"And what with Jimmy Kilmartin laid up for a while and him forever singing your praises, sure the promotion is long overdue. Mr O'Reilly brings the Minister's commendations."
Not a word from O'Reilly, just a watchful interest. Minogue knew O'Reilly from two telephone calls and a curt letter received the morning after the shooting. It was O'Reilly who was to do the lecturing, apparently.
"… Goes without saying that this was a shocking crime, Sergeant. But as the Commissioner had pointed out, we are fully behind you and the Special Branch officers who assisted you in this matter. The Minister has expressed, his whole-hearted commendation and a recommendation for your promotion."
God Almighty's jovial expression faltered but slightly when Minogue finally balked.
"It's very likely that the State could charge and convict Murray on first-degree murder in the deaths of Arthur Combs and Tim Costello," Minogue said mildly.
To his credit, O'Reilly didn't duck.
"If your assumptions are accurate, yes."
"But how close are you, Matt?" the Commissioner asked blithely to drive home what O'Reilly would be delivering presently.
"Well, we're stuck. They're holding to the business about Combs. They've sent dental records and everything. The package looks watertight. They insist the fella we're talking about was drowned in Lisbon under mysterious circumstances in 1946," replied Minogue.
"It was all a long time ago to be sure," said the Commissioner. "God knows what kind of tricks and twists they got up to during the war, that crowd. That's how they treat their own, I suppose. A great argument for Irish neutrality, wouldn't you say, Mr O'Reilly?"
O'Reilly ignored the mild jibe. Minogue was not ready to give in yet.
"And Costello?" he said.
"Oh, right, him," said the Commissioner. O'Reilly looked quizzically at Minogue.
"I don't need to remind you that we're all bound by the rules of disclosure and confidentiality we signed when we became public servants. Let me put it to you like this, Sergeant. Costello was killed by unknown assailants-"
"— a known professional assailant, you mean," Minogue interrupted.
"That's not clear at all, Sergeant. Costello had made a lot of enemies, it's safe to say. Oddly, Costello has become useful to the cause of peace and security here. And you're forgetting that Costello was killed outside the jurisdiction of the State. A productive outcome, I think," O'Reilly continued.
"Anyone ask Costello if he wanted to be such an altruist, posthumously?"
"Costello was rabid, Sergeant. He lived and died by the gun. I'm surprised to hear you taking his part so steadfastly after your experiences with his ilk," O'Reilly replied without any reprimand that Minogue could detect. O'Reilly wasn't to be baited without showing some of his own sharp tongue, apparently.
Minogue saw God Almighty rub a knuckle to his nose and nod once. Tidy, ironic, almost funny about Costello: more use to us dead than he ever was alive. And Combs? Minogue returned O'Reilly's unblinking gaze. He wanted to inquire as to how the British had reacted when the photocopies of Combs' notes were laid on the table. He would not give the two men the satisfaction of asking.
"Both you and Inspector Corrigan demonstrated great foresight," O'Reilly said.
Both you and Inspector Corrigan, Minogue repeated within. Pat Corrigan running with the envelope, looking for the highest rank he could find from the dozens of policemen converging on the train station. Like a grenade he wanted to rid of.
"And another thing, Matt," the Commissioner broke in. "Nobody walks around the streets in this country waving a gun about. Not a fancy embassy attache or whatever they want to call this Murray. Not the Queen of England, for that matter. This is a democracy. I can tell you in all candour that it wouldn't have caused a stir here if Pat Corrigan had popped him for good."
He looked for bloodthirsty corroboration to O'Reilly.
"And like I said to Mr O'Reilly, I want the embassy and their bosses back in London to take note of your promotion, that we have nothing to be ashamed about. We held our end up here, so we did."
O'Reilly nodded once at that. Minogue almost gave up then. He didn't care to know how much of an edge the dossier had given anyone at the security conference.
"Definitely," O'Reilly added. "Not alone that, but your good work allowed the Taoiseach to send a strongly worded statement to the British Prime Minister."
"But what could he say to her, Mr O'Reilly?"
"I can disclose that he said he fully expected her to ensure that the embassy in Dublin was not to be used as a base for any covert operations of any description in this country."
In this country… the phrase echoed for several moments.
"In the Combs' case, one of theirs went astray-"
"One of ours," Minogue said. "Combs lived here. This was his home. People liked him. Did ye look at his drawings? Then tell me he was 'one of theirs.'"
"Ah now, Matt," the Commissioner interceded. "It's just phraseology. In a manner of speaking, like. Let's say that this wasn't Combs' home turf."
"But Tim Costello was one of ours?" Minogue had said then.
Kilmartin roused Minogue from his brooding when he began laughing at some recollection.
"Didn't the pair of them persuade you how much you had done for the greater good of the country, Matt? I heard the phrase uttered in this very room."
Minogue didn't answer.
"Here, we should have something to be celebrating your lad's exams. Cheer up, man."
"He's not certain until the results come out, Jimmy. He just said that he did great because the questions he had studied had come up."
"Sure that's life itself, isn't it, Matt? You answer the questions that come up, not the blather that the philosophers do be cooking up in their heads and all the rest of it. Iijits… Grandstanding a bit, aren't you, Matt? Wearing your morals on your sleeve. Take the bloody promotion and don't be so damned upright."
Minogue was astonished. Jimmy Kilmartin being so pointed? Quite without warning, Minogue began to laugh himself. The sourness which had occupied his thoughts began to ease. Kilmartin was eying him with cautious amusement.
"You might have something there," Minogue allowed. "Bumptious. Still, the nerve of you to be talking to me like that. What's come over you?"
"Well, for one thing I don't have to get a twist in me gut every time I see you and think to myself that Matt Minogue should have my rank. You're over-moral, man dear. You'd be surprised how clear things get and you lying here on your back all day. All the things you should have done, could have said. You know yourself, I suppose. They'll never admit to having Costello bumped off. Poor Combs either-Grimes, I mean."
"But couldn't we have demanded Murray? He committed crimes in our jurisdiction. Even the chance to question him. He was on the plane and in a London hospital before tea-time."
Kilmartin snorted dismissively.
"'Diplomat' my arse. I agree with you. In the abstract, of course. It was all part of a trade. You know that. They were on the blower very rapid after news of the escapade hit London. They say he's still on the critical list, Murray-"
"He was shot through the lung and that was the worst of it," Minogue protested. "Moore was the worse off with being shot in the back, but did you hear him complaining? They just want us to forget we ever had a chance to talk to Murray."
"All right, Matt. But don't be a gobshite. The deal is done. Go home and tell your wife that she's married to a man who routinely scares the wits out of his superiors."
Hugh Robertson was smoking one of his rare cigarettes in the restaurant. Kenyon watched the ceremony vacantly. Robertson searching as though he had forgotten which pocket held the cigarette case. Drawing one out, tapping both ends of the plain cigarette on the tablecloth. Searching for minute pieces of the dark tobacco before brushing them off the table. He offered Kenyon one, then lit his own and inhaled. The cigarette smelled of Turkish tobacco. Kenyon guessed they were hand-rolled in a specialty shop in the City.