was to have spectator status on this caper?”
“Me. You have Keane and Co. to answer to. All the courtiers. I have to do what I can to make a living.”
“Sweet suffering hand of the divine crucified Je-”
“We’re almost finished, Jim. The world will unfold as it should.”
Kilmartin let out a breath and looked out the side window.
“You bloody well better not be teaching this type of procedure, you know,” he said.
“You’re right. Absolutely.”
“Couldn’t stand up at all if the case gets thrown upstairs at HQ.”
“Well, there’s not much you can do with one arm tied behind your back, is there?”
“Tell that to Serious Crimes and their European pals! Listen. One word I never want to hear about this-are you listening? Not a whisper do I want to hear of it: entrapment. Now or ever. Are you with me?”
Minogue looked across the Liffey as they coasted along, the broken surface of the roadway registering only as a flapping sound over the hiss from the rain.
“All water under the bridge, James.”
“What is? Your trick-acting?”
Minogue turned the wheel sharply just to see how the car would take abrupt driving. Smooth as silk.
“Nice car all the same, don’t you think?”
Kilmartin grunted and looked down at the lights on the dashboard.
“Wake me up when we hit Mars. Where’s the button for making the breakfast?”
Minogue saw the Toyota behind lean hard as it turned in behind. It threw up a wave to the side as it crossed the gutter.
“They have no complaint,” he said. “Have we jeopardized any of their operations?”
“How the hell would I know? They never gave details! Then you decide to keep me in the dark too!”
Minogue looked over and gave a wan smile.
“For your own good, Jim.”
“Oh, my God! Anyway. The father will be trouble.”
“All right. You take her then. There’s me and John Murtagh if Plate-Glass doesn’t feel up to it. Aw’royh’ loike, Jimmo?”
“Jesus, the gurrier lingo out of you. You’re hanging around Molly too much. I have a few choice things to tell that fella whenever he sorts out his personal life.”
“His brother’s personal life, loike.”
“ ‘Loike’ yourself! Will you never learn? Genes! Science! Hard facts! Didn’t you get just one little twinge when we ran into the brother over at Egans’ shop the other day?”
“I don’t get little twinges, Jim. Probably an age thing.”
“Come on! When you saw the brother, didn’t you really think-even for a minute? They look identical, they act identical-”
“Can’t prove it.”
“ Science proves it, man! That’s why we have bloody science! Walks like a duck, talks like a duck-”
“Ever heard of free will?”
“Oh, Christ! And you’re the one always pulling on me about the layabouts in fecking Finglas and the flats and wherever: ‘Ah, Jim, they can’t help it, it’s the environment-’ ”
“You’re way to hell and back offside with that. Context, Jim, context.”
“Spell it out for me then. Context, my arse! Human nature, bucko- since Adam was a boy! Open your eyes, man. We’ll be well rid of feck-ing Molly.”
“He’d be well rid of us, the way you’re talking.”
“Read a thing in the Reader’s Digest about long-lost twins, so I did. Grew up on either side of the bloody States, farmed out to different families-and what happens?”
“You fell asleep.”
“Hah. They turn out to be the same.”
“A miracle.”
“The same clothes. Favourite drinks. Cars. Each had three kids. Petite wives-”
“What’s petite?”
Kilmartin folded his arms and looked away.
“You just don’t want to find out I’m right, that’s your problem.”
Minogue yanked the wheel to take the turn. He released it quickly. The Citroen righted itself immediately. Great stuff. He slowed for the Toyota to close the gap. Ahead of him he saw the Garda van parked. There was no traffic. He pulled into the curb and switched off the engine.
“Asked for a van, did you?”
“Wild West here sometimes, Jim. You never know.”
“ ‘Sometimes’? Christ. Understatement of the year. Okay. Are we right?”
“Yep. Let them go in first.”
“I thought-”
“I don’t want the glory, Jim. I just want the arrest.”
Kilmartin rubbed the passenger-side window as the three figures passed along the footpath. Minogue saw the passenger door of the van open, a uniformed Guard step out.
“Oi! Who’s number three of ours there? Christ! Where’s the bloody winder for the window?”
“The ignition has to be on. It’s electric.”
“Let me out of this bloody box! Where’s the door thing? Jesus Christ! What kind of a shitbox am I stuck in here? Bloody Frenchmen! They shouldn’t be let near anything to do with cars!”
