“He had enough drink in him to get manslaughter, I’m thinking,” said Minogue. “So does Legal Aid. The way I heard her anyway. She’ll go wild when she hears he confessed. Expect a call, I’d say.”

Kilmartin’s expression turned thoughtful.

“God, you’re crooked today,” he murmured. “‘Her’?”

“Kate Marrinan.”

Kilmartin rolled his eyes. “Jesus. That one? A grenade disguised as a barrister. She gave me a few kicks in the balls when she was defending that fella what killed the fella with a hammer…Hogan. ‘Victim of society’ shite, right?”

“She didn’t give me the treatment last night anyway.”

“Wait till court, bucko. Jesus wept. She’s an expert on everything. Did you hit the sack at all?”

“Enough of it. Is Shea in?”

Kilmartin’s brow creased with the effort of holding back a comment. Minogue wondered if Kilmartin knew of Detective Garda Shea Hoey’s habits lately.

“You know I’m off starting tomorrow. Get a break for a few days.”

Kilmartin’s brow shot up. He nodded toward his office. As Minogue followed him, he saw a yawning Hoey slope in past Eilis’s desk.

“Just give me a hand in drafting a press release to warn all the gutties and head-cases that they’re to wait until you come back from your holiday to-”

“You’re a howl, Jimmy.”

“Just a bit of levity, Matt. Don’t get your rag out over it. Course there’s no bother. Sure haven’t you overtime built up like a bank?”

“Good, so.”

“Yes. Morale is everything.” The Chief Inspector nodded his head as he spoke now. “A bit of R and R to keep you sharp. It builds morale, let me tell you. You can throw your hat at the technical stuff if you haven’t the morale built up. Amn’t I right?”

The phrase echoed in Minogue’s thoughts: Build the morale? Sounded like Kilmartin was trying out a phrase he had heard in his hob-nobs with senior Gardai.