A Terrible Beauty

Katie followed him into the front garden. The burned-out wreckage of Paul's Pajero was still smoldering, but the fire was out. Officers from the technical bureau were examining the ignition mechanism, and others were taking photographs of the blast pattern. Three bomb-disposal experts from Collins Barracks were standing around smoking and shuffling their feet. Liam led Katie to the side of the garden, toward the laurel bushes.

'We didn't see him at first. I hope this isn't going to upset you too much.'

'What is it?' asked Katie, and there was something in Liam's expression that gave her a sudden surge of chilly dread.

Liam pulled one of the bushes aside, and said, 'I'm sorry. I really am.'

At first Katie couldn't understand what she was looking at. Halfway up one of the silver birch trees that stood behind the laurels was a tangle of red-and-yellow ropes, with thinner strings hanging from it, and large lumps of glistening maroon with bubbles of white all around them. It was only when she saw Sergeant's head on top of the tangle, and one of his legs dangling down between the thinner strings, that she realized she was looking at the blown-apart body of her dog.

'Oh my God,' she said. She turned away and walked stiff-legged across the driveway, while Liam let the bushes rustle back. He came after her and stood beside her, ignoring the rain that speckled his glasses.

'I'm sorry,' he told her, and held out his hand.

'It's not your fault.' She thought that she sounded like somebody else altogether-somebody on the edge of cracking up. 'I should have followed the proper security procedure.'

'This is nothing to do with procedure. You've had Sergeant for how many years?'

'Eight,' she said, and then cleared her throat. 'He was eight.'

She felt like walking out of the front gate and walking and walking and never coming back, but she knew that she couldn't. She had to follow this through to the end, if only to redeem herself for what had happened here today. Liam said, 'Why don't you take the rest of the afternoon off? I can cover for you.'

'I'll be fine. And besides, I've got too much to do. I have to interview Tomas O Conaill again.'

'You'd tellmeto take the rest of the afternoon off, if something like this happened to me.'

'I'm too busy, Liam. I'll take some time off when Tomas O Conaill is convicted.'

'Will you look at yourself? You're white. Even your lips are white.'

'In that case I'd better put some lipstick on.'

She went back into the house. Liam followed her. She sat on the sofa with her hands pressed against her ears and her eyes tight shut. She felt as if she wanted to block out the whole world. If only she could be deaf and blind for long enough, she could open her eyes and find that Paul was out of his coma and Sergeant was still alive and that nobody had been murdered or mutilated or drowned.

John frowned at Liam and mouthed, 'What's happened?'

Liam said, 'Her dog got caught in the blast. We've just found it.' To Katie he said, 'Would you like a drink? Brandy maybe?'

Katie shook her head.

'Listen,' said Liam, 'I'll have them take Sergeant away as soon as I can, and I'll make sure that they treat him with respect.'

She opened her eyes. It was no good trying to deny what had happened. 'Thank you,' she sniffed. John passed her a box of Kleenex.

'He wouldn't have known what hit him, believe me. He wouldn't have suffered.'

'I know that, yes. But he was such a mad, friendly dog, you know? He didn't deserve to die like that.'

'You're sure you don't want that drink?'

'If I take a drink I won't be able to go back on duty.'

'You've had a bad shock,' said John. 'Maybe you should give yourself the rest of the day to get over it. I had a neighbor in San Francisco whose dog got hit by a truck and she was depressed formonths.'

Katie took a deep breath. 'I'm fine. I'll survive. Did we get the rest of those technical reports yet, from the cottage?' She turned to Liam.

'They came in about half an hour before. I haven't had time to look at them in detail, but it seems that there are very few fingerprints, and none of them match O Conaill's. Some of the footprints in the blood are his, so he was obviously lying when he said that he had never been into the bedroom. But the lab says that he only trod on the blood after it was congealed. The other prints were made when it was still fresh.'

Katie said, 'I still believe Tomas O Conaill did it, or had a hand in it, at least. But it's certainly beginning to look as if he wasn't alone. That makes me even more worried about Siobhan Buckley.'

'No news on her, I'm afraid.'

John's cell phone rang and he went out to the hall to answer it. When he came back he said, 'Is it all right if I go now? I've just heard from Gabe that one of my cows has gone into labor. I'll come down to the garda station if you want to talk to me again.'

'That's all right. I'll want you for a witness statement about what happened here today, but it's not desperate.'

'Listen,' said John, 'I'm so sorry about your dog. I really am.'