A Terrible Beauty

'And he definitely wasn't among them?'

'No. I've seen photographs of every single man who escaped the sinking of the Lusitania. Not one of them even remotely fits the description of Callwood that was given to the Dedham police by Annette Songer, his landlady, and about ten other people who knew him.'

Katie slowly shook her head. 'Yet less than five months later, the first of eleven women was abducted in North Cork and murdered according to exactly the same ritual that Callwood had been carrying out in Boston.'

'And the same ritual Rufenwald had been carrying on in Germany,' put in Gerard. 'And don't forget-the lace that the dolls were made out of, that was German.'

'Rufenwald, Callwood, and then our mystery British soldier,' said Katie. 'It's hard to believe that they weren't the same man, isn't it?'

They talked some more over coffee. Then Katie looked at her watch and saw that it was almost a quarter of two. 'Listen, I have to go. But thank you, both of you. This has been very instructive. I'm going to initiate some more checks with the Boston police and the German police. Gerard-maybe your Dr. Kremer can help you to find some records of where the German victims were discovered, and who they were. Lucy-what would you like to do?'

Lucy was busy refreshing her pale coral lipstick. 'I think I need to go back to Knocknadeenly and make a thorough examination of the place where Fiona Kelly's body was found. I need to know what its exact magical significance is? whether it lies on a ley line or not?whether it was once a burial mound or a Druid circle?and if there are any local ghost stories about it.'

'That's fine. I'll make sure you get an identity badge. It's still officially a crime scene, so they won't let you in there, otherwise.'

'Oh? one thing, before we go,' said Gerard. 'Another of my contacts in Germany e-mailed me a charming picture of Morgana, or Mor-Rioghain, or whatever you want to call her.'

He opened his briefcase and took out a large brown envelope. He passed it over to Katie with a smile. Katie opened it and hesitated. 'Go on,' Gerard coaxed her. 'She won't bite.'

She slowly drew out a sheet of paper with a dark etching of Mor-Rioghain on it. The witch of witches was standing in a dark wood, holding up a long staff with a human skull on the top. Her face was smooth and pale and unnervingly perfect, and her lips were slightly parted, as if she were just about to speak. But-like Jack Callwood- there was something in her eyes that made Katie's heart beat slow. Something utterly remorseless. She wore an elaborate hat of black crow feathers, beneath which her hair was a mass of tangled curls, crawling with beetles and clustered with freshly hatched moths. Her decaying robes were pierced with hundreds of hooks and nails and metal pins.

'Sensational, isn't she?' said Lucy.

'You've seen this picture before?'

'Not that particular one, but plenty of others like it. They always say that when the Death Queen arrives at your bedside, you're so mesmerized by her beauty that you forget what she came for.'

'Well, then, thank you,' said Katie. 'Maybe I should have a few hundred copies printed and send them out as Wanted posters.'

45

After lunch she drove round to the Regional to spend twenty minutes sitting at Paul's bedside. He looked peaceful and untroubled, as if he were dreaming, and it was hard for her to believe that she couldn't shake his shoulder and wake him up.

'Oh, Paul, you poor dote,' she said, holding his hand. 'That was always your problem, wasn't it, getting out of your depth? You always thought you could wangle your way out of trouble, but this time you couldn't. Please open up your eyes, Paul. Please get better. I don't want you to spend the rest of your life like this.'

There was a theatrical cough behind her, and a knock on the door. It was Jimmy O'Rourke, carrying a bunch of seedless grapes from Supervalu and a sprawling bouquet of mixed flowers.

'Hi, Katie, how're you doing? How's the patient today?'

'Still unconscious, Jimmy. He's going for a brain scan in half an hour.'

'These are from everybody. It's a bit stupid, isn't it, bringing grapes to a fellow who's unconscious, but I suppose his visitors can always nibble on them.'

'Thanks, Jimmy.'

Jimmy dragged up a plywood chair on the opposite side of the bed. 'Helookswell,' he remarked. 'I mean, he's got a good color on him, hasn't he?'

'It's impossible to say yet. It depends if his brain was starved of oxygen while he was under the water.'

Jimmy nodded, and then he said cautiously, 'Dermot was asking me about what happened. You know-why Dave MacSweeny should have tried to shove you into the river.'

'I really don't know, Jimmy. Paul had been doing a few bits of business with Dave MacSweeny but as far as I can tell they got along well enough. Maybe he was trying to killme.'

'This wouldn't have anything to do with Dave MacSweeny being crucified, would it?'

Katie shrugged. 'It looks as if Eamonn Collins was probably responsible for that, but I doubt if we'll ever be able to prove it.'

Jimmy chewed that over for a while, and then he said, 'When you think about it, it must have been Paul that Dave MacSweeny was after nailing, not you. He must have been waiting close to your house, ready to follow Paul into the city. He wouldn't have known that Paul's car wasn't going to start and that you were going to come and get him, would he?'

'I suppose not. But if he was really intent on killing Paul, why didn't he simply go to the house and shoot him?