“I’ve nothing to hide,” he said. “In spite of this, well, I don’t know if it merits the word provocation… This atmosphere of suspicion. Yes, I’ve heard of him. Eddsy Egan. I’ve seen him. In the clubs. He’s the guy I was talking about. Someone told me Mary was his moll.”
“Moll?” said Malone.
“She hung around with him. He looked to me like a fat dwarf with a walking stick. Pasty-faced. Didn’t look much the gangster, I’d have to say.”
“Ever talk to him?” asked Minogue.
“No way. Jesus. The glamour is fine at a distance, thank you very much. I found out that he and his brothers are rough customers.”
“That they are, Mr. Kenny. That they are.”
“You also know Bobby Egan then?”
“I know of him, yes.”
Minogue looked over at Malone.
“Wouldn’t want the likes of Bobby Egan on my case, now, hah, Tommy?”
Malone nodded solemnly. Minogue laid his hand on the file folder he had taken from the car.
“Do you know a man called Dermot Ryan, Mr. Kenny?”
“I don’t think so. No. Is he a criminal type?”
“He works as a photographer. ‘Precious Moments’ is his business.”
Minogue paused to observe Kenny’s expression.
“Do you mean in the film business, is it?”
“Not that I know of,” Minogue replied. “I understand he’s much sought after. In a certain sense.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Ah, it’s a long story. It has to do with the Egans. A modelling agency. A shocked wife somewhere. A disgusted fiancee maybe. Photographs. Rackets-no, not squash. Prostitution, I suppose. Protection. Blackmail.”
Minogue slid the photos out face down. Kenny’s eyes stayed on them until Minogue’s stare awoke him.
“Drugs, Mr. Kenny.”
“Sounds awful.”
“Oh, it is.” He nodded at the cell-phone which Malone had parked on the table.
“We’re all in the Big Time here now, Mr. Kenny. Our place in the sun. Standard of living, etcetera.”
Kenny’s eyes seemed to be getting brighter. Minogue waited some more. Kenny was shrewd enough. It wouldn’t be too long before he would realize that outside of the rigours and the all too often dogged procedures of police science, there were no rules of conduct in a murder investigation. It was useless to guess at how much Mary had or hadn’t told Kenny about her own life, how much she had shown him. It was probable that Mary Mullen had lied to him, lied a lot. Kenny mightn’t be in any of the photos.
“Look,” said Kenny, and swallowed. “You’ve been beating about the bush here. Why don’t you just come out and say what you have on your mind. Get all this, I don’t know what to call it, all this crap out in the open.”
Minogue turned over the first photo. Kenny tried to keep his eyes on the Inspector but he couldn’t.
“A rather poor shot,” murmured the Inspector. “But I’m hardly a good judge. I mean to say, what would I know? I’m your sort of suburban type, am I not, Tommy?”
Malone nodded.
“A culchie too?” Malone shrugged.
“Not your fault, boss.”
“Thanks, Tommy. Anyway. The blurry stuff there are clothes, I am told by our imaging experts here. Thrown off rather precipitously I imagine. This was in a place called the Cave. There’s no name on the door now. Do you know it?”
Kenny’s expression didn’t change. Minogue sat back and stretched.
“I bet you’re wondering how it’s done, aren’t you? The actual photography, I mean. Not the actual, well, you know what I mean. The recreation there.”
“Not really.”
“You aren’t? Well, my goodness, I was, I can tell you. I thought of the old Hollywood stuff, of course. The one-way glass masquerading as a mirror and all that. But, sure, fool that I am, I’d look straightaway for something like that. If I were interested in that class of an encounter, I mean. The way I was reared, I suppose. Here, Tommy, what about you?”
“Definitely,” said Malone. “First thing I’d check. Yeah. Be a fool not to.”
“Did you check, Mr. Kenny?”
“What?” snapped Kenny. “I’ve never been to this Cave place in my life.”
“Ah. You know the place then?”
Kenny turned away. Minogue sat up and leaned on the table.
“To make a long story longer now… Those Japanese wizards. Miniaturising everything, I’m told. They’ll soon be making them so small that you won’t even see them. The camera is wrapped in a piece of sponge, slipped in behind a small mirror and hung on the wall. The pictures are all taken remotely. Hardly a peep out of it.”
Kenny didn’t look over. He kept up his study of a corner of the ceiling.
“Don’t know what the colour is like,” Minogue went on. “Very grainy without the flash, I’d say. But sure, who needs colour? Oh, by the way, do you know this fella here in the picture? Just on the off chance, now?”
Kenny didn’t answer.
“No? We don’t either. Yet. We’ve been having a kind of a lottery in the office there since we got hold of these pictures. I have fifty pence on this man here being a Tipperary dairy farmer. No?”
Kenny turned his head. There was a vague suggestion of pity on his face. He looked from Minogue to Malone and back.
“Up for the mart here, I decided. The Spring Show maybe. The wife out shopping in Grafton Street, most likely. Your man had enough of the tractors etcetera early on in the day. He even has the look of a heifer about him. A bullock maybe, though.”
“It’s a good story,” said Kenny. “At another time.”
Minogue put on a startled expression and turned to Malone.
“As a matter of fact-no, it couldn’t be. Could it, Tommy?”
“What?” asked Kenny.
Minogue dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand.
“Couldn’t be. Ah, no! It just struck me that this man bears a passing resemblance to a man we work with… Well, Tommy, what do you think?”
Malone didn’t crack a smile. He half stood and examined the picture.
“Well, the build, maybe…”
“No, couldn’t be,” Minogue declared. “He’s Mayo. I’m forgetting the basics here. It’s the married men are the meat and potatoes of operations like this, Mr. Kenny. If I can use that expression. But you’re not married, so what harm.”
A glaze had fallen over Kenny’s eyes.
“That’s just about enough,” he said. “If you want to talk to me again, phone my solicitor. I’ve sat here long enough. Do you know what my time is worth? I charge-ah, what’s the use. Here I am, doing my best to co-operate with the Guards and what do I get-”
“Twenty years, Mr. Kenny. Probably.”
Kenny’s head tilted to one side. Minogue sat forward in his chair and joined his hands.
“Pardon? What did you just say?”
“You asked me what you could get,” replied Minogue. “Average it out at about twenty years. Depends a bit on the demeanour of the defendant, of course. The posture he takes as regards co-operating with the police.”
Minogue watched the changing expressions cross over Kenny’s face. His jaw began to go from side to side again. When Kenny spoke, his voice was hoarse.
“You know, I’d heard rumours that this was how the Guards worked. Sometimes. When they were stuck. When they were desperate to get someone, anyone, so they could claim they were getting on with a case. I tell you, I used to discount this kind of blatant intimidation. That was probably because I had some faith in cops. I mean, maybe the Guards knew more about the clientele, the background, than the man in the street, like. One thing for sure, though: I never expected that a Guard would try this crap on the likes of me. Some illiterate with a record maybe, someone who didn’t know his rights-sure. But I never imagined that this day would come-”
“ Carpe diem, Mr. Kenny.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Loosely translated, ‘Let’s get going.’ Sort of a way of saying-”
“I know what it means. I want to know what this latest installment of weird and unbelievable-”
Minogue turned to Malone again.
“Tommy. Do you think Eddsy has the pictures?” Malone continued his scrutiny of Kenny’s face.