by John Brady
Minogue let his eyes roam the narrow street ahead. A street lamp came on. Already? An image came with it, one of a man too weak and too dazed to escape the plunging rock that ended his life.
He stopped at the bottom of the steps.
“Thanks,” he said. “For indulging us. Very civilized entirely.”
“Any time,” said Donegan. “I hope there’s more meetings like that, by God.”
Their scuffing footfalls receded. Malone surveyed the end of the street.
“Well I reckon we got off on the right foot,” Minogue said.
“Well nobody threw any punches. You notice they were on to the Sister Act, what’s her name again. I’d say they heard that she got to Tynan.”
He made a twirling motion by his head.
“Is she really, you know, like he said, a bit off her head?”
“Well like the saying goes, she was out on the missions.”
“‘Out on the missions’?”
“They’re different when they come back. Priests, brothers, nuns – they change out there. So they don’t fit, not easily anyway, when they get home. Anyway: I have another job for you. When you’re ready.”
“Well Christmas is around the corner, yeah? I better get me shopping started.”
“Social and Family Affairs, Health Services stuff, go through it again.”
“Hospital admissions? Prescriptions?”
“Yes, that and more. I’m looking for interviews over the years – assessments, counseling sessions. I’d be interested to see if there are notes of things he talked about.”
“Like ‘Watch out everyone, the Vikings are here’? That kind of stuff?”
“I just want some more background on him. And I want to get it now so’s we don’t end up staggering around like iijits in a court order situation.”
“How far back are we going to go on any records?” Minogue had already determined that he’d take only one more drag of the cigarette before discarding the cancerous half. “All the way back to the Vikings, if that’s what’s needed.”
Chapter 13
It was gone five o’clock when another writ of Murphy’s Law was handed down. This one was delivered through Minogue’s mobile: Sister Immaculata. Davy McArdle had made a brief showing at Disciples. He had been in rough order; he had been put out.
“Out where?”
“Out the door,” she said. “He drunk, or he’s high. He can’t stop himself bothering the others when he’s in that condition. It’s his way of getting noticed. But he’d started a row, so out he had to go. We close up soon anyway, get them ready to go to the shelter.”
“Where is he now?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say somewhere close to an off-licence. Maybe down at the DART station, trying his luck begging off the rush hour crowd. But he’ll hardly be sleeping this one off on the street tonight. Sooner or later, he’ll be wanting his bed.”
“The hostel up the road there from the station?”
“Crosscare, yes. That or the Simon one, the cold-weather one.”
He looked over the scattered notes from a conversation with the HSE official Malone had found for him. They expected a court order now. This was why Ireland had a Data Protection Commissioner…? But that’d be tomorrow’s battle, one of them anyway.
“Would he have a place of his own, a squat maybe?”
“It’s very unlikely. It’s rare you’ll find squats out this way.”
“Was he fit to talk at all?”
“Not tonight,” she said, lingering a little over her words.
“He’s out of commission, in that regard. But I told him anyway, what he had to do for you.”
He wondered if she had chastised this McArdle character, like an errant child.
“Yes,” she went on. “I told him in no uncertain terms that he owed it to Padraig, and to all of us, really. But you can’t reason with him in that condition, of course.”
“I’m not entirely clear on what you mean here, Sister.”
“I told him to make himself available. Is that the expression Guards use?”
“Available to talk to us?”
“Of course! I told him that ye could have a nice chat, right here.”
“And how did he take your invitation, may I ask?”
“Well if he remembers a word I said, the chance is not bad. I laid on a bit of an inducement – tomorrow’s dinner. It’s his favourite, so if he remembers at all, well…”
“Fair enough.”
“I didn’t see any sign of Seánie now – only Davey. But I’ll track down Seánie the same way, sooner or later, and he’ll hear the same from me. Then I’ll sit them down, or somebody will, that ye can use the office here such as it is, and do your business.”
“Well, we’d need to think that over a bit.”
“Think what over? If the right person, with the right approach, sits down here with Davey, or Seán, well who knows the difference that’d make? In a place they know, with people around they know…? Do you see? It’s all about trust, isn’t it?”
He stopped sliding his pages into order: Malone was eyeing him. He smiled grimly back at him.
“I’m just keeping you in the picture,” she went on. “Like you asked me to.”
“Thank you. I do appreciate that now.”
“Have you more questions for me then?” she asked.
The teacher tone back again, he thought. He’d close on a light note. They’d be needing Sister Immaculata onside, for a while at least.
