He’d have to take the next bit handy, the getting to his feet. He ran his hand down to the rip in the knee of his trousers: wasn’t that big, really. He had been dreaming of pigeons. It was a Magritte painting too, he was sure, the one with the birdcage in place of the man’s chest, under a cloak. He should look for it in Hanna’s bookshop. As well as getting some scientific answer for how pigeons, and other birds for that matter, found their way from so far off.
He stood slowly, made his way over to the railing. There were three girls arguing with a sergeant. One of them shrieked. The sergeant eyed her. She covered her mouth in embarrassment. He made a space for four photographers. Others pressed forward. A cheer started at the far end of the railing. The Guards walked to the glass doors. Minogue wondered how anybody could see anything. People began to drift over from the pub, glasses in hand. Malone pocketed the phone. Two of the girls were hopping now. The doors slid open.
First out were two APFS. Cortina Byrne came next, smoking and laughing. He threw his arm around a woman with a blond stubble on her head. She was somebody famous, Minogue realized. He couldn’t place her. She wore one of those plastic, shiny jackets: the ones that looked like they were made in a doll factory in 1962. The flashes began to go off.
Then Daly looked warily up and down the passageway the Guards had cleared. The shoulder bag was the size of a suitcase. Soft leather, and one of those purses -
“Jee-zuzz, Jimmy!”
Minogue recoiled at the scream and glared at the girl. The screamer had a white face and a lot of metal around her face.
“Come here, I want you!” she shrieked.
Two more girls came tripping over.
“Come on home to Artane, will you!” another shouted.
Daly looked over to the scream. His eyes settled on Minogue’s for a moment and then returned to a darting survey of the crowd. Minogue elbowed Malone and took out his card. Daly eyed him again as Minogue moved around the sergeant. A chant started.
“ In the future…”
One of the girls elbowed Minogue. He tried to get around her but she shifted and elbowed him again. She got by him to the end of the railing. The sergeant had seen her.
“ We’ll have freedom.”
She tried to wiggle by but the sergeant jammed his knee against the upright.
“ In the future, we’ll have love.”
“Mr. Daly,” he called out.
Daly had heard him all right. He lifted the overnight bag on his shoulder and turned to look back at the band.
Minogue walked alongside him.
“Mr. Daly, I need to talk to you.”
“What,” said Daly. He looked at the Guards who had made way for Minogue to get to him. “Who are you?”
“I’m a Garda inspector. But I don’t want to be waving me card here now.”
Daly slowed and frowned.
“Yeah,” he said. “You were here before, weren’t you?”
He stopped and turned and called out to the band. Minogue looked at the outstretched arms, the pieces of paper waving. How could anybody hear anything back there?
“ In the future, we’ll have freedom…”
Two of the band began to grasp some of the papers and sign them. Malone edged by Minogue. He had his notebook open. He was flapping it gently on the back of his sleeve.
“I have to ask you a few things, Mr. Daly.”
Daly turned back.
“What? Now? You can’t be serious.”
“I can wait until your outfit has gotten through here, yes.”
“What? I can’t hear you.”
Minogue leaned in.
“I said I can wait a few minutes, but.”
“Ah, come on, you’re joking me,” said Daly. “Look at this. This is all happening, Christ, this has to be done right. We came in the terminal, to try and undo the bad rap we got for sneaking out of the country there, you know? There’s been enough fu — enough crap over the other thing. The scrap with the fans and those people from the Indonesian embassy…”
Minogue watched Cortina Byrne disentangle himself from one of the women leaning over the railing. She leaned back into the crowd, her hands over her face. Byrne spotted Daly and then the two detectives. His eyebrows went up.
“Just me?” Daly asked.
“For now, yes.”
“Why, what about?”
“It’s too noisy here. There’s a quiet spot over there behind the pub. An employee lounge.”
Daly turned away. He waved at a thickset man in a suede jacket by the door. The cheering was broken up now. The chanting was getting louder. Cleaners and restaurant staff were in the crowd now. Minogue watched Daly shaking his head as he spoke into the suede jacket’s ear. Byrne had grabbed his girlfriend again. He was laughing and waving. He stopped by Daly and listened in. The girlfriend looked at Minogue. The inspector nodded. Wasn’t she that actress one? Maybe not. Byrne was eyeing Malone now. He resumed his journey. Malone held up his notebook. Byrne hugged his girlfriend tighter. She looked like she hadn’t slept. There was a tiny jewel in her nostril.
“I know you,” said Byrne. Malone nodded and held out his notebook.
“This for the ma again?”
“Yeah.”
Byrne let go of the girl and took Malone’s Biro. The scribble and the droopy one-eyed smile up at Malone was almost a leer. Minogue looked at the girlfriend’s face again. A flash went off behind Minogue.
“You’re the fella with the sister’s blouse thing.” He threw his arms around her shoulders.
“These are Guards, love,” he said to her. “Our police, yeah? This one here has a part-time job, a nixer. He’s a comedian.”
Minogue couldn’t make out a K in the scribble but the F and the U were unmistakable.
“Is this like a slap on the wrist maybe?” Daly asked. “No. Why?”
“You think I dissed you the last time? When we were trying to get our flight?”
Minogue glanced at Malone.
“Disrespected,” said Malone. “Dissed, like?”
Minogue frowned.
“Because I made some calls,” Daly added.
“God, no,” said Minogue. “The head of the MCC, the fella in charge of the response, the Mobile Communications Centre, well he was annoyed. But that’s history now, as they say.”
“Okay,” said Daly. “Well, should I be sitting here being polite or picking up a phone?”
“Your choice, Mr. Daly.”
“If I knew what you seem to think is so bloody important that you can’t wait until I get the lads on the road out of here.”
The lads, thought Minogue. The chanting had stayed in some recess of his brain. In the few-chur. One of their anthems now.
“Oh, it’s just that we were out here anyway,” said Minogue. “We heard ye were coming in. So we thought, just a few minutes, you see.”
“Go ahead then,” said Daly. “Number one: what’s this all about?”
Minogue let the pause last
“We found a body here. The day you left.”
Daly nodded and looked from Malone to Minogue.
“I heard later, yes.”
“So we’re trying to find out who did it,” said Malone. “And catch them, like?”
The dry tone didn’t seem to register with Daly.
“What,” he said, “but why me? You want to question me?”
Minogue uncrossed his legs. So what if Daly noticed the rip in his trousers.
“Photographs have come to light, Mr. Daly. The murder victim appears in them, as do members of your band and yourself.”
Daly frowned. He looked down at his cell phone. Malone wouldn’t stop tapping the end of his Biro on his notebook. Minogue wanted to shout at him.
“You’re nuts,” said Daly “The both of you. You’re fucking nuts.”
The tightness across his chest suddenly alarmed Minogue. He’d forgotten about the bloody gun again. He shifted in his seat and tried to ease the pinch of the strap under his arm.
“Go ahead and phone all you want,” he said to Daly. “If you think you need to, like.”
“I’ll go one better,” said Daly. “I’ll get myself and my stuff and get to hell out of here.”
“So you heard of the murder.”
“I heard someone had been found, yes. I’m in touch two or three times a day with the office. They told me a bit about it. An American, I heard. Right?”