“There’s another one,” he heard one of them, a boy with protruding ribs and shoulder-blades and a Spurs shirt wrapped around his waist, call out.
“There’s a squad car anyway,” said Malone.
The boys followed the Nissan to a house where the squad car was parked. A small crowd, mostly children, had gathered at the gate. The house had been split into two flats. Minogue stepped up the pitted concrete steps to the open door. Already he could smell perfume. A Guard was coming down the stairs sideways from the flat above. Minogue introduced himself. The Guard headed back up the stairs, the wet patch on his shirt shifting from side to side as he ascended. Minogue thought at first that the flat must have been a chemist’s shop or a beauty parlour. The floor was littered with hair spray cans and tubes, nail polish containers, mascara brushes and shampoo.
A woman with short, stiff, black hair was talking with another Guard. She had a pale face and dark eyelashes. Minogue glanced at her before picking his way through the mess on the floor to peek into the other rooms. A tiny kitchenette similarly wrecked, the fridge door still open, the cupboards emptied onto the floor. Both bedrooms had been turned upside down. Minogue made his way back to the Guard.
“How’s the man. Listen, has she mentioned the flatmate?”
“She hasn’t. We got the word to hold fire until you showed.”
Minogue looked around at his feet. The perfume stung high up in his nose.
“What kind of a place is this anyway?”
“This one worked as a hairdresser. She was always trying out new stuff, she says. Jases. I have two young ones at home and they’re just starting off on this stuff. ‘Da, I have to get this,’ ‘Da, everyone wears it this way now.’ Jases. Is this what’s in store for me too?”
Another Guard came to the doorway and gestured to Minogue.
Minogue turned back to the first Guard.
“Do you know this house for anything before?”
The Guard shook his head.
“But she looks like a tough enough young one to me. Been around, like.”
Minogue negotiated his way over the litter. Patricia Fahy was still talking to the second Guard. The Guard nodded at Minogue, folded his notebook and tiptoed around to the door.
“Hello,” Minogue said to her. “My colleague Detective Malone. I’m Inspector Minogue. Matt Minogue.”
Patricia Fahy stood with her arms folded. She kept flicking her cigarette.
“Are yous with them, then?”
“No, we’re not,” replied Minogue. Her face seemed to lift a little. “We were notified when you called in to report the burglary.”
“Burglary?” She spoke with more humour than disdain. “Jases, more like a demolition squad.”
She took a long pull of the cigarette. It came away from her lips with a soft pop.
“So, what are yous going to do about it?”
“We’ll do our utmost.”
She squinted into the glare from the window. On her shoulder by a strap of her top, Minogue spotted a tattoo of a butterfly. The sun glinted off the jewellery in her nose.
“Goes to show you, doesn’t it,” she said. “I mean to say we’re the ones out working and trying to pay our bleeding way and lookit! Rob you blind, so they would.”
Some memory slid around in Minogue’s thoughts: Iseult at fourteen, eying him after saying something provocative. She was staring at Malone now.
“Jases,” she declared. “I seen you before. You’re not a Guard. I know you. Remember? With Jacko and Eileen and…? Down in Sheehan’s pub? It’s you, is’n it?”
Malone bit his lip.
“No. Wasn’t me.”
Her face twisted up in a sneer of disbelief.
“Bleeding sure it was you! You ended up in the nick too, if I remember. What’s that?”
Malone let her take his card. She turned it over, brought it up close, scraped it with her nail.
“Well, it looks like you. Is this a joke or something?”
“What time were you home last night?” asked Minogue.
“Home here? I wasn’t. I was with me fella. We were over at his place.”
“You came home from work yesterday and…?”
She engaged his look for several seconds.
“What?”
“Was Mary home yesterday?” Minogue asked.
“No.”
She drew on the cigarette again and squinted through the smoke at Minogue.
“Not at all?”
“What’s all this about Mary?”
The cigarette was shaking now, Minogue noted.
“What’s going on here? Yous aren’t here just because the place got broken into, are you?”
“When did you see her last then?” asked Malone.
“Day before yesterday. Why?”
“She doesn’t spend all of her time here, you’re saying,” Minogue tried.
“I’m not saying anything. What’s all this about? Who are yous?”
Something in Minogue’s expression made her frown. She turned to Malone with words framed on her lips, but none came. Minogue waited until her eyes came back to his. She backed away from him.
“No way,” she whispered. She pointed at Malone. “You’re trying to set me up or something! But I seen you before, I remember you! Yous are trying to pin something on Mary!”
Minogue shifted his stance.
“Why would we want to do that?”
“Oh there you go now! Now you’re starting!”
“Why?”
“Just because once she was…”
She didn’t finish. She let the smoke curl up from her open mouth and she stared at Malone.
“And you,” she said. “I don’t know what’s going on, but it stinks.”
“You’ve got it wrong,” said Malone.
“Liar,” she murmured. “You’re trying to screw me with something here. It won’t work, ’cause I know what I know. I remember your face, and I remember you bragging about being a hard chaw-yeah, you were into drugs-”
“That was me brother.”
Malone rubbed his nose and looked around the room. She stuck her head out.
“Your brother?”
“That’s what I said, yeah.” Malone kept biting his lip. “Me brother. We’re twins.”
She started to smile but couldn’t manage it.
“This is bleeding ridiculous! Jesus. I never heard that one before, so I didn’t.”
“I have some bad news for you, Miss Fahy,” said Minogue.
She turned back to Minogue and gave a short breathless guffaw. He stared into her eyes and watched the disdain slide off her face. Now when she blinked she seemed to have trouble raising her eyelids again.
“What are you telling me?”
A droplet fell from Minogue’s armpit. The stench of spilled and punctured cosmetic containers had made him groggy. His fingertips came away slick from his forehead.
“Mary is dead. We need your help, Miss Fahy.”
Her nostrils flared and she dropped her head. Malone stepped across to her. She jerked her head up but her eyes stayed shut. Tears ran sideways across her cheeks and her stomach began to shudder. Malone reached around her waist. Her sobs gave way to short squeals.
“You’re all right,” said Malone.
The stink of smoke and beer from the open doors of the pubs seemed to follow him down the street. The burger and chips he had downed a half an hour back had formed a greasy lump in the bottom of his stomach. The joint had worn off. He had a pain in his back. He was thirsty again. That moron Jammy didn’t know the half of what he could do. Mister Straight. Never taken a chance in his life.
The air around him seemed to be thick and smelly and he couldn’t escape it. He watched the buildings quiver above the traffic. He had one joint and a bluey left in his pocket. If he dropped the bluey now, he’d get Jammy Tierney’s face out of his brain. Junkie: he couldn’t get the word out of his head. Bastard. He should’ve given Jammy a dig for that, no matter if he got a hiding in return. Show him he still had his self-respect. He looked over the stalled traffic and spotted a bus.
Three business types with their jackets held over their shoulders came down the steps of a new office building. The office had those green windows you couldn’t see in. Laughing about something, with their ties loosened, like they were models in an ad. They stopped at the bottom of the steps and he heard their southside accents. See you in Hogans tonight maybe, Jonathan? One of them had a bag with the handle of a racquet sticking out. Some of them played squash instead of eating their dinner, he knew. Some day’s work. Work? Banging on a computer once in a while, playing with bits of paper and phones. Christ. He stopped and looked back at them. What did Mary say about them? They picked up a phone and made money, that’s how it was. Just picked up a phone. As if money were made by magic, down the end of a phone or on a bloody computer screen. Wheeler-dealers. One set of rules for them and a different set for everyone else. They had the inside track all right, just knowing where everything was going down and when.