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Authors: Bartholomew Gill
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dark galways and gaunt body, he looked like a stick figure wearing a paste-on beard. Or an organ grinder’s monkey, cap and all.
Lyons lowered his glasses. “Know him?”
Ward shook his head.
“The Monkey is what he’s called. And not just for the costume and the beard. He’s a heavy hitter, a great one for the gear.” With two fingers and thumb, Lyons pantomimed pushing the plunger of a syringe into his other arm. “He’s your man’s driver. Some say he even provided the car that the Toddler took title to in payment of his heroin debt. Archie Carruthers is his name. He’s been driving for the Toddler for—lemme think—maybe two years.”
“Carruthers?” McKeon asked.
Lyons nodded. “Comes from an old family down the country.”
“Wicklow?”
“Could be.”
“Glencree?”
“Dunno. But he’s nothing special. Just your common, garden-variety gearman, thinner than most. Do anything to score.”
And probably had in the “Cliquot” tree on his—mother’s? aunt’s?—property with the help of the Bookends or some of the others McGarr could see through the binos.
“Let’s lift him,” McKeon muttered to McGarr. “Take him back to the Castle,” where McKeon and McGarr would grill him. They were good at it.
But what if Carruthers didn’t come across and they had to let him go? How long would he last back here in Coolock? Where he would come. Inevitably. Being a monkey man in the worst sense and not being able to help himself. Then again, Archie Carruthers—Monkey Man—had chosen who he was and how he would live at least two years earlier, when the robbery had occurred at the Glencree estate.
“I’ll break him without even asking a question.”
McGarr glanced at McKeon, suspecting he could, but he had to be certain since the mere act of taking him into custody would be like signing his death sentence. “Give me a moment.”
Down in the car McGarr radioed his office, and Bresnahan patched through a phone call to Miss Eithne Carruthers, who came on the line after a short wait. “Tell me about Archie.”
“My nephew?” There was a pause, then a sigh. “It occurred to me I should have said something about him last spring. But only after you were gone. Archie’s my sister’s only child, you understand.”
And you his enabler, McGarr imagined. “How long have you known about his drug problem?”
“Years, of course. We’ve done everything we can: doctors, hospitals, clinics, even a rehabilitation center over inthe States. Two years at enormous expense! Now it’s up to him. He’s got to want to stop himself.”
And be able to. McGarr knew of addicts who’d been helped simply by being put in a place where using was impossible. Like jail. It made wanting to quit easier. “And after your break-in, did you tell the police about your nephew?”
There was another pause. “No, I couldn’t bring myself to do that either.”
“What about the car, the Mercedes? When did Archie steal that?”
“During his last slip. Two years ago. No, three.”
“And you reported it?”
Her sigh was audible. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because—because I didn’t want it to be Archie. Because it was Archie—I told myself—why, sure, wouldn’t it be his car someday anyhow?”
“Since you have no children.”
“That’s right.”
“And there’s only you and your sister.” Left in the family, he meant.
“Yes. And she a widow.”
Little wonder the Toddler had kept Archie Carruthers close. The Monkey Man had brought him a marque automobile and whatever was boosted from the estate during the theft, and finally he had even helped him commit murder.
No. The Toddler had been nowhere near the murder. He’d been back in his pub or some other public place where people could see him.
“Do you think Archie is involved in…was it murder, Superintendent?”
Procedure dictated that McGarr remain noncommittal since her sister and she might hire a solicitor who would only make the
Lyons lowered his glasses. “Know him?”
Ward shook his head.
“The Monkey is what he’s called. And not just for the costume and the beard. He’s a heavy hitter, a great one for the gear.” With two fingers and thumb, Lyons pantomimed pushing the plunger of a syringe into his other arm. “He’s your man’s driver. Some say he even provided the car that the Toddler took title to in payment of his heroin debt. Archie Carruthers is his name. He’s been driving for the Toddler for—lemme think—maybe two years.”
“Carruthers?” McKeon asked.
Lyons nodded. “Comes from an old family down the country.”
“Wicklow?”
“Could be.”
“Glencree?”
“Dunno. But he’s nothing special. Just your common, garden-variety gearman, thinner than most. Do anything to score.”
And probably had in the “Cliquot” tree on his—mother’s? aunt’s?—property with the help of the Bookends or some of the others McGarr could see through the binos.
“Let’s lift him,” McKeon muttered to McGarr. “Take him back to the Castle,” where McKeon and McGarr would grill him. They were good at it.
But what if Carruthers didn’t come across and they had to let him go? How long would he last back here in Coolock? Where he would come. Inevitably. Being a monkey man in the worst sense and not being able to help himself. Then again, Archie Carruthers—Monkey Man—had chosen who he was and how he would live at least two years earlier, when the robbery had occurred at the Glencree estate.
“I’ll break him without even asking a question.”
McGarr glanced at McKeon, suspecting he could, but he had to be certain since the mere act of taking him into custody would be like signing his death sentence. “Give me a moment.”
Down in the car McGarr radioed his office, and Bresnahan patched through a phone call to Miss Eithne Carruthers, who came on the line after a short wait. “Tell me about Archie.”
“My nephew?” There was a pause, then a sigh. “It occurred to me I should have said something about him last spring. But only after you were gone. Archie’s my sister’s only child, you understand.”
And you his enabler, McGarr imagined. “How long have you known about his drug problem?”
“Years, of course. We’ve done everything we can: doctors, hospitals, clinics, even a rehabilitation center over inthe States. Two years at enormous expense! Now it’s up to him. He’s got to want to stop himself.”
And be able to. McGarr knew of addicts who’d been helped simply by being put in a place where using was impossible. Like jail. It made wanting to quit easier. “And after your break-in, did you tell the police about your nephew?”
There was another pause. “No, I couldn’t bring myself to do that either.”
“What about the car, the Mercedes? When did Archie steal that?”
“During his last slip. Two years ago. No, three.”
“And you reported it?”
Her sigh was audible. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because—because I didn’t want it to be Archie. Because it was Archie—I told myself—why, sure, wouldn’t it be his car someday anyhow?”
“Since you have no children.”
“That’s right.”
“And there’s only you and your sister.” Left in the family, he meant.
“Yes. And she a widow.”
Little wonder the Toddler had kept Archie Carruthers close. The Monkey Man had brought him a marque automobile and whatever was boosted from the estate during the theft, and finally he had even helped him commit murder.
No. The Toddler had been nowhere near the murder. He’d been back in his pub or some other public place where people could see him.
“Do you think Archie is involved in…was it murder, Superintendent?”
Procedure dictated that McGarr remain noncommittal since her sister and she might hire a solicitor who would only make the
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