Lake of Sorrows

Nora realized she wasn’t really listening; she was concentrating on the disjointed images that tumbled about in her consciousness: another length of cord, another knife wound, another dead man only a few hundred yards away. But this man was wearing a wristwatch. The two deaths couldn’t possibly be related; they were separated by a few centuries at least. She said: “The body that was discovered here a few days ago—”

“Yes, what about it?”

“Well, it appears that he was garroted, and his throat was slashed as well.”

“You think there’s some connection?”

“I don’t think it’s possible. It just seems a strange coincidence that two men would be killed the same way, in the same place, hundreds of years apart.”

Dr. Friel looked up at her. “What are you doing tomorrow morning, Dr. Gavin? I’m wondering if you’d like to attend the postmortem. Nine o’clock?” Before Nora could answer, the pathologist had turned her attention to the young Garda who stood above them. “Would you find Detective Ward for me? I want to let him know I’m listing the death as a homicide. And we can let the scene-of-crime officers begin their work, if they’re ready.”

Nora spied Ward up at the road, where the van carrying the National Museum delegation had just pulled up alongside the police cars. The detective was leaning in the window, no doubt explaining the situation.

She turned back to find Charlie Brazil standing behind her at the drain edge. He must have come walking across the bog, but the fact that no one had heard his approach was hardly surprising; four meters of peat soaked up sound like the ultimate underfelt. He was crouched beside the cutting, staring down at the dead man, his expression a complex blend of fascination and revulsion.

“Another one,” he said. “What happened to him?”

“We don’t know yet.” She saw Charlie notice the leather cord, and the watch. He knew this body wasn’t as old as the one he’d found. She could see the details pull him in, begin to work on him. He looked startled when she spoke. “Ursula said you were the one who uncovered the body the other day.” He nodded. “I’d like to hear your version of what happened.”

Charlie Brazil’s eyes shifted, and he looked at the group that was headed toward the cutting. “I’ve got to be going now,” he said. “I’m not supposed to be here.” Then he turned on his heel and trudged off.

Now that the museum contingent had arrived, it was time to leave the realm of police work and return to the inquiry on the first Loughnabrone bog man. Nora went to greet Niall Dawson, who was getting his people set up at the far cutting. They wouldn’t miss her for a few minutes; she excused herself and headed up to the hut for a long-delayed lavatory break and a bite to eat. She fetched her packed lunch from the car, and entered the Portakabin to find that the archaeologists had been sent home for the day. The place was deserted, and the floor was an inch deep in peat clods, as if a stampede of water buffaloes had just been through. As she bit into her green apple, Nora caught a flash of light on metal from a parked car outside and looked up to see Ursula Downes and Owen Cadogan engaged in conversation. The wind’s steady whine swallowed up their voices, so they moved like figures in a dumb show. Ursula slouched against her car, looking up only occasionally; Cadogan paced the ground in front of her, arguing a point perhaps, but without much apparent success. All at once he stopped and raised one hand to Ursula’s throat. It was impossible to discern at first whether the gesture was a caress or a threat, but when Ursula tried to move, he pinned her to the car with one quick motion. Nora felt a surge of adrenaline as she started from her seat. The only thing she could think to do was to slam her fist against the window. Cadogan lifted his head at the sound, and when he saw someone standing inside the hut, he dropped his hand and slowly backed away. Nora could hear the complaint of grinding gears as he drove off.

She left the hut and approached Ursula, who stood beside her car, one hand rubbing the place where Cadogan’s fingers had rested on her throat.

“Are you all right? I realize it’s none of my business—”

Ursula stopped her with a chilly glance. “You’re right; it’s absolutely none of your business.” Nora felt as though she’d been slapped. She could only watch as Ursula turned her back and walked away.

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