“No,” Kilmartin whispered.

“I nearly told him to eff off. They think they’re the bee’s knees, that crowd. Well I happen to know that they have dracul-”

“Draconian?” said Minogue.

“Exactly. Draconian laws to be harassing their citizens, so I do. The French are savages in their own right. Anyway, I says to this upstart, ‘You’re addressing a policeman whose Murder Squad is an example to the civilized world.’ Do you get the hint about civilized? Themselves and their Algeria!”

What civilized world, Minogue wondered. The Commissioner, more fully inflated with that happiest of Irish emotions, the fearless rebuffing of any suggestion that things Irish were not the equal and better of anything on the planet, became even more animated. Minogue did not like this man one bit.

“That’s the way,” said Kilmartin. Minogue winced at his sycophancy. The Commissioner dropped both fists dramatically on the table and his whole demeanour changed in an instant. His face was now a mask of stern determination.

“So that’s the confidence I had under me hat when I was able to say to Chief Justice Fine that all the resources of the Garda Siochana would be brought to bear on this dastardly crime.”

Did he really say ‘dastardly crime’ to Fine, Minogue’s gargoyle asked.

“Most particularly, the proven record of the Murder Squad.” The Commissioner sat back in his chair, satisfied with his oratory. “And do you know, men, that Justice Fine knows you, Matt?”

“A fleeting acquaintance, I’m thinking,” said Minogue, his suspicions returning in full.