Minogue looked at the streetlamps over the causeway and the darkness beyond.
“If he knows his stuff he’s not going down there,” said Malone.
Minogue saw the pedestrian light flashing ahead. This light must have been green for a good long while. The van would have been flying through, making for streets he knew. A straight road ahead, with plenty of streets to turn into now. “Go then,” he said. Malone floored the pedal as the light changed.
“This shitbox, I’m telling you…” Malone said.
“Control to Mazurka. Over?”
“Oh-oh,” said Malone and jammed it into fourth again “That was fast. We’re on the air now.”
Minogue wondered if Tynan himself had made the call. He glanced over at Malone. His colleague shook his head once and swore.
“Mazurka here,” Minogue said. “Go ahead, Control. Over. ”
“You have three units dispatched for your assistance, Mazurka. Over. ”
He eyed the map again.
“All right. Get them to call in and give location, if you please. Over.”
Malone dithered as Minogue asked for one patrol car to come out the Howth Road from Fairview. Alpha Bravo Two had what sounded like a Corkman handling the radio. They were coming out of Raheny. Minogue repeated the registration number of the van.
He waited for the third car to confirm. it was turned around on the Howth Road by Killester. The bus ahead pulled out from the stop. Two, three sets of headlights were closing the distance from the city end.
“Ah, not this!” Malone shouted. “I can’t… Now we’re bollocksed for sure…”
“Pull in there,” said Minogue. “Ask that oul lad with the dog if he saw it.”
The Opel slid before it came to a stop, and the front wheel bounced off the curb. Malone rolled down his window as two cars passed. Minogue leaned down to see the man better. The poodle had a tartan jacket.
“Did a white van come flying by here,” Malone asked. “Going like hell?”
The streetlamps caught the man’s glasses. Seventies, Minogue guessed. He put his hand to his ear. Another car passed between them. The fine spray landed on Minogue’s face too.
“A van,” Malone shouted. “A white van going like bejases?”
The man shook his head.
“Are you sure?”
A few nods of the head. The shrugs didn’t help.
“The fucking bastard,” said Malone. “He did it. He fucking did it.”
He looked down at the map, and followed the lines with his finger.
“He could go around the corner there and head back out. Ah jases!”
Minogue turned. A steady row of headlights filled the rear window now. A car pulled out from behind them. The driver looked across with a raised eyebrow as it passed. Minogue decided he could at least have one of the squad cars roll down Vernon Avenue.
“Mazurka to Control,” said Minogue. “Over.”
He wondered if Tynan was listening in to the radio traffic. The driver would hear it anyway.
“Go ahead, Mazurka. Over.”
“Put the van out to all units, if you please.”
“North and south, Mazurka?”
“The both, yes. He’s done a bunk on us for the moment. Over.”
Malone drove the Opel up onto the footpath. The tilt made Minogue lean on his door. The two policemen listened to the radio traffic, the desultory reports from the squad cars trolling the area. A car going along Dorset Street called in inquiring the number of the van again.
Malone said nothing. He began a slow tattoo with the knuckle of his forefinger against the window, shifting several times and tugging at his jacket.
Minogue switched off the light and rolled down the window. The smell of seaweed was stronger. He heard lapping against the seawall.
“We’re fucked, aren’t we,” said Malone. Minogue rolled up the window again. He held the map up, turned it to face the streetlamp.
“Well?”
He held his thumb and forefinger on the scale and then tried to measure.
“We’re waiting, Tommy, that’s what we’re doing. Waiting.”
He’d been out here maybe twice in the past twenty years. That uncle of Kathleen’s: Tony. Heart attack at fifty-eight; nearly twenty stone when he dropped dead on the floor. Got up to switch stations when his team were getting hammered in the FA Cup one year.
“Let’s bring Daly in then,” said Malone, “and take bits off him. ”
“Soon enough,” Minogue said.
“How soon?”
“We’re full of holes still, until this van turns up.”
“Come on now, boss. Put this Halloran in the blender, at least.”
Minogue held the map up to the window.
“You and Jimmy,” he murmured. “Twins, you are, but born a generation apart. A miracle entirely.”
“Well what’s your suggestion then?”
Minogue put down the map again. He radioed the Raheny car.
“The causeway,” came the Cork accent from Alpha Bravo Two. “Next to St Anne’s? Over.”
“That’s it. Station yourselves there and keep us up on it. Over. ”
“Are we conducting here, Mazurka, or just roosting? Over.”
“Sit tight for now. You’ll have company there if we can’t turn up the van. He might abandon it down there on the island or that. Anything coming or going down that bit of road, you open it.”
Malone ran the wipers. The grit scratched even with the fluid going constantly.
“Go down there to Dollymount, Tommy. The other bridge there.”
“And park it?”
“For now, yes.”
Malone drove off the footpath without slowing. He slowed a little as they passed the Dollymount Inn to eye the car park. No van there. He turned onto the bridge and stopped at the red light. The streetlamps from the Clontarf Road behind shivered on the waters of the channel below. Minogue rolled down the window to get a better look at four cars parked by the cottages attached to the old coast guard station. To Malone’s side the lights of the city docks and Liffey Basin shone yellow and white over the blackness by the side of the road.
The light changed. Malone took it slowly. Minogue didn’t remember the bridge being this long.
“Park it awhile, Tommy.”
Minogue radioed their location to the squad cars. The car from Fairview had reached Clontarf. No van. Minogue told them to go around Castle Avenue and come back by Vernon Avenue.
The breezes came in short gusts around the car now. The road ahead was empty.
“You might get fellas coming and going to the clubhouse,” said Malone. “Gargle and that. Couples coming down for a wear maybe. In their cars, like.”
Minogue shoved his hands in his coat pockets. The strap around his shoulder began to bite again. Prickly heat under the leather. He shuffled in his seat, tried to move the lump under his arm better. The strap pulled at the hairs in his armpit.
“Enough of this,” he said “Damn it to hell. I’m crucified with this thing.”
He slid the pistol out and laid it on the floor.
“Ah, Jases, come on, will you? Don’t leave it there, boss. You’ll forget it and it’ll be robbed. Or you’ll kick it and shoot someone’s shagging foot off. Like mine.”
Minogue held back the retort. They listened to a two way about a hit and run in Drumcondra.
“How long more?”
“How long more what?”
“Until we get out of here and start trying to pick up the bits? Until you make the call on Daly? Until we start pushing?”
Minogue was not surprised to feel almost indifferent. Sitting here listening to the wind rising, the dull lisp of the tide: not such a bad prospect at all. “Look,” said Malone. “Is this guy going to drive onto Bull Island and sit there until the morning? You can’t swim off it, and you can’t walk off it or drive off it without coming this bridge or the other one. It’s a no-go here, boss. Come on, park one of those patrol cars here and let’s get back to civilization there.”