"All right so, Jimmy," said Minogue.

"I have all the stuff that's coming for the moment up in the Castle. Will you come up about ten tomorrow?"

"I will that, Jimmy."

"To be sure. To be sure. Connors, my aide-de-camp, will go over to Donavan, the State Pathologist, with you. Needs the experience. How about one o'clock and ye can meet here and go off to Donavan?"

"Grand, so."

"And how's the family?" Kilmartin asked.

"The usual. They have me driven mad. Business as usual."

"Remember me to Kathleen, Matt."

So, Minogue thought as he began strolling toward the kitchen. They want to see if I'm the full round of the clock still. He stopped and looked at the copy of Magritte's Memory which Iseult had bought him for his birthday. Now why had she done that? She had said that when she saw it, she knew it was for him. That was the way young people talked, that throwaway, confident exaggeration. Still, he liked the picture's coolness and its stillness. It reminded him, for no reason that made sense, of his father playing "The Moon behind the Hill" on the melodeon nearly a half century ago. Minogue had learned that daughters more or less broke their fathers' hearts effortlessly.

By half past two, Connors and Minogue were sitting outside the State Pathologist's office. Donavan was already late.

Connors was thinking about the new side to Kilmartin he had seen but an hour before. When Connors was called in, Minogue was sitting while Kilmartin was propelling himself around the room with small talk. Signs on, Connors concluded, the two men had known each other for a long time. Minogue managed to say little, maintaining a thoughtful if distant expression.

"And Connors will drive over with you, Matt, and sit in with ye, if you don't mind. Connors is new to the department and will benefit from the experience to no end entirely. Am I right?"