A Terrible Beauty

'For what? For trying to get a few minutes' pleasure out of my life, instead of having to tiptoe on- eggshellsround you and your everlasting grief? You don't have the monopoly on sorrow, Katie, believe me?and you don't have any right to take your misery out on everybody around you. I'm glad I'm not one of your suspects. It's bad enough being your husband.'

Katie didn't know what to say. Perhaps Paul was right, and she was dragging her cross around with her wherever she went. Perhaps, on the other hand, he could have put his arms around her now and again, in the darkness of the night, and showed her that they could find a way to be happy again.

'Don't you worry,' said Paul. 'I'll sleep on the couch. At least Sergeant will show me some sympathy.'

A long, long pause. Paul picked a bloody scab out of his nostril and stared at it.

'Has it been going on long?' Katie asked him.

'What?'

'You and Geraldine Daley. Was it just the one night, or have you been making a fool of me for longer than that?'

'What does it matter?'

'It matters because the nature of my job requires me to have a private life that's free of any scandal whatsoever. And most of all it matters because we're married, for better or for worse.'

'Well, if it's any consolation at all, it was, yes, just the one night. Geraldine was sick to the back teeth with Dave because he never takes her anywhere and she's never allowed to look at other men. He hits her about, too. I guess she wanted to get her own back on him.'

'And what about you? Did you want to get your own back on me? What? For killing Seamus?'

Paul flapped his hand dismissively. Katie was about to say something else, something really hurtful, but then she decided against it. Without a word, she turned around and left Paul sitting on the couch, with Sergeant licking his bloody knuckles.

16

The next morning it was raining again, that fine misty rain that can soak right through your coat before you know it. She walked into her office to find Professor O'Brien waiting for her with a bunch of yellow chrysanthemums, a folded raincoat, and a bright, enthusiastic grin.

'Gerard, what a surprise.'

He stood up and held out the flowers as if they were a conjuring trick. 'I hope you like yellow. It reminds me of sunshine. Just what we need on days like these.'

'Thank you,' she said. They looked past their best, and one of them was broken, but she took them anyway. 'I'll-ah-put them in water.'

'You don't mind me coming here to report to you personally? In person, I mean?'

She felt tired and fractured after last night, and the last thing she needed was a flirtatious conversation with Professor O'Brien, but all the same she managed a smile and sat down behind her desk. At the back of the Garda station the crows were still perched along the roof of the parking lot. Sometimes one or two of them flew off and circled around, but they always came back, the way that blowflies will never leave a decomposing body alone.

'Would you like some coffee?' she asked Professor O'Brien.

'No, thanks all the same. Coffee gives me the jitters. I don't sleep very well as it is. I was up for most of the night, reading through your file on the Meagher's Farm case.'

'Oh, yes?' said Katie, prying the plastic lid off her cappuccino. 'Did you find out anything interesting?'

He produced a large manila envelope from underneath his folded raincoat, and took out a copy of an ordnance survey map. He spread it out on Katie's desk and smoothed it with the side of his hand. 'The first step I always take when I look into any historical event is to look at a contemporary map, if I can. So many things can change over the years-the roads, the place names, everything. This is the area north of Cork as it was in 1911. This is the road from Cork City to Ballyhooly, and this red outline is Meagher's Farm. You'll notice that there wasn't a farm there, in those days, but there was a small collection of three or four dwellings which was already known as Knocknadeenly. In Gaelic, that's Cnoc na Daoine Liath.'

'The Hill of the Gray People?'

'That's right. But 'beings,' perhaps, more than 'people.' It was supposed to be a gateway between the fairy world and the real world-the place where Mor-Rioghain lived whenever she came to Ireland. I think if there was any place in County Cork where anyone would be likely to perform a ritual ceremony, it would be here.'

'Excuse me, Gerard,' asked Katie. 'But who was Mor-Rioghain?'

'Mor-Rioghain? She was an evil sorceress-a malign fairy. She appears in dozens of different legends all over Europe and Scandinavia. In England she was called Morgan Le Fay and she was supposed to be King Arthur's wicked half-sister, who was always plotting to kill him. Here in Ireland she was a cousin of the Death Queen Badhbh, or perhaps another side of Badhbh's personality, and she was supposed to come out of her magic hill, hersidhe,in the shape of a wolf bitch. If you fed her with the flesh of innocent women, she would grant you any wish you wanted.'

'So you think these killings could have been part of what? Some folkloric ceremony?'

'Not a ceremony that I've ever come across before, as I told you. But-yes, I believe it's a distinct possibility.'

'And that's what you've managed to find out?'

'Yes.' He blinked, and sat down. 'I mean, that's quite an exciting step forward, isn't it?'

'It's a start, I suppose. Do you think there's any way of finding out if there were any pagan sects around Knocknadeenly at the time? Like, devil worshippers, anything like that?'

'Anybody who wanted to summon up Mor-Rioghain wouldn't have been a devil worshipper. They would have