Malone accosted him in the hall on his return.
“So Kathleen sorted you out, then?”
“I’m to stay out of the way of trouble, and work only on, er, stolen property cases.”
“Fair play to her,” said Malone. “Now you have to sign on to my contract.”
He wiped away a dribble of water from his forehead. Why did this gurrier keep running water on his face and on his hair so much, Minogue wondered.
“What are you on about, man?”
“Here’s what: you sign for a gun. So’s I don’t have to worry about you.”
Minogue looked at Eilis and Murtagh poring over some files. Malone pointed a finger at him.
“Start arguing and I’m walking,” he said. Minogue looked back at him.
“A gun? For tracing stolen property around the airport, Tommy?”
“Don’t try that on me. It worked for the missus, but I know what’s going on. Get the equipment. And don’t roll out the excuses. This isn’t Dear Oul Dirty Dublin any more. Wake up, man.”
Minogue said nothing. He returned to his desk and opened the file Mairead O’Reilly had given him. He couldn’t remember where the part about the stone was. There was a page and a bit at least, though. How could O’Reilly ever know anything about the Carra stone except what he’d made up in fancy? Eilis was standing by the desk when he looked up.
“So you’re staying, your honor?”
“For a while, Eilis. Yes.”
“I’m to phone Purcell to tell him when you’re gone.”
“Who says, a stor?”
“I says. We asked him to absent himself when we got the news you were on the way here, John Murtagh and I. In the event there might be friction. Emotions running high, your honor.”
Minogue watched her light another cigarette.
“He’s away off in C Wing. He took some files with him. Smith and that. So: I’ll be phoning him…?”
“Would you phone Firearms Issue for me first, please.”
“Firearms, you said?”
“Exactly, Eilis. Firearms Issue. We’re still on alert. Tommy needs a replacement. His was bagged at the scene, the shooting.”
“Fair enough.”
“And I’ll be wanting one.”
She drew on the cigarette. Minogue looked up at her. Her face remained impassive. “Then we’ll be off,” he said.
Malone backed the Opel out of the parking spot. He drove slowly, adjusting the mirror. Whoever had used the Opel last had smoked. Minogue imagined a couple of detectives on surveillance, smoking and eating and farting for days. Weeks, maybe. He rolled down the window more.
He couldn’t get comfortable. He reached up under his arm to pull the strap looser. It was too much trouble to take off here. The Velcro was too far around to reach without taking off his jacket. He felt the aches as a clamp across his lower back and his shoulders now. He yawned and stretched. A faint relic of Kathleen’s perfume came to him.
Malone’s driving began to annoy him.
“Why are you driving like this?”
“Like who?”
“It’s not ‘who,’ it’s ‘what.’ You’re driving too carefully.”
“Jases, if it’s not one thing with you it’s another. I’m shook, that’s why.”
Malone passed Mountjoy Prison without a glance over. Anytime he passed it, Minogue had thought of Malone’s brother. Malone made the green light at Drumcondra Road. A convoy of articulated lorries under plumes of diesel smoke awaited them. Malone swore and settled the car into second gear between the lorries.
“So we’re looking for a rock,” he said. “This ‘stolen property” gig you told Kathleen about. And if Tynan wants to know.”
“Right,” said Minogue. “A stone.”
“But there is no rock you’re telling me. Right?”
“That’s it.”
“So when we do find it we’ll know then that it’s not there. Right?”
Minogue studied the patterns of dirt at the doors to the lorry ahead.
“Now you have it.”
Malone grunted and pulled around one of the lorries. Minogue eyed the Cat and Cage Pub over the passing traffic.
“Leave no stone unturned,” said Malone. “Is that the idea?”
He had to wait until the lights at Collins Avenue to shake off the last of the convoy. Minogue thought of Leyne, the eyes set into those pouchy folds. Like a lizard. Tired of life was he. How many things had he collected over the years? Geraldine Shaughnessy must have known about them. The son too. He thought of the winding bog road up by Carra, the ditches… He opened his eyes as Malone took the curve leading to the roundabout for the airport.
“Where am I going?”
“What?”
“You dozed off,” said Malone. “Where am I going, I said?”
“Turn down the first chance you get to the freight end. The South Apron, it’s called.”
“Is it that we don’t want them to know we’re poking around here or that we don’t care?”
Minogue was stiff. There couldn’t be bruises everywhere, he thought. He moved his neck slowly. The strap for the pistol harness was biting across his ribs.
“The former,” he managed and levered himself more upright. “Here’s the routine. We’re just looking around to double-check we didn’t overlook anything in the area.”
Minogue didn’t expect a checkpoint just inside the entrance to the freight terminals.
“There’s an unmarked over there,” said Malone.
The Guard was brash, puzzled. Malone took his card back.
“It’s a walkabout,” said Minogue. “Just in case we missed something.”
“The American fella? In the boot of the car?”
“Yeah,” said Malone. “The pressure’s on. To make sure we covered everything.”
“Fair enough,” said the Guard.
“Thanks,” said Minogue. “By the way, are you permanent here? This checkpoint, I mean ”
The Guard made a face as he tried to dislodge something from his eye.
“Ah no, we’re only here for autographs.”
He stopped poking and looked back down at Malone.
“Only joking. The Works are due in sometime this evening.”
“So,” said Malone. “No more scaring the shite out of some sheikh’s wife for the fans.”
“Right,” said the Guard, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Ah sure, we’ll be out here again in a few days to get rid of them again.”
Minogue leaned over and looked up at the Guard.
“The band, you mean?”
“Yep. They go on tour in the States, I heard.”
Minogue looked over at the freight buildings.
“The big time,” said the Guard. “That’s how it is.”
“Is there an office out here with a layout of this end of the airport?”
“Go over there. That’s the start of the Customs Hall. Shipping and receiving’s down the far side of it. There’s offices there, the Customs and Excise mob. Federal Express, other ones. ”
He stopped poking at his eye, looked down at his finger, and then at Minogue.
“Thanks,” said Minogue.
Malone stopped tugging and pushing the gear stick across neutral.
“What’s on your mind there?” he asked Minogue.
“I’m thinking how I’d get something out of the country in a hurry.”
Minogue shrugged.
“I don’t know. ”
Malone held out his hands over the wheel.
“Gimme. What’s this? You’re saying he gets to the airport, he’s in a corner because he’s got — but there is no Carra thing, for Jases’ sake. You even say that. What’s her name there down in Mayo, you even phone’d her again just before we left. Mairead O’Reilly. Legends, man, all stories, bullshit. Yeah?”
“I said there’s no ‘The Carra Stone,’ Tommy.”
“Yeah, yeah? Yeah…? Well try English, will you, boss. ”
“The indefinite article.”
“The what?”
“There may be a Carra stone.”
He tapped on the dashboard and pointed to a sign before Malone could start in on more.
“Park it over there, Tommy. Air Freight Storage. See if a walk’ll wake me up.”
The Customs and Excise officer was a trim, black-haired Dubliner by the name of Paddy Mac. Mac-what, was not volunteered and Minogue didn’t ask. Dyed or not, the pompadour hair and the thick sideburns impressed the inspector. A man who could so steadfastly cling to the fashions of his early teens was a man well chosen to keep track of things. Paddy Mac looked up at him.