A Terrible Beauty

'I don't think it's a toy, Mrs. Meagher. To be quite honest with you, I don't know what it is. But I'd prefer it if you didn't mention it to anyone.'

'Why should I?'

'Well, just in case anybody asks. Anybody from the newspapers or the TV.'

Mrs. Meagher picked up a half-empty pack of Carroll's cigarettes, and offered one to Katie. 'No? Well, I shouldn't either, with my chest. The doctor says I've got a shadow on my lung.'

'Why don't you give them up?'

She lit her cigarette and blew out a long stream of smoke. 'Give them up? Why in God's name would I try to do something when I know for sure that I'd never be able to do it?'

3

By the time it grew dark, the technical team had uncovered eleven human skulls and most of the skeletons that went with them-as well as nineteen thighbones pierced and hung with little gray dolls. The excavation had been photographed at every stage, and the position of every bone precisely marked with little white flags and logged on computer. At first light tomorrow, they would begin the careful process of bagging and removing the remains and taking them to the pathology department at Cork University Hospital . There they would be examined by Dr. Owen Reidy, the state pathologist, who was flying down from Dublin bringing his black bag and his famous bad temper.

Liam came over as Katie left the house. 'Well?' he asked her, chafing his hands together.

'Nothing. It's hard to believe that John Meagher's father had anything to do with this. But someone managed to excavate a hole in the floor of his feed store and bury eleven skeletons in it, not to mention drilling their thigh bones and decorating them with little dollies, and how they did that without Michael Meagher being aware of it, I can't imagine. As Mrs. Meagher says, he was in and out of there every single day, fetching and carrying feed.'

'So, it stands to reason. He must have known what was going on.'

'And what do we deduce from that? That he conspired with an execution squad?'

'I don't think these were executions,' said Liam. 'With executions it's almost always phutt! in the back of the head, after all. And what about all these dollies? What execution squad would bother to dismember their victims and drill holes in their thighbones? They'd have the graves dug and the bodies thrown in and they'd be off. But even if this was an execution, and John's father did bury the bodies, we can't necessarily assume that he did it willingly. He might have been warned to keep his mouth shut or else the same thing would happen to him.'

Katie took out a handkerchief and wiped her nose. 'I don't know. I think we're going to have to look somewhere else for the answer to this.'

'Well, let's keep an open mind about our Michael Meagher. Like I said, there's something about these out-of- the-way farms that puts me in mind of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. The rain, the mud, and nobody to tell your woes to but the pigs and the cows. It's not good for a man's sanity to be speaking nothing but Piggish and Cattleonian all day.'

Katie checked her watch. 'We've done all we can for tonight. General briefing at ten o'clock tomorrow morning, sharp. Meanwhile, can you get Patrick started on a comprehensive check of missing persons in the North Cork District for the past ten years? Tell him to pay special attention to people who went missing in groups, and anybody who was cycling or hitchhiking or backpacking. They're always the most vulnerable.

'Have Jimmy talk to his Traveler friends?they might know something.'

'And me?'

'You know what I'm going to ask you to do. Go and have a drink with Eugene O Beara.'

'You don't think he's really going to tell me anything, do you?'

'If the Provos had a hand in this, no. But you might persuade him to confirm that they didn't, which would save me a whole lot of time and aggravation and a few hundred pounds of wasted budget.'

4

It was nearly ten o'clock when she finally got home, turning into the gates of their bungalow in Cobh , and parking her Mondeo next to Paul's Pajero 4x4. The rain was falling from the west as soft as thistledown. Paul still hadn't drawn the curtains, and as she walked up the drive she could see him in the living room, pacing up and down and talking on the phone. She tapped on the window with her door key, and he lifted his whiskey tumbler in salute.

She let herself in and was immediately pounced on by Sergeant, her black Labrador , his tail pattering furiously against the radiator like a bodhran drum.

'Hallo, boy, how are you? Did your daddy take you for a walk yet?'

'Haven't had the time, pet,' called Paul. 'I've been talking to Dave MacSweeny all evening, trying to sort out this Youghal contract. I'll take him out in a minute.'

'Poor creature. He'll be ready to burst.'

Katie pried off her shoes and hung up her coat and went through to the living room. It was brightly lit by a crystal chandelier, with mock-Regency furniture, all pink cushions and white and gilt. The walls were hung with gilt- framed reproductions, seascapes mostly, with yachts tilting against the wind. One corner of the room was dominated by an enormous Sony widescreen television, with a barometer on top of it in the shape of a ship's wheel. In the opposite corner stood a large copper vase filled with pink-dyed pampas grass.

Paul said, 'Okay, Dave. Grand. I'll talk to you first thing tomorrow. That's right. You have my word on that.'

Katie opened up the white Regency-style sideboard and took out a bottle of Smirnoff Black Label. She poured herself a large drink in a cut-crystal glass and then went over to draw the curtains. Sergeant followed her, sniffing intently at her feet.