Lake of Sorrows

“We haven’t even put out an appeal for information yet. We were just preparing to look through all these old cases—” he indicated the stack of missing-person files Maureen had left on his desk “—to see whether we could come up with anyone matching his description.”

“You won’t find Danny Brazil there,” she said.

“And why’s that?”

“We all thought he’d gone away, emigrated to Australia. He talked about it often enough. That’s why they never reported him missing. He’d just gone, no long good-byes, just slipped away as he said he would.”

“When was the last time you saw him yourself?”

Her voice was barely audible: “Midsummer’s eve, twenty-six years ago.” Very precise date, Ward thought. Teresa Brazil seemed uncomfortable sitting in the chair before him, but she evidently felt compelled to be there, to tell what she knew.

“So you’re saying he never wrote, never came home, and no one thought that strange? No one from the family tried to find him?”

“What would have been the point, if he didn’t want to be found?” she murmured.

“I’m still not quite clear why you think the man we found is your brother-in-law.”

She looked up at him, suddenly back from wherever her distant thoughts had taken her. “There were some things found with him. My son was there; he told me. A knotted leather cord, a wristwatch with a metal band. I could describe the watch, if you like. It was a gift for his birthday that year.”

Ward reached into his jacket for the two evidence bags and set them without fanfare on the desk in front of her. The corroded watch had left dust against the clear polythene, and he watched as the object worked its magic of recognition in Teresa Brazil’s eyes. He followed her gaze to the narrow leather ligature, still stretched from being twisted tight around the young man’s throat.

“That cord—” she said.

“What about it?”

“He always wore it,” she said. “May I have a closer look?”

“I’m afraid not. It’s evidence in a murder investigation.”

“Murder?” She barely whispered the word, and the color drained from her face.

“I’m afraid so. That’s all I can tell you right now.”

“It is Danny,” she said. There was no doubt in her voice. “I don’t know anyone else who wore such a thing. It was for protection, he said. For luck.” She turned away, and Ward watched her try to gain control. When she turned back to him, her face was calm.

“Mrs. Brazil, please understand that I’m not questioning your word on the identification, but it might be best to have some sort of corroborating physical evidence. Did your brother-in-law have any identifying marks that might help us—any noticeable scars or birthmarks?”

“He had a scar just above his left eyebrow, from hurling. I don’t know about birthmarks.”

“And did he ever see a dentist, here in the town or elsewhere?”

“They used to see Dr. Morrison, just here beside the station. The old doctor died a few years ago, but his son is in it now.”

“If we’re able to establish a positive identification, we’d of course have some additional questions for you and your husband, and any other family members as well.” Teresa Brazil nodded and stood, and he escorted her to the top of the stairs. “Thank you for coming in. We’ll certainly be in touch, whatever happens. And here’s my card, in case you think of anything else.” She took the card without comment and tucked it into her handbag.

As she started down the staircase, Ward spoke again: “One more thing, Mrs. Brazil. I was wondering why your husband wouldn’t have come along himself.”

Her expression said she’d anticipated his question all along. “My husband has been in poor health. He rarely leaves the house.”

That ambiguous answer would have to suffice for now. Ward returned to his office window to observe Teresa Brazil as she left the station. What was it about her that was so familiar? He watched as she merged with a crowd of adolescent boys and girls, all limbs in their blue school uniforms. They didn’t move as she passed them by, just another housewife weighed down with her messages, hurrying home to cook the family dinner.

When she disappeared around the corner, Ward turned away and sat down at his desk, where he picked up the phone and started dialing Dr. Friel’s mobile number. While he waited for the connection, he spoke across the desk to his partner as she came in. “Maureen, do you know Morrison, the fella who has the dental surgery just beside us here? Looks like we’ll have to request records belonging to a former patient of his father’s. The name is Brazil. Danny Brazil.”

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