He turned angrily to Minogue. The Inspector ignored him. He switched on the ignition and pushed the wipers. Two detectives were at the door already. Fergal Sheehy was the back-door man.
“Open the frigging door, for Christ’s sake! They’re nearly in the house already.”
“Sorry, Jim. It’s that sideways-looking thing there. Yes. Don’t break it off now…”
Kilmartin was out. He slammed the door hard and took off at a trot down the gleaming footpath. Minogue winced before completing his sentence.
“…you clumsy bullock.”
The hall door was opened. One of the figures stepped in smartly. Someone tried to close the door but Murtagh had already put his shoulder to it. Minogue heard a shout. Kilmartin was almost there now. A second Guard had emerged from the van. A scream now, a woman’s. Minogue stepped out of the car. It was Patricia Fahy’s da all right. The door was being pushed and pulled. Kilmartin skipped in and pushed at the door alongside Murtagh. The Guard in uniform stepped around them. He reappeared almost immediately and came out the door backwards, his arms tight around Fahy’s neck. Kilmartin followed them out onto the terrace. Murtagh slipped into the house. Kilmartin slid a leg behind Fahy’s knees and the Guard turned Fahy as he fell. The second Guard stepped around Minogue, bent down and yanked up Fahy’s arm. Kilmartin stepped away. Minogue asked the Guard with the knee in Fahy’s back if he wanted help with the restraints. Fahy stopped groaning and began shouting.
“Shut up,” said Kilmartin. “You’re in enough trouble.”
“Don’t you fucking touch her! Yous don’t know anything about what goes on out here, you bastards! Useless, yiz are! The crimes is going on all around and yous are blind!”
“You’re under arrest too, Mister Hard-Chaw. Is your daughter inside?”
“None a your fucking business! Why aren’t yous tearing into the Egans and their like?”
The two Guards lifted Fahy to his knees and pulled him upright. A shriek erupted from the top floor of the house. Minogue looked up and down the street. The rain had lightened to a patter on his crown. He caught one Guard’s eye and nodded.
“We all right inside then?” said Kilmartin.
“ ’Course we are. Come on in and we’ll see.”
More shrieks from upstairs. A woman screamed No. Kilmartin looked into all the rooms. Minogue stepped into the kitchen and made for the back door to let Sheehy in.
“Action’s all upstairs, Matt.”
“I’ll follow you up, I just want to get Fergal in.”
Minogue watched Kilmartin lumber up the narrow staircase. Patterned socks again today, he thought. Over the lumpen tread of the Chief Inspector’s leather-soled shoes, Minogue could hear the crying still. The detectives’ voices came to him in tones only. Kilmartin reached the top of the stairs. Minogue looked up at the ceiling and tried to follow Kilmartin’s passage through the bedrooms. Another shriek. Patricia Fahy’s mother called out. Something heavy clumped on the floor. Minogue studied his own face in the hall mirror. It looked jowly, different. Fergal Sheehy appeared at the top of the stairs. He descended sideways, his hand on Patricia Fahy’s elbow. No cuffs, thought Minogue. Mrs. Fahy told someone to get out of her fucking way. An answering growl came from Kilmartin.
Patricia Fahy’s hair looked like it was glowing. Her head bobbed at each step. Behind her came Malone, each step almost grudging. He caught Minogue’s eye but did not smile. The mother was shouting now. Minogue leaned around the banister and looked up to catch a glimpse of Kilmartin’s back pressed against the banisters on the landing. That’d keep him busy for a while. Patricia Fahy didn’t look at him as she passed. He said her name again. She told him to fuck off. A handful of neighbours had gathered on the path outside. Two Guards in uniform were standing in front of them. Let me down the fucking stairs in me own fucking home, Mrs. Fahy was shouting at Kilmartin now.
Malone looked like he had fallen into the sea. Minogue followed him outside and watched Sheehy lead Patricia Fahy to the Toyota. Patricia Fahy’s father was shouting inside the van. He began kicking the panels as it pulled away. Another unmarked car drew into the curb across the street, splashing a puddle across the full width of the path. Three Guards stepped out. Minogue heard the footsteps clattering down the stairs fast. He turned to see Kilmartin coming out the hall door. The Chief Inspector had his head down and his arms were out from his side, the hands clawing at the air.
“Get in there to hell and put that woman in order!” he barked at one of the Guards. “She’s off the deep end.”
