by Erin Hart
Brennan nodded. “It always amazes me,” she said, “how men can go on behaving like such absolute shite hawks, and women still manage to be astonished. Stupid cows.”
Aileen Flood’s performance seemed to have touched a nerve, but Ward wasn’t sure it would be entirely appropriate for him to go probing into his partner’s personal life. It wasn’t only women, he reflected, stealing a glance at Maureen’s strong profile beside him. All of us insist upon our illusions, upon substituting dreams and distorted memories for the real thing. He’d certainly done it himself, and did it still, as the beautiful, quiet girl he’d fallen in love with became brightly polished over time, and the real Eithne—the thin limbs, haggard face, and compulsive gestures—had almost faded away in the reflected light of the favored image. It seemed to him that delusion was the most natural of human states; it was honesty that was the aberration.
5
“We’re going in circles,” Nora said. She looked at all the papers she and Cormac had laid out on the table before them: Charlie Brazil’s two drawings, the book about Iron Age metalwork, the list of Loughnabrone artifacts from the National Museum. They’d spent the entire afternoon and evening going through all the facts, an exercise that had proved almost entirely fruitless. Cormac had tried placing a few phone calls to establish whether Rachel Briscoe was the daughter of his former colleague, but no one he’d spoken to so far had been able to make that connection.
“Maybe we should quit trying to work it out,” Nora said, “and just bring Ward all these scraps of things we’ve found. He’s got different pieces of the puzzle as well. Maybe some of this will make more sense to him than it does to us.” She began searching under the papers for the policeman’s card.
“Hang on one second,” Cormac said. “Before you call anyone, I was thinking that I may know the place Desmond Quill mentioned at lunch. There’s an abandoned shed on the road out to Loughnabrone, from the time when they used to manufacture concrete drainpipes out here. The place I’m thinking of hasn’t been used in years, but it would probably still be full of dry concrete. Might be worth a quick visit before dark, to see if anyone appears to have been using it.”
The midsummer twilight lasted for hours, but darkness was just beginning to settle in the east as they left the Crosses and turned out onto the main road to Birr.
“How do you happen to know about this place?” Nora asked.
“Well, I’m not absolutely sure it’s the place Quill was talking about. But I used to know this whole area pretty well. There’s no guarantee that the place I remember is still there, but abandoned places tend not to change too much.”
The shed was exactly where Cormac remembered it, down a lane in a thick tangle of brushy trees. “Let’s leave the car out of sight if we can,” Nora said. “If someone’s there, it would be better to approach on foot.”
Cormac steered the jeep behind a huge bale of black polythene on the overgrown verge, took a torch from his glove box, and handed Nora another from his site kit. The twilight was fading fast. They approached the shed, a single-story rusting metal structure with a few dusty windows about ten feet off the ground and a huge padlock on the door. Nora checked the lock, careful not to touch the metal for fear of marring any fingerprints that might remain. It didn’t look brand-new, but it probably hadn’t been there more than a couple of years at the most. “I’d love to look in the windows,” she said. “There’s nothing around we could climb on, is there?”
“I hear a car,” Cormac said, and they both scrambled for cover, just managing to duck around the corner of the shed before Owen Cadogan’s silver Nissan pulled up beside it. Cadogan popped open the boot of his car and jumped out, fishing in his trouser pocket for the key. He let himself into the shed. Nora made a move to look inside the open door, but Cormac held her back. They heard rustling inside, and small groans of exertion; soon Cadogan emerged again, carrying a bulky bundle wrapped in black plastic over one shoulder. He dumped it without ceremony into the open boot, then locked up the shed again and drove away. As soon as he was out of sight, Nora sprinted toward the jeep, and felt Cormac close behind her.
