“Give him a chance at least, Jim. A fair trial, then you can hang him.”

Kilmartin pursed his lips. His eyelids drooped a little.

“There was a time when no one looked twice at the Squad, mister. I hired, I sired, I fired. It’s your mate, Mr. Refrigerator Tynan, left this bloody bomb behind him, the way he wanted the hiring done. He had me over a barrel, by God.”

“Look, Jim. Something has to give here with this. If it’s you and Tommy Malone together on this, there’ll be-”

“Skin and hair flying. I know, I know. It’s the heat. It’s his gurrier accent. It’s-”

“Let me put him through this one then. Himself and myself. I’ll show him the ropes.”

Kilmartin studied the lights playing on the water.

“Huh?”

“Well, all right. Better your rope than the one I’d like for him probably. Me and John Murtagh’ll hold down the back line then. I’ll pull him off the reviews. He can do the desk and feed us what comes in on the hoof from the teams. You and Molly can sweat it out here. Maybe being a Dublin jackeen might help on this one. Oh, yes.”

Minogue caught up with Malone.

“It’s you and me from here on, Tommy.”

“You mean it’s your turn to pick a row with me, is that it?”

Minogue stared at him.

“Sorry. It wasn’t you at all. It’s you-know-who.”

“James is from the County Mayo, remember. They were hard hit during the Famine.”

“So what’s his gig then, the Killer? Is he a shagging cannibal or something?”

“He wants you to prove yourself,” said Minogue. “Education by provocation.”

Malone frowned.

“Okay,” he said.

“Go home, can’t you,” said Minogue. “I’ll close up shop. It’ll take a few hours at least for the prints search. First thing in the morning we call a meeting to get everyone on board and go over what we have. Unless we get something coming up in between.”