Minogue winked at him and Hoey’s smile broadened. It was seldom that Gardai, even the crime ordinary detectives from the Central Detective Unit in the Castle, could twist arms with the Branch. Such was the guile within Minogue’s Trojan Horse of charm-and no small store of charm it was, in an island where charm was a currency both inflated and squandered-that he had made an informal liaison with Special Branch officers to crack the Combs case.

“Is that a fact…? Well, you know how it is when they get a fire lit under them. Lookit, are you a Gallagher from Gweedore? You are? From Falcarragh, go on, are you? God, there are terrific hurling athletes being bred in that little Eden, amn’t I right? Well, I’m in a considerable hurry with this information and I have to be in the RTE studios within the hour… Is there any chance you could sit in on a meeting here say, five or so? Yep, our HQ’s in John’s Road. Good man, so.”

Minogue took Miss Connolly’s key to Fine’s flat before he left.

“Essential it remain undisturbed until we go through the effects in detail, Miss Connolly. Now if you remember anything which perhaps you hadn’t thought of in your chat with the Garda or myself here, phone this number immediately, if you please.” Minogue handed her a card which said ‘ Investigation Section’. “Be it ever so small, it may still be important. There’ll be a policeman by with this key, probably in the morning. Be sure and ask for his identification if you’re in any doubt. A youngish fella, Detective Officer Keating, and he’ll be making a detailed examination of Mr. Fine’s effects. He looks a bit like… how would you describe him, Shea?”

“He’s a bit like that fella, what do you call him… Redford. Robert Redford,” Hoey said earnestly. “Did you ever hear of?”

“The film star?” Miss Connolly asked.

“That’s the one,” Hoey concluded without a trace of humour.