“I don’t. At the moment anyway. But I’ll be in touch.”
“Good. When?”
Minogue was too taken aback to reply right away.
“As soon as time permits” was all he could think to say.
“A lot of time has gone by already now, wouldn’t you say?”
Minogue sat up. How quickly his resentment could sweep back, he thought. The ghosts of those overbearing priests and nuns from his own past would never be laid. Or was he misreading her? Her long life had been one of service. She had put herself at God’s bidding, and would be that way until her last breath too. Was she not a Mother Courage, a bear defending her cubs? “I hear you, Sister – I mean, Mary.”
“Nothing should come between us and the outcasts of the world, should it.”
He imagined her sitting there in that small room she called an office, quietly bristling, those grey-blue eyes of hers blinking a signal of her impatience.
“I think we’re on the same road here,” he said. “Well, I hope we are?”
There was a quaver in her voice when she spoke now. “I’m sure you mean that. I heard only good things in that regard. But the longer we wait now—”
“We’re not delaying on purpose,” he said, evenly. “We’ll get to those chats you’re talking about soon enough, I’m hoping. But should I be expecting new revelations from these men?”
From her reply, he doubted she had heard his question. Or she was ignoring it.
“I’ve told them, told Davey anyway, what needs to happen,” she said. “The sooner he gets that done, the better, don’t you think? I have him persuaded, I think. He’ll do it, I’m sure.”
“Persuaded to do what?”
“To talk to you, of course. I told him it was different now, that he didn’t need to hide anything anymore.”
“Hide what?”
“That’s my point, Mike, that’s my point. Mike, is it?”
There it was, he thought, a tell: ‘Mike.’ She had his card right in front of her to phone his mobile, but still she couldn’t get his name right. This woman’s great achievement, apparently, was to mask any confusion – agitation, even – with an outward appearance of calm and control.
“Matt,” he said.
“Yes – Matt, of course. What was I thinking there? Sorry.”
“I get called plenty of other names, so don’t worry.”
Her fluster was genuine. Dismayed, he saw himself at the kitchen table tonight, telling Kathleen that he had a
bossy, and maybe actually senile nun on his plate.
“That was the problem in the first place you know,” she said. Her tone had regained vigour. Minogue did not know what she meant. He said nothing. The break he hoped for came.
“None of the men want to talk to the Guards. They don’t like Guards. They don’t trust them.” “I understand that, but—”
“Davey and his like say plenty here, I can tell you.”
“Such as?”
She didn’t answer right away.
“That the Guards are out to get them. That the Guards push them around. And worse.” He wondered how far she’d go with this.
“That’s why there was nothing good, nothing useful, out of Davey or Seánie or the others. You see? So that’s why I’m working on this now, I just can’t be sitting back and waiting…”
“All right,” he said. “So. Their statements. Are you telling me they’re no use? That they’re made up? Coerced, or something?”
“Ach, I’m not explaining myself very well…”
“If you think there’s Garda misconduct, then the law is the remedy.”
“Listen: the likes of Davey or Padraig – or any of them – they’re frightened.” “Frightened.”
“That’s right. Everything’s gone against them at some point, everything. Families, friends – even their own bodies let them down. Their genes, you could say? Frightening thought, isn’t it. The law is just one more thing to go against them, to let them down.”
Minogue said nothing. He slid back his jacket sleeve. Nearly half-past five.
“But they talk to you, I’ll bet. Do they?”
“Well they do,” she said. “Some things. Not that it makes a lot of sense half the time – or that it’s true. But talk, they will. You know, people thought I was mad to want to work here. They still think it! A woman, a nun if you please, and all those men! But what do people need when they’re down, I’d say. They need a mother, that’s what they need. Someone who won’t judge them, or dismiss them.”
How about someone who might cover up for them, he thought.
“So you don’t run a confessional there, is what you’re telling me.”
“I think I know what you’re driving at,” she said. “So go ahead, ask me.” “Ask you what?”
“Ask me if I think any of my lads here killed Padraig.”
“Fair enough then. A great question. Do you think so?” There was an edge to her voice now. “No I do not. Of course I don’t.”
“Next question then. Do you think some of them might know who killed him?”
“How can I answer that? I want to say no, of course I do. You see?”
She had thought it all through, he realized, and she had prepared.
She seemed to be waiting for more questions. Too bad.
“Well. Now we know your opinions on that matter,” he said.
“It’s good to clear the air, yes. I’m sorry now if I…?”
