Kilmartin gave him a hard look.

“Depend on you to come up with that. You ignorant savage. Hey. That, ah, lump of rock thing you gave Hoey and Aine for a present? Don’t get me wrong now. But, well, what the hell is it exactly?”

“It’s a stone I took from the beach at Fanore. A friend of Iseult’s did the work on it.”

Kilmartin stopped rubbing his eyes and looked at Minogue with a pained expression.

“A stone. Okay. But what’s it supposed to be?”

“Iseult’s friend put the faces on it.”

“Oh. Faces. Sorry.”

“You’re supposed to feel them with your fingers more than just see them.”

Kilmartin’s expression slid into one of happy disdain.

“Is it for the missus to feck at Hoey in their first scrap maybe? Here, do you know how much I paid for that bloody Waterford glass Hoey has on his mantelpiece from this happy day forward? Well, I’ll tell you how much. Eighty-seven quid.”

“A beautiful piece it is, James.”

“You’re not codding, it is. And what do I get? All Hoey had to do was say two simple words, two words normal people use: cash bar. Would that have been such a mortaller?”

The barman planted the drinks on the counter and looked to Kilmartin. The Chief Inspector took out his wallet with a show of great reluctance, eying Minogue all the while.

“A bit slow on the draw there, aren’t you?”

Minogue shrugged and listened to the weather woman relating the prospects of another hot day tomorrow. Kilmartin glared at the barman and held out a tenner.

“Fella beside me’s throwing money around here like a man with no arms.” The barman grinned.

Kilmartin wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Christ. Fallen among thieves, I have. With you, it’s the short arms and the long pockets; with Hoey, it’s the bloody Prohibition all over again. Place is gone to hell, that’s all I can say.”

Minogue swallowed more lager, placed the glass on the counter and licked his lips.