They kept their distance out on the main road, and followed Cadogan when he turned down a narrow byway that led to the canal. There was no sign of his car ahead of them on the one-lane road. The jeep’s headlights fell on a ruined cottage, its windows blocked with weathered boards, once someone’s home, now an outbuilding of some kind. Nettles and blackberry brambles, signs of neglect, grew thick along the verge. Not many people would pass this way anymore, especially since the canal was so little used. The lane began to narrow suddenly, and the overgrown hedges at the roadside slapped against the car. But movement in the branches ahead told them that Cadogan had passed this way only a short time earlier. Eventually, after about a quarter-mile of winding road, they came to an abrupt stop at the canal. The hedge outside Nora’s window was chopped and twisted, as if it had been trimmed recently with a large, dull blade, and the pulpy bone-white wood inside lay exposed. A gravel towpath stretched in both directions, with no sign of a car either way. There was no other road Cadogan could have turned onto, but there was a small humpback bridge about fifty yards to the left. He might have gone over it; there was no way to tell, and going over the bridge might give them away. Nora was about to give up hope when a pair of red taillights suddenly appeared off to their right.
“Stay here,” she said, opening her door and climbing out of the jeep. By the time she’d made it around to the driver’s side, Cormac was out of the car as well.
“Wherever you think you’re going, Nora, I’m going with you.”
“Just down the towpath to see what he’s doing there.”
He nodded and followed behind her, crouching close to the hedgerow for cover. The rutted path was little used and filled with potholes. Nora saw the swordlike leaves of yellow flag growing along the canal bank, heard the birch trees on the far side rustle in the night wind. Ahead, Cadogan’s car bumped slowly down the path, sometimes swerving to avoid the deepest holes. They might be able to get impressions of his tire tracks, Nora thought, if that became necessary. Suddenly the car ahead stopped, and she and Cormac stopped as well, crouching just beside a stand of tall reeds that grew at the water’s edge.
Cadogan had just climbed out of the Nissan when his mobile began to ring, and he answered with an exasperated sigh: “What now?” He listened for a moment, then said, “Hang on a minute, Aileen. They’ve got nothing. No, they don’t know anything; they’re just—”
Again he listened; then he took the phone away from his ear and kicked the car tire savagely. “Fuck!” He kicked a few more times, letting out a stream of curses with each blow, until his anger was spent; then he put the phone back to his ear. “Do you realize what you’ve done, you stupid—Ah, Aileen, don’t cry. Jesus…No, I’ll think of something. Listen, I’ve got to go now—right.” He pulled the phone abruptly from his ear, switched it off, and landed one last savage kick. Then Cadogan rounded the car’s boot and opened it with a key. He leaned into the dark space and pulled out his heavy bundle, which they could see clearly now was the precise shape and heft of a body. He lifted the bundle to his chest, cradling it in his arms, but it sagged and slid down to his knees; he struggled, trying to maintain his grasp. Nora felt Cormac’s grip on her shoulder tighten, and felt his breathing stop as the heavy bundle slipped into the water without a splash. Cadogan stood on the bank for a few seconds as it sank, until the only sound was the swishing sigh of the wind in the tall reeds. Then he turned on his heel, climbed into the car, and drove away, his tires spitting gravel in their wake.
As soon as he was out of sight, Nora went to the water’s edge, overgrown with grass and weeds that were bent and broken where Cadogan had dropped his bundle. Without hesitation, she jumped over the bank into the opaque green water, not even bothering to remove her shoes. Cormac was left to watch from the bank as she gulped a deep breath of air and dived beneath the surface.
She emerged a few feet a
way, gasping, her hair and face streaming with water and algae. “He’s got it weighted down—you’ll have to help me.” She tried lifting one end of the bundle by the ropes that tied it, but couldn’t manage to shift it. “It’s too deep,” she said. “I can’t get a foothold.” She was too far out from the bank, as well; there was no way he could reach her. “Hang on,” Cormac called. “I’ve got a rope in the car. Don’t let go.”
He scrambled up and ran headlong for the jeep. Nora tried to hold on to the heavy bundle, but she couldn’t help coughing and spluttering as it kept pulling her under. Cormac backed the jeep into position and rummaged through the supplies he kept in the back until he found a coil of rope. He tossed one end to Nora and quickly looped the other end to the car’s frame. “Tie this to it, and hang on to the rope if you can,” he shouted down at her. “Let me know when you’re ready. Make sure you have a good grip; try and walk up the wall if you can.”
