Katie opened the paper and read the neatly typed list. '1, A Laughing Virgin; 2, A Sad Mother Of Twins; 3, A Singing Cook; 4, A Curly-Headed Prostitute; 5, A Gray-Haired Midwife; 6, A Fortune-Teller With No Children; 7, An Unrepentant Adulteress; 8, A Widow With No Teeth Of Her Own; 9, A Youngest Daughter With Eyes As Green As The Sea; 10, An Only Child With Eyes As Blue As The Sky; 11, A Dancer With Hair As Black As The Night; 12, A Traveling Woman With Hair As Bright As The Sun; 13, A Seamstress With Hair As Red As Any Fire.'
'One of those women who disappeared between 1915 and 1916 was a midwife; another was a prostitute; a third one worked as a cook for one of the British officers on Military Hill. I don't know about the rest but three out of eleven?? Fiona Kelly was number twelve and she was a blonde, and she was traveling. When I heard on the radio that Siobhan Buckley was a redhead and a fashion student?well I don't know. Perhaps I'm making a mistake, but I really don't think so.'
Katie said, 'I'm keeping an open mind. But all of the evidence that we have so far suggests that the man we have in custody, Tomas O Conaill, was the man who killed Fiona Kelly. He left his fingerprints all over the vehicle in which her body was probably driven to the farm where it was found. Not only that, he has a comprehensive knowledge of Irish mythology and he actually believes in the existence of Mor-Rioghain. There's always the possibility that he wasn't working alone, but so far we don't have any evidence that he had an accomplice.'
'Do you think it might be worthwhile my talking to him?'
'I couldn't sanction that, I'm afraid. But if you can think of any questions that might give us a clearer idea of how much he knows about Mor-Rioghain?well, obviously we'd appreciate it.'
'Okay, sure, I'll give it some thought. How about the place where Fiona Kelly's body was discovered? Do you think I could go take a look at it? It could give you some very valuable insights. When it comes to ritual, you know, location is always extremely meaningful.'
'I'm sorry. I'm really going to need some identification if I'm going to allow you to get involved any further.'
'Oh, sure.' Lucy opened her black alligator purse and took out an identity card. It read University of California Berkeley, Department of Comparative Mythology, 1700 University Avenue, Berkeley, CA 94720, Lucy T. Quinn, Ph.D., FAIM, and carried a color photograph of Lucy in a black polo-neck sweater.
Katie handed it back. 'All right. I'm taking Fiona's parents up to the crime scene tomorrow morning. If they don't object, I can't think of any reason why you shouldn't come along. I definitely want to talk to you some more about this Jack Callwood. Is nine o'clock all right for you? Meanwhile, I'd like to make a copy of this list, if I can. It could help us to verify the identity of some of the women who went missing.'
'Please, keep it,' said Lucy, standing up and reaching for her coat. 'I'll see you tomorrow. I'm just glad that I can help. If you need to get in touch with me I'm staying at Jury's Inn.'
When she had gone, Katie sat back in her chair, tapping her Biro thoughtfully against her teeth. Lucy didn't look at all like an academic. She was so immaculately groomed, and her sexual presence was so strong that even Katie had been aware of it. But she certainly knew all about Mor-Rioghain and the rituals to raise her, and right now Katie needed all the background information she could get. She thought:
Patrick O'Donovan knocked on the door. 'Who was
'Stunning, isn't she?' said Katie. 'She's an expert in Celtic mythology and she's going to be giving us some background assistance with the Fiona Kelly case.'
Jimmy O'Rourke came in, too, and was obviously disappointed that Lucy had already left. He even looked behind the door.
'Don't you start getting ideas, Sergeant,' said Patrick. 'You're married with three children and a tankful of goldfish to look after.'
Katie said, 'If it's any consolation, you can check on her credentials for me. University of California Berkeley campus, Professor Lucy T. Quinn.'
'Can't I just give her a body search?'
37
Fiona Kelly's mother and father arrived half an hour late. It had started to rain outside, heavily, and their Burberry raincoats sparkled. Katie crossed the reception area to meet them and Mrs. Kelly spontaneously put her arms around her, and held her tight, as if they had both lost a daughter.
Mrs. Kelly was blond, and looked like a tireder and sadder version of the young girl that Katie had seen in Fiona's photograph. Mr. Kelly had cropped gray hair and glasses and reminded Katie of George Bush, Senior.
'I'm so sorry,' said Katie. 'The whole Garda station want you to know how much we sympathize.' She had dressed in black, too, as had Liam.
Mrs. Kelly took out a tissue and wiped her eyes. 'Your sergeant told us that we wouldn't be able to see her.'
'I'm afraid not. As you probably read in the newspaper reports, her injuries were extremely severe.'
'This man you're holding in custody,' asked Mr. Kelly. 'What is he, some kind of gypsy?'
'In Ireland they're officially called Travelers, but a lot of people have other names for them. Tinkers, or knackers. Tomas O Conaill has been living the life of a Traveler, and speaks their secret language, their cant, but most of the other Travelers stay well away from him.'
Mr. Kelly's lips puckered with grief. 'I thought she'd be safe, coming to a country like this. I've never been here before, but I've always considered Ireland home.'
'I know, Mr. Kelly, and we deeply regret it. We have very little violent crime here, compared with other countries. But drugs are on the increase, I'm sorry to say, and racketeering, and you can never predict what somebody like Tomas O Conaill is going to do. The trouble is he's very glib, very persuasive, like a lot of men who prey on young women. I can't tell you how sad I am that he picked on your Fiona.'
'I really need to see her,' said Mr. Kelly. 'You know?just to understand in my own mind that she's actually gone.'
