The screech of metal from the Luas on Harcourt Street distracted Tyrell from the question. He was struggling for an answer.
‘I’ll repeat myself, detective inspector,’ Commissioner Harte said, raising his voice and straining his neck up like an ostrich, ‘have we anything we can go to the DPP with?’
Tyrell looked at the commissioner straight and, maintaining his cool, waited another second.
‘No. Sir.’
He heard the Chief, who was sitting beside him, adjust himself in his seat as if to interject. ‘Not at the moment,’ Tyrell added. The Chief unstiffened.
The commissioner pulled his bottom lip up over his top lip, forcing his cheeks to puff out and his chin to protrude. Tyrell knew his brevity and honesty rankled Harte, but Number One couldn’t take him to task on being evasive.
‘Nothing,’ the commissioner said, leaning back into his seat. The tone of his voice reflected disappointment and blame in equal measure. ‘We have one of the worst gangland crimes on record, and Christ knows there have been many, and we have . . . nothing.’
‘If I may,’ the Chief said. ‘We have a number of good leads and the arrest operation did throw up some additional information. Detective Inspector Tyrell has identified the criminals who are unaccounted for and who they work –’
‘Yes, I know we have suspicions,’ the commissioner interrupted, ‘but do we have any evidence? The type needed in court to convict the bastards?’
The shakedown was never a good idea, Tyrell thought. He was against it from the off and had told the Chief that. It was too early. They hadn’t enough evidence gathered yet. But the Chief was under severe pressure from the Puzzle Palace at Phoenix Park to put on a show.
‘I told the parents of Garda Grant and that little girl that we would get the people behind this,’ the commissioner continued. ‘The Justice Minister wants to see charges and the opposition want war. The gutter press are running stories on the new generation of untouchables, complete with blurred photographs of them. I’m the one who’s getting it in the neck.’
When he finished there was silence, disturbed only by the soft metallic sound of the Luas.
‘Sir, if I may?’
Tyrell looked over to see Hall, touching the tip of his pink tie.
‘While Inspector Tyrell . . .’
Detective Inspector you fucker.
‘... has listed suspects, we have intelligence – from an asset – that Darren Hunt, alias Maggot, was in the back of the car.’
Tyrell bit his lip. He knew not to lose his composure. The seat the Chief was sitting in groaned from the strain.
The commissioner’s face freshened with interest.
‘We know that Maggot was part of a canal crew with Shop, who we suspect was also in the car.’
Yeah, we know they’re in the same crew.
‘... In addition, our intelligence indicates a number of old Provos have offered their services to a group called Republican Communities Against Drugs. This outfit is threatening drug gangs in that area, but unlike the Reals and the Continuity, they are not extorting them for money. We suspect one network – and our best guess is the Canal Gang – intended to strike first. We suspect that the car which Garda Grant and Peters stopped may have been transporting a cache of weapons for that purpose.’
Tyrell tried not to show his exasperation.
Fucking speculation.
‘We are currently trying to place additional surveillance on key targets, budgets permitting . . .’
That’s what the fucker wants, more money for his black ops. What about overtime for the actual fucking investigation?
Tyrell watched Hall pat down his tie as he finished and put on a show of looking impassive. Tyrell saw the commissioner nod again, clearly impressed. He braced himself as Number One looked at him.
‘Inspector?’
Even the commissioner’s calling me inspector now.
‘Either you were aware of all this, but decided not to tell me – which is pretty fucking bad – or you didn’t know, which is worse. Which is it?’
Tyrell had hoped the Chief might actually step in. No such luck.
‘Superintendent Hall, for reasons best known to himself,’ Tyrell said, ‘decided not to share this apparent intelligence or speculation with us. If the intel is not shared it is of little use.’
The commissioner eyed him up.
‘Do you have a problem, Inspector, with Detective Superintendent Hall?’
‘No, sir. He seems to have a problem with us.’
Tyrell knew his frankness attracted few friends, but Hall needed to be shown up for the selfish, slimy bollocks he was.
‘Let’s make things crystal clear here,’ the commissioner said. ‘This is no time for egos or turf wars between garda units. I want whoever’s behind these murders cornered. If we can’t get charges against them for murder, I want them on drug charges, fucking traffic violations, battering the missus, anything. I am not going to have this as my swan song after forty years.’
Tyrell understood the commissioner now.
This is what’s making the commissioner’s arse bleed. His reputation. And his hopes for an extension to his term.
He watched the commissioner point his finger around the room.
‘I want a plan to get these pricks,’ he said. ‘Even if it takes time to hatch.’