She dived under again, tied the rope through the chain that circled Cadogan’s bundle, and came up spluttering. “Okay, ready. Go ahead.”
Cormac climbed into the driver’s seat and inched the jeep forward until the bundle came up over the canal bank, with Nora trailing behind it. When she was safely over the bank, she let go of the rope and fell upon the large bundle, tearing at one end of the black plastic. Her body was filled with pounding dread as she anticipated finding what Cadogan had secreted inside.
When the plastic finally broke open, what came spilling forth was not what she had expected, but a mass of loose brown peat. Nora pulled at the twisted chains and tore at the plastic until she’d completely opened the length of the bundle: peat, only peat. Dizzy with confusion and relief, she started digging through it with her hands, just to be sure, and felt something solid beneath the surface. She brushed away the covering peat and extracted a rolled-up sheepskin. Inside it she found a handful of silk scarves, a velvet hood, several feathers, and a bright pair of nickel-plated handcuffs. Nora sat back and stared at the strange array of items laid out before her.
“Well, thanks be to God,” Cormac said, coming around the side of the jeep. “I thought it was—”
“A body,” she said. “So did I.”
Cormac crouched down beside her and picked up one of the scarves, apparently just as mystified as she was. The scarf was still dry; the canal water hadn’t had time to soak through the peaty bundle. “I can’t see anything here that’s even remotely incriminating,” he said. “So why would Owen Cadogan go to such lengths to hide this stuff?”
Nora felt discouraged, exhausted in the wake of fear and exertion, and chilled by the wet clothing against her skin. The dusk had completely settled now, and she looked out over the black and blue landscape, imagining Garda officers out here with flashlights, sifting through wet peat and Cadogan’s harmless bondage gear. There was no point in calling Ward; they had nothing that would help him find Rachel Briscoe, or identify Ursula’s killer. She had been so sure that Cadogan was capable of murder. She’d seen it in his eyes when he had Ursula by the throat.
On the other hand, these things didn’t mean he was off the hook. They’d just have to find some better proof.
“Let’s go home,” she said. “I can’t see anything here to make it worth calling the police.”
6
Nora was in the bathroom at the Crosses, rubbing her damp hair with a towel, when she heard Cormac’s mobile ring. Who would be calling at this hour? It was after midnight. She could hear his voice from the sitting room say: “Michael, what’s the matter? Are you all right?”
Nora went downstairs to find Cormac putting his shoes on. “That was Michael Scully. He can’t find Brona. She hasn’t been home all evening, and he’s worried. I told him we’d come over.”
Scully answered the door looking haggard. His thin skin seemed to hang loose on him, and he moved even more slowly than he had on their previous visit. He led them into the kitchen, where he’d evidently been trying to fill a medication dispenser. The box containing all the tablets and capsules had overturned, leaving a colorful melange of pills on the tabletop.
Scully smoothed his disheveled hair back into place. “I heard on the radio this evening that one of the young women from the excavation has gone missing, and I—” His voice caught in his throat.
Cormac said, “I know, Michael, I know. We’ll find her for you. You mustn’t worry.” When he’d gotten Scully settled in a chair, he turned to Nora and spoke under his breath. “I don’t think we should leave him alone. Will you stay here while I see if I can find Brona? I think I know where to look.” At the door, he said, “Lock this after me. Don’t let anyone in. Promise me.” She nodded, and for the first time Cormac’s eyes betrayed his own worry.
Nora helped Michael Scully get all his medications back in the proper boxes. As she counted out the pain pills, he said, “Who knows where I shall be this time next year?”
Nora looked into his eyes and saw fear, not for himself, but for the daughter already so isolated from the world. “Who knows where any of us will be? We can’t know that. Don’t worry, Cormac will find her. He said he would.”
Scully smiled faintly and said, “I wish Gabriel could see the two of you. He often talked about how uncommonly well suited he thought you were.”
