“He’s all yours. Mr Jelly Nolan. I think he’s relieved to be in custody. Almost looking forward to being put away.”

She wrote “Jelly Nolan” on a notepad.

“Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself, Inspector?” She hadn’t taken her eyes from the notepad.

“I’ve been accused of worse,” he tried. “But I think people cod me with comments like that because of my easygoing disposition.”

Kate Marrinan squinted at him. She remembered him now.

“Huh. I heard different. Who’s codding who here?” Minogue almost smiled. There were pleasant dangers to being known as a character in Dublin.

“We have seen to the rights of the accused in every respect,” he began. “He was quite keen to tell us about what he did up that laneway and how he did it-”

“ If he did it, you mean.”

“Twelve o’clock today, his clothes and shoes will come out of the lab with evidence tags on them,” Hoey weighed in. “Open and shut.”

“Signed in at one o’clock,” Minogue murmured. “He’ll go to the Bridewell and get remanded over first thing in the morning.”

What sounded like a sigh to Minogue escaped from Kate Marrinan. She hugged her shoulder bag and laid her hand on the door handle.

“Where’s the fags?” Nolan called out. “And a bit of tea or something so as I can keep me bleeding eyes open.”

The door opened.

“Who’s she?” the detectives heard Nolan ask.

“I’m your legal counsel,” Kate Marrinan said. “And I don’t smoke.”

Hoey and Minogue huddled in the doorway and watched the fine rain glow around the streetlights. Through the hush of rain, Minogue heard trains being shunted at Heuston Station at this western end of Dublin’s quays. Hoey spoke through a yawn.

“I know what you’re saying.”

“Nearly let him have it, all right,” Minogue murmured again. “I must be losing it or something.”