He bought a cake with icing and a wafery thing on top. He was cautioned, as he took his change, to carry it upright. He took the Garda notice off the dash, returned the glares of two skinheads with a grin and drove down the quays toward Islandbridge.
Hoey was back from the wilds of Stepaside, waiting for him. He drew up a chair and sat by Minogue's desk.
"Keep your eyes off a the cake, Shea. It's spoken for," he murmured as he brought out the file from his drawer. "Now, aside from entertainment value, what of those three clowns, the Mulvaneys?" Minogue began.
"Pat Keating's on his way into town. He had an hour and a half with them. They have two people to vouch for them that night and nearly into Sunday morning, too. Playing cards and drinking. It's well for them that don't have to work for a living."
"Saturday night. They claim that Combs was provoking them with a remarks about the North and stuff like that. 'He called the lads cornerboys and scum,' " Hoey quoted from his notes.
"More luck to him for saying it," said Minogue without rancour. "Any of the three strike you as capable of doing something like a murder?"
Hoey shrugged.
"We interviewed them separately, sir. I suppose that Shag could be belligerent. But if the chips were down, though, they'd be mice, the whole pack of them. Shag was the one who went on about the homo bit. The other two didn't mention it."
"Homo?"
"Said it was common knowledge that Mr Combs was homosexual."
Minogue wondered if this devious Mulvaney was leading policemen down the garden path. Shag
Mulvaney wasn't one to care a whit about a man's reputation if it could be turned to advantage in making ujits out of the Gardai.
"They stayed in the pub after Combs left. All of them. Around nine, Combs left. The Mulvaneys were drinking goodo until closing time."
"Hmm. Say ten minutes for Mr Combs to get the car started and get back to his house. Nine fifteen," Minogue murmured. "Consistent with the pathology estimate…"
Hoey nodded.
"And you checked out their bona fides that night?" Minogue asked.
"Yes, sir. They were in a house the Sandyford end of Barnacullia. House owned and occupied by one Eoin Reilly and family. Reilly goes by the name of Chop. He is well known in the area. He's not a criminal. Reilly gives Shag and The Bronc occasional work as labourers at quarrying or as mason's helpers."
Hoey went on to give Minogue the gist of his own interview with Shag. Minogue half-listened. He hoped that Keating had more than this. Each of the brothers had signed statements accounting for themselves on the Saturday evening.
"What about that mountain of junk around their house? The shed?"
"We had over three hours while they were at the station, sir. Nothing. The boys went through the place good and thorough," Hoey said, not bothering to conceal his weariness.
Curly, Byronic Keating shambled in by Bills' desk. He saw Hoey and Minogue. He looked at his watch as if to stave off the four o'clock meeting. Minogue read the gesture to mean that Keating had nothing better than Hoey. Chasing after straws. As he passed the smoking Eilis, Keating confided what Minogue guessed was a remark with amorous overtones to her. With the expression of a tired croupier who was used to impoverished amateurs, Eilis batted her eyes but once at Keating before smiting him.
"Come back when you're grown up, Pat Keating."
Minogue held up his hand. Hoey stopped reciting.
"Lads. Get yourselves tea or something. There'll be a briefing in ten minutes," Minogue said sharply.
He watched the two detectives leave. Jimmy would have been proud of me, he thought, laying down the law. He had admitted to himself that the first stages of the investigation and the concomitant up-down of the detectives' hopes were played out now. Hoey, more experienced than Keating, had been more circumspect, knowing not to raise false hopes. It was now necessary to make a break with expectations of a quick and ready resolution and get down to slogging over details.
Minogue ruminated again on Shag's declaration that Combs was homosexual. Bad enough that Combs had called the IRA "heroes" in a tone that even the Mulvaneys could detect was sarcastic, but to be a nancy-boy. He looked up to find Eilis by his desk. Behind her were three of the Gardai Minogue had met that morning.
"Well lads, four o'clock is it? Will ye go with Eilis here and I'll be in, in a minute?" spacebarthing
By five o'clock Minogue understood that the murder of Mr Combs would stay an enigma for some time today and tonight and tomorrow. And probably the day after that, too. He wished Murtagh would stop talking. Murtagh had very bad breath indeed. Murphy's Law had Murtagh unconsciously edging closer to Minogue as Minogue drew back from the rancid smell. Minogue had to give up before being trapped against the wall. He was now breathing through his mouth.
"Malone says it has to be new boys," Murtagh was saying. Malone had an alibi. He had been in bed with his brother's wife in Inchicore. His brother was doing time for car theft.
"Malone's all right for Saturday and Sunday. He's of the opinion that only lunatics would do a house on a Saturday night. He says drugs."
"Very helpful of him," said Minogue wearily. "He means city thugs, I suppose."
"That's the gist of it, I think-"
"Local though," Minogue interrupted. "Someone local had to hear about or know about Combs. Knew he lived alone, might have a few shillings around the house. Has to be local."
"There's the Mulvaneys, sir. Their stories might leak yet," Murtagh tried to inject some enthusiasm. "And some fellas in or around Sandyford used to do houses. Stepaside are doing them now. I have the names here…"
Minogue copied four names.
"Wait a minute, sir. Sorry. Driscoll says the last one, that Molloy, he's in England since Christmas. Nix him…"
"And was it yourself that got the statements off the neighbours?"
"Yes, sir. Me and Driscoll. Driscoll and I, yes."
"There's the matter of Mr Combs' sexual orientation we can't be ignoring," said Minogue.
He saw weary curiosity in all the faces save Keating's. Keating was chewing the end of his pencil. The lead didn't seem to be affecting his brain yet. He stretched one arm out in search of additional comfort to prolong his slouch. Minogue addressed Murtagh.
"Sean. We need photos of Mr Combs; get personnel to go to various pubs with them. I mean pubs where gay people go."
Murtagh rubbed at his nose.
"Do you know which ones I'm talking about?"
Keating couldn't contain his smile any longer.
"Like the back of your hand, Seanie, am I right?" he said. One of the district detectives laughed aloud.
"Fuck you and all belonging to you, Pat Keating," said a blushing Murtagh. "I'll put money that it's your name and number I'll find on the wall of the jacks in that class of pub. And the price listed, too."
More laughter.
"We may be looking for a young lad who turned turk on Mr Combs after a pick-up, don't you know," said Minogue. Murtagh nodded solemnly. Minogue saw Hoey look at his watch again. Taking the hint, he delegated to Hoey the task of going to Stepaside station the next morning to co-ordinate the second interviews both in Kilternan and in Glencullen.