“I’m sure he does see us, somehow, aren’t you?”
“I’m not sure I believe in spirits, exactly, but I do believe that what happens in the world never really goes away. Everything that has been remains somehow, makes an impression. Some things make stronger impressions than others, but it all leaves something behind, some change, some ripple in time, don’t you think? It’s probably the best we can hope for.”
Nora changed the subject. “I was wondering if you have anything in your files about the Loughnabrone hoard—any newspaper cuttings or official reports.”
“I’ve quite a large file on it, yes.” He faltered trying to stand, and Nora took his elbow.
“Are you all right?”
“It doesn’t take long for the painkillers to take hold. I’ll be fine in a few minutes. Not a bother on me. But maybe you’d look up the file? It should be on the far left, second drawer from the top.”
Scully kept talking as she opened the drawer and began scanning the file headings. “My daughter has been helping me with this work since she was a child. She’s read nearly everything in those files. I’m not sure whether she’ll want to keep them…. I’ve often thought about this place, and everything that has passed here over the last nine thousand years, and how little we’d know if someone had not seen fit to set things down, incomplete and imperfect as those things certainly were.”
Nora looked at the files, all neatly arranged and labeled in the same precise hand. She couldn’t help marveling at the time and effort it must take to maintain all this, and at the astonishing capacity of the human memory, to be so steeped in all this that you carried it around inside you. What she beheld was nothing less than a life’s work, and it was a humbling sight. Eventually paper records like these would probably be replaced by digital databases, just as the monks’ written annals had replaced the twenty years’ learning that the Druids had to undertake in order to qualify as high priests and judges. Faced with the whole wall of heavy files, representing as it did every fragmentary repository of human knowledge, she couldn’t help wondering at how transitory it all was, in the long run, and how necessary to existence to engage in this kind of gathering and hoarding of knowledge. She wanted to tell Michael Scully that she understood his fear, his need to see it all carry on, even without him. Instead she said, “There’s no need to talk if you don’t feel like it. You should rest.”
“I’d like to talk, if you don’t mind. There’s something I need to ask you.”
Nora pulled the Loughnabrone file out of the drawer and set it on the table in front of the sofa and sat, so that she could give her full attention to Michael Scully and his request. What could he possibly need from her?
Scully leaned forward
slightly as he spoke, his grip on the chair arms occasionally betraying either social discomfort or physical pain, or both. “I hope you can understand a father’s apprehension. Brona is all I’ve got now. My wife died shortly after she was born and my elder daughter, Eithne—” He couldn’t go on for a moment. “Eithne wasn’t well for a long time, and disturbances of the mind are the most difficult to comprehend or confront. She suffered terribly, and nothing we did could help her in the end. Eithne drowned herself when Brona was just a child. I’m sure Cormac told you that Brona hasn’t spoken since that time. What I wanted to ask you was this: I have one sister who lives down in Waterford, and I don’t want her to interfere with Brona’s future. Now, it’s not that my daughter isn’t well able to take care of herself. Even though she doesn’t speak, she’s not in the least simple. But my sister cannot understand that, and treats her as if she’s somehow impaired. I’ve made all the necessary provisions in my will for Brona to have this house, as well as all my other assets, but I need to make sure that she has at least a few allies, just in case there’s any dispute about the provisions of the will after I’m gone. Evelyn McCrossan already knows everything that I’m telling you, as does Brona herself, but I wanted to explain the situation to you and Cormac as well, since you’ll have the cottage. I don’t know that anything would be required of you, and since Brona is more than competent there would be no legal arrangement, but it’s a possibility that she would from time to time need some…assistance, perhaps, in communicating with my lawyers or some other authorities. I don’t know who else to ask, besides yourselves and Evelyn. I realize it’s a rather strange and heavy responsibility, since it’s an unknown quantity, and particularly since you won’t be here most of the time. But as time passes I feel a greater urgency—”
“Of course we’ll do whatever we can to help,” Nora said. “I know Cormac would be more than willing as well. I’ll tell him. He may have some questions for you. We both may, as we think about it more.”
