A Terrible Beauty

window and saying nothing at all. As they were driving in past Murphy's Brewery in Blackpool, Katie said, 'What do you think?'

'What do I think about what?'

'Do you think that Tomas O Conaill could have murdered Fiona Kelly?'

'I don't know. You'd have to ask yourselfwhy,wouldn't you? I know he's got an evil reputation, and he definitely believes in banshees and merrows and all that fanciful shite, but I don't think that he would seriously try to raise up Mor-Rioghain, do you? If he wants something, he steals it. He doesn't have to ask fucking witches for it.'

'How do we know what he wants? He may want to be a billionaire, for all we know. He may want to be the next High King of Munster.'

'That's true. Or he may be nothing more than an out-and-out sexual psychopath, who gets his rocks off from cutting the flesh off of living women.'

'Jesus, Liam.'

'I know. It's hard to get your mind round it, isn't it? But there always has to be a 'why.' Sometimes we can't believe why. Sometimes it seems so ridiculous that you have to laugh. I'll bet you don't remember that fellow from Mayfield who crushed his wife's neck in the folding legs of her ironing board? He seriously believed that she was trying to turn him into a rat.'

'I read about it, yes.'

'It was ridiculous, it was psychotic, but it was still a reason. What you have to ask Tomas O Conaill is, why did you do it? Not 'if,' not 'how,' but'why.''

They drove across the Christy Ring Bridge. The filthy waters of the Lee glittered on either side of them like an oil slick, and the lights from the opera house flickered on and off. Katie said, 'Listen, Liam, be honest with me. You've never resented my promotion, have you?'

'It wasn't my decision, was it? It was never up to me.'

'I know. But it sounds a little like you're questioning my judgment.'

'I question everything, Detective Superintendent. I question the going down of the sun and the coming up of the moon. I never believe a word that anybody says and I particularly don't believe a word that anybody in authority tells me.'

'You're a good detective, Liam.'

'Thank you. The feeling is mutual.'

31

She questioned Tomas O Conaill from 2:30A.M. until well after five. He remained hunched over the table, his voice rarely rising over the hoarsest of whispers, and he kept his eyes fixed on her unblinkingly, those deep-set eyes that looked as if he had no eyes.

Jimmy O'Rourke stayed with her for an hour, and then Patrick O'Sullivan came to replace him. O Conaill had been advised that he could call any solicitor he wanted, but he was content to have the duty solicitor, a young man called Desmond O'Keeffe with thick glasses and a crop of red spots on his forehead.

O Conaill smoked incessantly, until the bare, gray-painted interview room was filled with a surrealistic haze.

'Where did you get the car, Tomas?'

'I've told you twenty times, witch. I never saw the fucking car before in my life.'

'The engine was still warm when you were arrested. Don't tell me you hadn't been driving it.'

'I had not.'

'I'll bet you money that your fingerprints are all over the steering wheel.'

'They probably are. I've told you already that I sat in it, like, to see what it felt like. But no more than that.'

'You really expect us to believe that?'

'You can believe whatever you wish. I didn't murder any girl.'

Katie took out a color photograph of Fiona Kelly and held it in front of his face. He didn't blink, didn't even focus on it.

'I want to know where you were on Thursday afternoon.'

'I was over in Dripsey, seeing a man about some horses.'

'Which man?'

'Cootie, everybody calls him. I don't know his real name.'

'How did you get to Dripsey?'

'I went with my cousin Ger and my second son Tadgh. Ger drove us in his what-d'ye-call-it. His Land Cruiser.'

'We'll check that, of course. Where were you on Friday?'

'A whole lot of us went to Mallow to see about some felt roofing.'

Katie kept the photograph of Fiona Kelly hovering in front of him. 'Have you ever heard of Mor- Rioghain?'