“It’s okay, you’re grand. We’re all grown-ups here.”
“Mary, call me Mary.”
He couldn’t be sure, but he believed she was smiling when she spoke now.
After he closed his phone, and eyed what he had scribbled on the sheet. The time she had phoned, of course; ‘assault?’; ‘one from Disciples?’ But most of his doodling was around McArdle’s surname.
“That was fun,” said Malone. “Was it?”
“Oh, a hoot, entirely.”
“She’s a case,” Malone said. “The sound of that?” Minogue said nothing. The picture of her there in that cubbyhole of an ‘office’ was still with him. Fretting a bit now, but guarded too.
“Ran you over, did she?”
“I gave as good as I got,” Minogue said. “Didn’t I?”
“Didn’t sound like that to me. Those old penguins are no pushover, I believe.” “Penguins. What penguins?”
“Nuns. Mickey dodgers. Whatever. Too bad for you, you have a soft spot for them. Makes it easier for them to roll over you. I’m only saying, right?”
Minogue decided it was another good time to opt for the non-response.
“Well,” Malone said then. “Was it to do with one of the hobos there?”
“It was. But I’m wondering what else might be on her mind.”
“Something’s bothering her, you said before.”
Minogue nodded.
“You don’t remember OJ Simpson, do you.”
“You mean Homer…?”
“No. ‘The man who walked.’ His lawyer, that’s who I’m thinking about. Passed on to his reward since, I believe. Johnny Cochrane.”
Malone’s jaw began to twist in another yawn, and he let it take him over.
He came out of his yawn slowly, and he looked at his watch. “I’ll give it a go,” Minogue said, to himself more than to Malone. “It’s on my way home, sort of.”
Malone shrugged, and rubbed at his forehead.
“You’ll find your way here tomorrow?” Minogue asked.
“The Deep South?” Malone shrugged.
“Oh, before you go: any showing on this JJ Mac character yet?”
Malone shook his head.
“I crossed me fingers and rang his Ma again. What a conversation that was – all over the map. Dotty like you wouldn’t believe. La-la-la. But I got a start from her, a ‘Stephen.’ He turned out to be some employment counsellor – the same one they gave me earlier, a reference off his original job application to get a job there with the paper in the first place. Yeah, ‘Stephen’s a great friend of Joseph’s.’ God knows what he tells her. She’s senile, maybe? She sure sounded that way this time.” “Stephen, what can he tell us?”
“Nothing about the past two years, that’s what – since the time he took that job at the paper. But according to him, he reckons this McCarthy dude really wanted to straighten himself out back then. Took a few courses there, and then he landed himself that job there at South Side. Oh, and by the way, he did get the sack there.”
“They got over their fixation on confidentiality then.”
“A bit. I had a chat there with one of them, got his name off some of the articles. A reporter? So I phoned him, and he was okay with talking. Told me that McCarthy started pissing them off there a while back. That he has notions.”
“Notions how?”
“We know he’s only a driver, but he has ideas about himself, right? He was hired on as a deliveryman basically, but he started going sideways. Nagging at them to let him try a bit of other stuff. Like why not, he’s driving around anyway. The guy told me that McCarthy got this ‘ journalist’ thing going on in his head. He’d heard that he was telling other people that he was one too. ‘He has issues.’”
“Who doesn’t have issues.”
“Well, yeah. But McCarthy didn’t like getting the brush-off, says the guy. Started out polite enough, but it got to a point where he was getting to be a serious pain in the hole. Bit of a yelling session there one day, and that’s when he got the heave-ho. The guy says that the feeling there is he wanted to get the sack, so he could go back on Social Welfare, or ‘other pursuits.’”
“‘Other pursuits’ meaning?”
“Well the guy didn’t say. Just gave me the eye. Dealing, drugs, is what he meant.”
More raindrops quivered on the frames. He heard Malone rubbing his eyes.
“So. Phone your outfit, get them to talk to the Dutch?”
“Sleep on it for now,” Minogue said. “See what turns up on him tomorrow.”
Chapter 14
Minogue brought the laptop out to the kitchen. He took a slow swallow of beer, and keyed in Facebook. It was sluggish. There were 437 contributions on The Green Man now. He date-ordered them to the most recent, and slowly scrolled through the latest. it’s_not_a_crime_to_be_poor had plenty to say. It had a mathematical theme, and it was passionate and lowercase all the way, but strangely free of spelling mistakes:
- ireland’s war on the poor = “collateral damage”
- ne
glect + prejudice + greed = murder