“All I wanted was to get them to drop their immunity for Embassy staff so we could interview some of them.”

“And all the tea in China. So he knew you were a bit of a…” Kilmartin rubbed his chin.

“A crank?”

“Did I say that? Did I even think that? I was going to say ‘topnotch Garda officer’.”

The former Jimmy Kilmartin was indeed back. There was that challenging sincerity on his face, daring Minogue to suspect that he was being buttered up.

“Fine’s on the committee that runs the Museum,” said Minogue.

“So you’d know the man to say hello to and pass the time of day with,” Kilmartin burrowed.

Minogue had paused then, while Kilmartin spoke into the radio, knowing the battle was lost but wanting to let discomfort settle on Kilmartin too.

“You’re not going to be asking me to pass the time of day with him, though, are you, Jimmy?”

Hoey was through Terenure now. Fine’s house was but minutes away.

Paul Fine had been married until two years ago. His ex-wife was English and she remained in London. ‘ One of our own to be sure, but a Jew nonetheless.’ Did that ‘nonetheless’ sum up the fact of being a Jew in any place but Israel? Kilmartin would definitely be worried by the mention of ’Palestinian‘. A question still hung around the edges of Minogue’s thoughts: how had the telephone call from this group come within an hour of the body’s being discovered? Had the group planned to phone anyway, knowing that he’d be found? Yes, Kilmartin would not like this mention of Palestinian one bit.

To stem his own anxiety, Minogue turned to Hoey. “Do you know any Jews here at all, Shea?”

“Not a one, sir. I wouldn’t know one if I saw one.”

“Do you know how many Jews there are in Ireland?”

“I don’t.”

“There’s about 2, 000, so there is. North and south. Fewer every year, too, I’m thinking.”