Kilmartin had stopped to talk to the Guard. He stayed put, his hands still working, glaring at Minogue. Malone came up the path behind Minogue and stood next to him. Minogue saw Kilmartin’s chest heaving. Kilmartin began to walk slowly toward them.
“This… is… fucking… serious… messing,” Minogue heard him say. Kilmartin stopped abruptly in front of Malone.
“Molly. What the hell are you doing here?”
From the tone, Minogue knew that Kilmartin was still off-balance.
“Helping to arrest the person who murdered Mary Mullen.”
Kilmartin’s jaws opened for several seconds and then closed. Two teenaged boys on bikes, soaked and euphoric from cavorting around in the cloudburst, Minogue guessed, stopped their bikes next to them.
“What’s going on?” one of them asked.
“Bugger off,” said Kilmartin. He hadn’t taken his eyes from Malone’s face. He took a step closer to Malone. His voice was a monotone now.
“What are you doing here then, Molly? You’re supposed to be sick or something.”
“Oh, right. Yeah. Well, I’m feeling better now, like. Thanks. Yeah.”
Loike, thought Minogue. Betther. He smiled.
Kilmartin blinked and looked from Malone to Minogue. His hands fell limp by his sides now. Patricia Fahy’s mother was shouting again. Kilmartin pivoted to have a look at the doorway and turned back with a look of distaste. The Chief Inspector had put his hands in his pockets now too. He leaned toward Malone as he spoke.
“You…” he began. He stopped and shook his head. “You got beat up, did you?”
“Yeah. But you should see the other fella.”
Minogue turned away.
“What other fella?”
“The brother.”
“The brother,” said Kilmartin. “The brother? Tell me something, Molly. Where is that brother of yours right now?”
Malone stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked down at his sodden shoes.
“Terry?”
“Terry. The fella with your face.”
Malone looked up with a frown.
“Terry’s in the nick.”
Kilmartin glanced at Minogue.
“Your brother got out of the nick was what I heard.”
“Oh, he got out all right. Yeah. But he got back in again.”
“He got back in again.”
“Yeah. It’s a different nick, though. It’s a treatment facility with a lockup. The new one up by Clanbrassil Street. Drugs and all, you know?”
Kilmartin cleared his throat. Minogue studied faces in the knot of people on the path.
“That’s, er, good, Molly,” said Kilmartin. “You did the right thing there. He was after falling into the hands of the Egans, I believe.”
Kilmartin nodded at Minogue to indicate the source of his intelligence.
“Oh, you heard.”
“Matter of fact, himself and myself bumped into him there in a shop belonging to one of the brothers. Looked like he was in a bad state, I don’t mind telling you. Right, Matt?”
Minogue nodded. Malone frowned, took his hand out of his pocket and began scratching at his scalp.
“You met Terry?”
“Your man here decided to do a bit of crusading there. Let them know who’s boss and all the rest of it. He sort of told me that, well, the Egans wanted to use your brother to get at you. To get at us, I mean. The Guards in general, like.”
Malone nodded.
“Well, yeah. They were up to that, all right. Tell me, when were yous up there?”
Kilmartin looked at Minogue.
“Earlier on today,” said the Inspector.
“Today? No. You must have gotten your days mixed up. Couldn’t have been today.”
Minogue shrugged.
“It was today,” said Kilmartin. “And well I remember it. Brother of yours is hardly civil to the Guards, is he? He gave us-well, he tried to give us-a bit of a bollocking there.”
“Today?”
Kilmartin cleared his throat and took out his cigarettes. Malone looked him in the eye.
“What’s the story there, Molly? What are you looking at me like that for? You’re the one should be answering the bloody questions here. As a matter of fact, now that I have the both of you here…”
Kilmartin’s words trailed off. Minogue and Malone both studied the smoke flowing out of Kilmartin’s open mouth.
“What?” Kilmartin murmured.
“I got Terry committed yesterday,” said Malone. He nodded at Minogue. “His idea. Gets him off the streets. It was either treatment or arrest for assault, right?”
“Right,” said Minogue.
“No, no, no,” said Kilmartin. “I-wait a minute-Matt, you were there with me…”
This time Minogue saw that Kilmartin knew. His eyes opened wide and he leaned in toward the two policemen.
“That wasn’t Terry up at the shop, like,” said Malone. “That was me.”