“And my car?”
“And a fine car it is too. Like I say, it will be returned in tiptop shape.”
“Was it seized?”
“Borrowed. A routine check.” Kenny flicked back his hair again.
“How many other cars have you applied this routine check to? In this case, I mean.”
“You have the honour of being the second.”
“A forensic study is hardly routine now, is it?”
Minogue looked at Kenny’s tie. Silk? It had little planes on it. To judge by his build, Kenny was no layabout. Tennis, Minogue guessed- no, wait a minute-squash.
“The favourite Irish pastime there, Mr. Kenny.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Jumping to conclusions. Who says your car will be subject to a forensic examination?”
“I read or I heard somewhere about this thing. That’s what forensic is for, isn’t it?”
“For what?” He gave Kenny a dull stare.
“Murder,” said Kenny.
“Amongst other things, yes.”
He watched Kenny’s eyes narrow a little before they turned back to the window.
“I think I’m beginning to detect a certain tone here, Serg-”
“Inspector.”
“A certain tone which suggests, I’m not sure. Pressure? Suspicion? Intimidation? I don’t know. That’s not what I believed, or was led to believe, back at the office when I agreed to help. It seems the closer we get to your, em, headquarters or whatever, the less, well, positive the atmosphere.”
Minogue scratched at his scalp.
“Ah, Mr. Kenny. I’m sure you’re not taken in by the charm here now.”
The breeze had draped Kenny’s glossy mane back down over his eyes. He flicked it back up less often than he could, thought the Inspector. A ladies’ man. Malone slowed for the entrance to Harcourt Square, gave a half-hearted wave to the Guard by the kiosk and started up again. Minogue was out first after Malone parked. Kenny climbed out slowly and looked across the roof at Minogue.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said. Well, that’s sure to mean trouble, Minogue almost said.
“And I want to phone my solicitor.”
The Inspector nodded, turned around and rolled his eyes. It had started.
“Certainly, Mr. Kenny. As is your right.”
He strolled around to Kenny’s side.
“But why the rush into the arms of the legal confraternity? You’re not under arrest. Save your money, I say.”
A confused look registered around Kenny’s eyes. Minogue summoned his most avuncular manner.
“I should tell you again how grateful we are that you have offered your help. Of course, I imagine anyone would be a little apprehensive, wouldn’t they? Especially a man like yourself, Mr. Kenny, a man who’s never been in trouble with the law, being in a building-no, a complex-full of policemen.”
Kenny searched the Inspector’s face for a giveaway smile.
“I’m the same myself, Mr. Kenny. I actually can’t stand coming here at all. It’s like a fortress or something. I’d sooner be out on the streets.”
Kenny tried to smile.
“If you only told me exactly why you’ve picked on me,” he said.
“Picked on you?”
“I mean, why you want to talk to me specifically.”
So you can prep your?500-a-day pain-in-the-arse solicitor for when he can come storming in here to hand out migraines, Mr. Kenny.
“All in good time, Mr. Kenny. Will you go a bit of the road with us here? Tea, maybe?”
NINETEEN
M alone kept pulling at the ends of his Elastoplasts. Kenny looked over at him often. “You’re taping our conversation, aren’t you,” he said to Minogue. The Inspector nodded.
“Is that allowed?”
Minogue nodded again. Kenny’s eyes had a dull shine on them now. They weren’t five minutes into the interview. Kenny coughed.
“It could hardly be just the Mercedes now, could it?”
“A bit more, Mr. Kenny. You frequented a night-club that Mary also patronized. Now, we located a person who saw you in conversation with her. Several times, over time.”
Kenny sat back and crossed his legs.
“Did this, er, person see anyone else talking to her? Or me talking to anyone else in the place?”
Minogue rated the performance. Irritated: good. Little bit of hurt dignity, incredulity: good. Can’t a man have a bit of fun, etcetera.
“I mean,” Kenny went on. “People who go there are sociable, I would have thought. By definition?”
Mild enough sarcasm yet, Minogue considered. A bit of condescension toward thick Guards. All to the good.
“You knew Mary Mullen then, Mr. Kenny. Outside the club too?”
“When you say knew her… No, I didn’t know her.”
Kenny’s folded arms lifted and dropped back to his chest.
“From the little I knew of her, she was there with a couple of regulars. I found out that they were, you know, beyond being shady.”
“Shady?”
“Oh, come on now. I think you know. A family called the Egans.”
“How did you know them?”
“I didn’t know them. I heard about them somewhere. Someone told me. In the club, probably. I forget when. You meet all sorts there. There are people who get a kick out of that mix of customers in the clubs. I mean, accountants mixing with artsy types and shady types. It’s all colour, isn’t it? Adds an edge.”
“You like an edge, do you, Mr. Kenny.”
Kenny let out a breath.
“I suppose I do. For me, it’s business too, sometimes. I’m dealing with film people, theatre people, so I go where their scene is. It’s play and it’s work.”
With his elbows on the table and his cheekbones resting on his knuckles, Malone had been eyeing Kenny. He raised his eyebrows now. Kenny stared back.
“Hey, I’m a workaholic,” he said. He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I admit it. You know, I work on average about eleven hours a day. In the car even. Two phone lines at home, fax and everything. So I just can’t buy all the moaning and whinging we go on about in this country, about unemployment and all that. Sometimes I’m working until eleven or twelve. It’s crazy, I know. So I go to places like Over the Top to let off a bit of steam. Maybe I’m getting too old for it though.”
He shrugged and looked around the room.
“Oh, to be sure, Mr. Kenny,” said Minogue. “To be sure. The night Mary was killed now. Was that a work night for you?”
“No. Like I said. I was in Tobins. There in the Temple Bar?”
Like I said, thought Minogue. Petulance was making a dent in the performance.
“I had a meal with a client at the Marco Polo after that. I’ll give you his name. He’s actually a film producer, you know. Great guy. Ended up at… Well, you’ve already got that there, don’t you?”
Minogue looked down at his notebook and back up at Kenny.
“How right you are. I do. Slatterys. Then you went home. Eleven. Ms. Julie Quinn.”
“My fiancee, yes.”
“So it was an early night for you then. Considering.”
He glanced up from the notebook again. Kenny’s stare was cool now.
“Mr. Kenny? I need to hear from you on this. We need to fill in the gaps that night.”
“Gaps?”
“By my reckoning, you were in transit a lot that night. Twenty minutes here, ten minutes there. You went from place to place.”
“Well, those times I gave you may not be exactly accurate, down to the second, I mean. I’ve been doing my best to be accurate about the times but maybe I was out on a few of them. I mean, when I got into the car and drove from Marco Polo’s…”
Kenny’s eyes had become fixed. He broke his stare with a slight shake of his head.
“What if I can’t account for every single minute of that night? Until I got home to Julie, I mean?”
Minogue took his time sipping the tea. That Mercedes had better cough up enough to float a warrant for Kenny’s house by a JP, he thought-and soon. He laid down the mug.
“What do you know of Eddsy Egan, Mr. Kenny?”
“You didn’t answer my question,” said Kenny. Minogue smiled.
“Nor you mine.”
Kenny moved back up a little in the chair. His jaw moved from side to side.