A corridor leading out from the main office led to a short hall that was chicaned by a photocopier and a newish vertical file folder. Wall’s small tics seemed to be more apparent as he walked: straightening his jacket, gently tugging his shirt collar, spreading his fingers over the knot of his tie. The communications room door was open and Minogue got a glimpse of a uniformed Guard with his headset, stretching. Somebody had farted here recently. Wall pulled the communications room door closed and he approached the first of three doors. He turned and nodded at Minogue and then opened the door.
Minogue waited until the uniform left the room, and then he entered.
Twomey’s face was pale and he frowned so much it looked like a permanent grimace. He kept eye contact with Wall as the detective moved two chairs.
“You’ve decided to help us with our inquiries then,” said Wall.
“Are you bleeding joking me?”
“No, I’m not. Merely inquiring.”
“Those two cops, the two Guards, at the house said I was under arrest. That’s against my rights. No bleeding way am I here voluntarily, I can tell you.”
Dublin accent, Minogue reflected, but not one that would scrape your eardrums. He was already storing impressions: acne; sweat by his hair; a smoker; trying to look confident and much put upon; fidgety. Scared.
He wondered if he were looking at the man who had killed Tadeusz Klos.
“What size of a shoe do you wear,” he said, staring at Twomey.
“Shoe? What are you talking about shoes for? Jases. Shoes?”
There had been no give, Minogue realized.
“Eleven, I’m guessing.”
“Who are you, exactly?”
“I’m a Garda detective,” said Minogue.
“That’s nice. But how do I know? I need to see some ID, don’t I?”
Minogue downed the tea and then the clipboard and pulled out his wallet.
“You look different than your picture.”
“Better or worse, would you say?”
“I’m not going after that one. As a matter of fact I’m not saying nothing to neither of yous. Talk to my lawyer.”
“Your counsel.”
“Lawyer, whatever.”
“What’s your counsel’s name?”
“Legal Aid, whatever. Whoever. When I make my phone call.”
“What phone call?”
“Don’t try that one. Everyone gets a phone call. Basic democratic rights.”
Minogue wrote the date on his clipboard. He opened the drawer and took out the microphones and placed them within arm’s reach. Stretching his arm, his sleeve slid up, and he saw four o’clock on his infallible wedding anniversary watch.
Minogue ejected the tape, looked it over, and slid it back in again. He closed the lid on it and cued it, and then he hit Record and Pause.
“You’re wasting your time with that,” said Twomey, “I’ve nothing to say.”
“So you were saying.”
Minogue looked up to the corner of the ceiling where the Plexiglas covered the camera.
“You know what that is up there?”
“Of course I do. But you won’t be needing it.”
“It’s to help safeguard your rights, Mr. Twomey.”
“I want my phone call.”
“Detective Wall and I have some questions for you. Detective Wall will start, I believe.”
Twomey folded his arms, slouched deeper in the seat, and looked away.
“We have a sworn statement from a person who was with you on the night of the fourteenth of this month,” said Wall, “so be aware that we already have information concerning your actions that evening.”
Both detectives waited for a reaction. Minogue sipped at his tea and glanced down at the tape travelling through the spools.
“You were on Amiens Street, at eleven p.m. or thereabouts in the company of three other parties — people. Do you dispute that or can you confirm that for me?”
Minogue held the mug close to his mouth and watched Twomey’s face.
“Do you dispute the statement that says you were in possession of cannabis resin that evening? Furthermore, that you were trafficking in same?”
“Lawyer,” said Twomey.
“You’re aware of the penalties for drug trafficking, Mr. Twomey?”
“Lawyer,” he said, “phone call.”
“And you’re aware that a search warrant has been executed on your home, your family home, looking for evidence of this and further crimes?”
Twomey pursed his lips, drew in a deep breath and let it out noisily through his nose. Then he crossed his legs at the ankle and started studying his shoes.
“You may want to consider what forensic science can learn from even the most minute items,” said Wall.
“My nute?” Twomey asked.
“Small,” said Wall. “Tiny.”
Wall exchanged a glance with Minogue.
“These drug charges are a start,” he said to Twomey then. “We’ll move on to child exploitation. Do you know what the age of consent is?”
“Lawyer,” said Twomey and sighed, “phone call.”
Minogue shifted in his seat. Wall took the hint and he sat back. Minogue let the quiet last. Twomey looked up after a count of twelve.
“So can I go now?”
“You can stop the performance,” said Minogue, “if that’s what you mean.” “Good cop, bad cop? I get it.” “You got your caution when you were arrested,” Minogue said. “Fine and well if you want to play the sound citizen. You’ll get your counsel. But as for ‘my phone call’ you’ll only get that on the telly.”
“I can sue you for this.”
“Sue all you like. You have that on tape too. You’ll have plenty of time on your hands to start your career as a hob lawyer.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Me,” Minogue said. “I’m going to talk some more. You can listen or not.”
“I don’t need to be here to listen to you talking. So let me go.”
“You’re under arrest, Mr. Twomey.”
“If I’m under arrest I want a phone call. Not to listen to you talk, or threaten me.”
“What I’m giving you is information. Your paranoia’s your own business.”
“You have nothing, you’re just trying to-”
“-First thing is, we’re not in a play here. Nobody’s acting here, except you. Nobody’s trying to cod you, or put one over on you.”
“Will Santy Claus be coming soon? With toys…?”
“We have plenty to do instead of listening to you, whinging about your rights. My job here is — was for many years — murder investigations. That’s why I’m here. I think you need to know that.”
Minogue mentally checked off a few signals from Twomey: the gaze stayed up to a corner of the ceiling, the forced attempt to stillness, the swallow.
“I’m assuming that you’re listening and understanding. Will Detective Wall confirm that?”
Wall sat up a little and turned toward one of the microphones.
“Mr. Twomey is alert and can hear my colleagues’ words.”
“You need to know that this is about you going to jail for drug offences and exploitation of a minor. There won’t be bail. Your pals are going to drop you like lightning. You’re going to get slagged something fierce for going out with a fourteen-year-old child. There are people who really despise that to the point they’d want to show you in no uncertain terms. You might meet these people. You might hope and pray that the likes of me are there to protect you.”
“Child,” muttered Twomey, “what do you know about ‘child’? Christ.”
“Who cares what I know? What does the law say? We interviewed your girlfriend today. Two hours ago.”
“And you believe what she says?”
“Let the court decide. To me, it’s evidence.”
“Not if you treated her like you’re treating me. Refusing me my rights here. That’d be thrown out.”
“Well now,” said Minogue and sat back, “you’re just full of bad ideas here.”
“It’s the company I’m keeping,” said Twomey, with a sniff.
“You’re determined to be your own worst enemy with your lawyer. I’ll let you in on a few details then.”