Behind him, Minogue heard the splash and trickle of Kilmartin’s urine. A soft sigh from Kilmartin. The States, Daithi… what did people his age in the States drink? Cans of beer? Cocktails? Kathleen still considered Parisians snotty. Still. No way in the world would he go for a holiday in the States.
A car drove quickly down the street, heading for Sandymount village. The sharp tattoo of a current pop hit washed over Minogue as the car passed. Kilmartin caught up to him. Minogue had almost forgotten the detective in the shadows by the bus stop. This time he saw the earphone wire snaking up from the coat to the detective’s ear. His trained, indifferent eyes followed Minogue and Kilmartin to their car.
Half-ten. Minogue caved in, and got into the car. Hoey had been dozing. Minogue let the seat back and closed his eyes. September, yes. He had woken up early last week and seen that it was still dark at six o’clock. Ireland is on the same latitude as Hudson Bay… How many days to Christmas now? New Jersey, that was just a suburb of New York- or was it a State in itself?
Gallagher’s voice came softly over the radio. “ Phone call’s over.”
Kilmartin grunted from the back seat. “Jases, how could they find the time to go and get themselves in the family way, these women, and they on the phone half the night?” he grumbled before subsiding into smoky silence again.
Minogue tried to remember the photo of Gibney. A strong, angular face, good looks. An air of assurance, but not the arrogance he had expected. Was this man a killer? Minogue looked all over the face but saw nothing to help him answer the question. Young for his rank, but he’d done it alclass="underline" seven months in Lebanon with the UN, tours of Border duty here on and off for the last five years. Farrell had raised an eyebrow at the mention of Gibney’s father, a retired colonel who counted Major-General O’Tuaime as one of his friends.
Minogue turned his head on the head-rest and opened his eyes. He could see down the footpath to the gates of Gorman’s house.
“Maybe they’re saying the Rosary,” Hoey murmured.
“Hardly knocking back the drink,” agreed Kilmartin in a mordant tone. “Where do you want him, Matt? Up in the Bridewell along with the others?”
Minogue wondered what Gibney would be like when they arrested him. A talker? Would he want to explain things, to defend their cause? Or would he be the loyal soldier? “I don’t mind,” he replied wearily. “We don’t have to book a suite in advance, do we?”
“Front door’s opening.”
The voice belonged to one of the detectives in the van. Minogue ratcheted the seat upright. Hoey turned the radio up higher.
“All units in for the catch now… Over. Everybody in. Gibney’s in the doorway… Gorman too. Make sure that back door’s open… ”
The detective from the bus stop walked briskly by their car.
The voice on the radio was strained now. “ Gorman’s going to the gate with him. They’re taking their time. Very slowly now…”
“No sweat, Danno,” murmured Kilmartin as he leaned his chin on the back of Minogue’s seat. Minogue remembered that Kilmartin had written an anonymous letter to Radio Telifis Eireann complaining about their decision to drop Hawaii Five-O re-runs several years previously.
“If Gibney’s carrying a gun, it’ll be in the car.” Kilmartin kept up the commentary in a murmured monotone. “Farrell should have got one of his wizards to pump the lock on his car out there and get inside it for the gun… They wouldn’t need to be pissing their pants now, I’m telling you…”
“Still talking.”
Minogue didn’t bother to argue with Kilmartin. Farrell hadn’t wanted to give any alert to people in the street, but had put his faith in his own arrest-team.
Kilmartin continued his monologue, directing events: “Aisy-daisy and gently Bentley. Gorman’ll expect two coppers on guard anyway… Let the one walking down the path put it on Gibney, and the two in the car can back him up and get Gorman out of the action…”
Minogue imagined the other detectives converging on the two men at the front gate; coming around the side of the house, behind the hedge…
“Come on now, boys and girls,” murmured Kilmartin in a nursery-school sing-song. “Step up to the citizen and make the arrest. Just like in training…”
“Shaking hands. Gibney’s opening the gate.”
“How far is Gibney’s car down the street, again?” Minogue asked.
“Four or five cars down, sir,” said Hoey. “He has to pass the two doing guard duty in the car.”
The detective who had walked from the bus stop slowed his pace. Wants Gibney through the gate so Gorman’s on the other side of it, Minogue thought. Good training: Gorman could be taken by the detectives who were coming from the side garden. Minogue pressed his head against the glass to see further down the street.
“Get your big head outa me light, would you?” said Kilmartin.
The detective had slowed almost to a halt. If he stops to tie his shoelace that’ll be a television cop, Minogue thought wryly. Ahead of the detective Minogue saw a figure step out on to the path. Gibney.
Gibney stood facing the house as he drew the gate closed. The detective picked up his pace again. Further down the road Minogue saw a car door opening. He could not see the driver’s side of the car. He heard a clink as the handle of the gate slipped home. Gibney paused before turning toward his car. It’s as if he’s trying to remember something, Minogue thought neutrally.
“He’s not moving… Wait, Gorman’s saying something to our two men… ”
“Jesus,” Kilmartin exclaimed by Minogue’s ear, “Gorman’s saying good-night to them, or some bloody nonsense. He’s going to notice the two are not regulars on this shift! Close in and nab Gibney, can’t ye, before he makes them too, for fuck’s sakes!”
Minogue watched Gibney’s head turn back toward the detective on the footpath. The detective had his pistol out, and he was holding it slightly behind his backside as he advanced on Gibney. There couldn’t be more than ten or twelve feet between them now, Minogue guessed. Gorman’s upper body appeared in view then, leaning over the waist-high gate as he addressed the two detectives who were getting out of the car. Somewhere behind the thoughts of an observing, detached Minogue an alarm was going off. Gorman was in the way: there were two concrete pillars to which the gates were anchored…
The detective had seen it too. He faltered. Gorman leaned further over the gate to see around the pillar. Someone began shouting. Too early yet, Minogue’s mind roared. Have to get around Gorman. Where are the rest of them? Gibney had his hand under his jacket even before Minogue’s mind could scream: Gibney knows, he knows now!
“Jesus!” Kilmartin cried. “They’ve no angle, with Gorman like that!”
The detective crouched and brought the pistol around in one smooth motion. Minogue did not see the flash. The shot popped like a stone dropped straight into deep water. Gibney had a gun out and was backing on to the gate. Someone was shouting Gorman’s name.
“ We have the house, we have the house!” the voice on the radio shouted.
Minogue saw a flash from Gibney’s gun. He shouted for Kilmartin and Hoey to get on the floor and banged his ear as he threw himself across the seat into Hoey’s lap. Hoey had the door open already: he reached out on to the roadway and rolled from the car. Kilmartin was tugging at the back door release and swearing. Minogue kicked off against his own door and landed beside Hoey on the roadway. More shots sounded, louder now. Somebody screamed inside the house just as Kilmartin came out of the back door, on his hands and knees. Minogue heard footsteps racing down the footpath opposite.