Minogue glanced over at him. Yah know whar ah mee-ann? He had missed Malone, his Dublinisms.
“Two generations of men unemployed where I grew up. Nothing to lose, the young fellas. Rob a car, get a thrill. Joy-ride it, torch it. Get pissed and start a fight. Bang up. Do time. Me, I was a skinny little bollocks, so I was. Very much the Mammy’s boy. So I got into the boxing. Now, with the boxing club, I tell the kids to save their best for the fellas coming by with the needles and the dope. I tell them to beat the living shite out of them and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Minogue gave a breathless laugh. Malone swished more 7-Up around his mouth. He gave the Inspector a rueful look.
“Not the official line there, don’t you know.”
Malone seemed to be suddenly distracted by the traffic. He began tugging gingerly at his lip. Minogue looked at his watch. They’d been waiting ten minutes now.
“So what are we going to work on this Kenny fella with?” Malone asked. “Mr. Accountant. The fact that a barman or bouncer working there saw him talking to Mary a couple of times over the last few months?”
“It’s a start. Dropping the name of the Squad is a good opener.”
“I noticed.”
“Him seeing how serious we are when we ask him for the car too. Watch him.”
“What if it pans out into just a client thing? You know, Mary doing a call-girl or escort type thing with him?”
“We work another angle. Follow other, ahem, lines of inquiry. Leads.”
“That’s it?”
“That might be it for the Mercedes thing. We have Hickey to find, don’t forget. We need to go back over Jack Mullen and his timetable again. There’s Lenehan-he might crack. The teams might pick up something more from the door-to-door. Maybe we’ll turn up an associate we haven’t seen yet. Just go at it again.”
“Huh.”
Malone suddenly crushed the can in his fist. Minogue looked down at the knuckles and back up at Malone’s frown. The detective continued to stare at the top of the can. Minogue decided to wait for Kilmartin’s call no longer.
The phone went as Malone was locking the car.
“Just going in there, Jim. Yes. No, I didn’t want to wait any more… For what? Nothing? Okay. Yes. He’s what? I think I remember that one, yes. About a fishing village and a ghost or something? We’ll go ahead with the walk-in. No. Okay.”
He switched the phone back to stand-by and handed it to Malone.
“Seems Kenny is as clean as a whistle. Among his accomplishments are doing the money end for films and theatre. His finances are in good order. Unfortunately.”
“Bet you he jumps on the phone for a solicitor,” said Malone.
“Do you think, now.”
“Yeah. Southside prat, isn’t he?”
“Aha. You’ve been to the night courses on psychology? Okay, let me try you on this. What if Mr. Kenny does not wish to help the Gardai with their inquiries?”
“Give him the chop, boss.”
“Give him the chop,” said Minogue, nodding. “Phone call?”
“From the station. He’ll open the car for us first or he’ll give us his keys.”
“You’re a fast learner there, Tommy.”
“No messing,” said Malone. “Do the business.”
Minogue grabbed the detective’s arm as Malone made to push the plate-glass door.
“Tommy. By the way, like. Perhaps Mr. Kenny didn’t kill Mary Mullen. Okay?”
Minogue took in the glass portico, the metalwork, the polished granite in the foyer. Sharp, no nonsense. A man in his early twenties, with a badge high up on his short-sleeved shirt and a Marine haircut, sat behind a granite-topped console.
“Are you all right?”
Minogue held out his card.
“Grand, thanks-can’t complain. Yourself? The one door at the back, as well as the goods entrance?”
“Er, yeah.”
The man tugged at his tie. Malone was taking in the sculpture next to savanna grass.
“Hey, is this a bust, like?”
Malone turned around, a puzzled expression on his face.
“I don’t know what it is. What’s it supposed to be?”
Minogue smiled at the security man.
“There’ll be no fuss now,” he murmured.
The lift smelled of cologne. The doors opened out onto a peach carpet, black doors, grey walls and more dried flowers. Malone plucked at his shirt under his arms.
“Air conditioning,” he muttered and nodded at the name-plate. The secretary’s ante-room breathed out more perfume. Macintosh computer, black furniture and a leather sofa for gamogs to cool their heels while they waited to be told what the firm of Kenny, Doody could or couldn’t do with their tax messes and their proposals for film funding. Show business, thought Minogue, paperwork: he and Malone, two sweaty detectives, had been beamed to Los Angeles. At least there was a homely layer of dust on the windows outside.
The secretary had a tan, wholly bogus eyelashes and a direct look. She tapped at a dangling ear-ring.
“Hello?”
Minogue smiled.
“Mr. Kenny within?”
“Is he expecting you?”
Minogue drew up his card from his side.
“It wouldn’t surprise me. But I can’t be sure, now.”
Her expression changed to a bewildered suspicion. She reached for the phone.
“I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Minogue raised his hand.
“Prefer if you didn’t, thank you now. As a matter of fact, I insist.”
“He has a client there.”
Minogue smiled again.
“As do we. Kindly do not use the phone for the next couple of minutes or so.”
Behind him he heard Malone open Kenny’s door.
“Yes?” he heard from within. None too pleased, Minogue detected.
“No,” he heard Malone reply.
“And it’ll be, em…?”
Kenny sat forward, his hands out on the seat to either side. Malone started the Nissan.
“It will not be damaged, Mr. Kenny,” Minogue repeated.
Even with the windows open, Kenny’s stale breath came to the Inspector again.
Malone’s good eye slid around toward the Inspector. Kenny sat back.
“We’ll be passing Over the Top, Mr. Kenny. Just beyond the lights. And there’s Tout des Loups. A grand spot too, I believe. I have a colleague who’s more into the club scene. Young fella, of course. What do you think of the Tout des Loups place?”
Kenny blinked and squinted at the doorways. If he’s sitting in an air-conditioned office all day, maybe he’s entitled to sweat, thought Minogue. Give him a fair trial, then hang him.
“It’s all right. Is that where…?”
“You heard about the case then?”
“Well, I’m just assuming that you’re pointing it out for a reason,” said Kenny. “You told me you’re investigating the death of a woman called Mary Mullen. Right?”
A woman called Mary Mullen. Kenny might give him a headache yet.
“We believe that Mary frequented that place in the past, the recent past. I have a photo of Mary here now. Take a look at it, why don’t you.”
Malone slipped it out of the folder, turned in the seat and handed it to Kenny. Minogue watched Kenny’s face carefully in the mirror.
“You know Mary, Mr. Kenny. Right?”
Kenny drew in a breath and let it swell his cheeks. Like he’s assessing a prospect, thought Minogue, a balance sheet, maybe. Malone jerked the wheel to avoid a parked van. Keep your eyes on the road, not on Kenny. He glanced at him again as the traffic drew away ahead. He hoped that Kenny would lie outright. Kenny let out his breath.
“Well, I mean I wouldn’t want to say now, I mean, what if I were to tell you something here and you well… You get the idea?”
“Not really.”
Kenny tossed a long swath of hair back up off his forehead. Something he saw in Malone’s face caused him to drop the ironic expression.
“Am I under arrest now, is it?”
“God, no, Mr. Kenny. Why would we arrest you? Have you done something?”
Kenny let go a brief smile.
“You’ve agreed to be interviewed,” said Minogue. “To help us with our enquiries. Which we appreciate.”