A Terrible Beauty

'The lace. You told me that the rag doll was made out of shreds of petticoat, edged with German lace. German legend, German lace. There must be some connection.'

Katie nodded. 'You could be right, Gerard. The trouble is, we need more than speculation.'

'I'll keep at it.' Gerard looked at his watch, and blinked. 'I don't suppose you could spare the time for lunch?'

28

She was eating a chicken ciabatta sandwich at her desk when Liam knocked at her door. 'I'm just on my way to talk to Dave MacSweeny at the Regional. Wondered if you'd care to come along?'

'I'm too busy, Liam,' she said, brushing crumbs from the reports she was reading.

'I've been asking around. I think I've already got a fair idea of who crucified him.'

'Oh, yes?'

'Two fellows were drinking in The Ovens Tavern on the afternoon before the nail gun got stolen. They left the bar at a quarter to five saying that they had a little job to do, but that they'd be coming back later. They had a white Transit van parked just opposite the Ovens, and they climbed into it and drove away. But only about twenty- five yards. They stopped just opposite the post office, got out of the van, and opened the back doors. Nobody saw them load the compressor, so I haven't got watertight eyewitness evidence. But I'll bet you a tenner it was them.'

'And who were they, these two fellows? Do we know?'

'Oh, yes. Gerry Heelan and Cors O'Leary, and we all know whotheydo little jobs for.'

'Eamonn Collins, yes. Them and a score of other scumbags. But why would Eamonn Collins want to crucify Dave MacSweeny? They don't mix in the same circles; they don't operate the same kind of rackets.'

'I know,' said Liam. Behind his owlish glasses, his face was very serious.

'Perhaps Heelan and O'Leary did this on their own,' Katie suggested.

'Oh, I doubt it. It was far too theatrical. Far too technical, too. Heelan and O'Leary would have caught MacSweeny in a side street and bashed his head in with a brick.'

'Well, I wish you luck,' said Katie. She carried on reading and eating but Liam stayed where he was, leaning against the doorjamb.

Eventually, she looked up and said, 'Yes? What is it?'

'You can't help hearing stories, you know. And one of those stories was that Dave MacSweeny was looking for some fellow who was messing around with his girlfriend, with intent to do this fellow some grievous bodily harm.'

'Oh, yes?'

'In fact, hediddo this fellow some grievous bodily harm, that's what I heard. Caught him in the car park in Beasley Street and gave him a good sound bashing. Which makes me wonder if this fellow was looking for revenge, and asked Eamonn Collins to arrange it for him. Or her.'

'This all sounds like hearsay and supposition to me.'

'You may be right. But it's a possible motive, isn't it?'

'Dave MacSweeny has more enemies than a dog has fleas. Anybody could have taken it into their head to teach him a lesson.'

'I don't know. There aren't many 'anybodies' who would dare to. Dave MacSweeny's a very vicious fellow when he's upset. That's what makes me think it was Eamonn Collins. Think about it, Superintendent. Not only is Eamonn Collins the only man in Cork who would dream up something like nailing him onto a cross, he's the only man in Cork who would have the nerve to teach him a lesson like that and let him live.'

Katie slowly crumpled up her sandwich wrapper and dropped it into the bin. 'Let me know how you get on,' she said.

That afternoon she went to see her father. When he answered the door his white hair was sticking up at the back and he looked as if he had been sleeping.

'Katie! This is unexpected. Everything's all right?'

She stepped into the hallway. She could smell mince and onions. 'I just needed somebody to talk to, that's all.'

'Come on in, then. Can I get you a cup of tea?'

'That's all right. I've just had lunch.'

They sat together in the window seat that overlooked the river. The sun came and went, came and went, so that sometimes they were lit up by dazzling reflected light, like actors, and other times they were plunged into shadow as if they were nothing more than memories of themselves. When the sun shone brightly, Katie's hair gleamed copper, and her skin looked almost luminous white. But it was then that she couldn't help noticing the tomato-soup stains on her father's sweater and how withered his hands were.

'Something very strange is happening,' she said. 'The trouble is, I don't know whether it's real or imaginary. I mean, I have the strongest feeling that Fiona Kelly's killer is very close, and that there's every chance that he might commit another murder. But I don't know why I feel like that. Maybe it's just me, feeling the strain.'

'Do you have any evidence at all that he's still in Cork?'

'None whatsoever. But he must have had a motive for replicating the murders of 1915. Either he's just a copycat killer, or else he's trying to do what the original murderer was apparently trying to do?to raise up this Mor-