Lake of Sorrows

“You can go in to him now,” Mrs. Brazil said, and ushered Ward into the sitting room. Her husband sat stiffly in an overstuffed chair. One might almost have imagined that, apart from his barrel chest, the man was slowly disappearing into his clothes. A thin, clear tube snaked up to his face, which had the hollow eyes and bluish-gray complexion that accompanied afflicted lungs. Dominic Brazil was perhaps sixty, but looked older, blue veins standing out on the pale hands that emerged from his sleeves, his once-dark hair now a dull gray. Voices tinkled merrily from the television in the corner, but above its sound a faint hiss filled the room, like air escaping from a slow puncture, and Ward realized it came from the oxygen tank that stood beside Brazil’s chair. What was this before him but a man slowly drowning, dying a little more each day?

Teresa Brazil hovered at the door, apparently unsure whether she should stay or return to the kitchen, until Ward said, “I’d prefer you to stay, if that’s all right.” She sat down in a straight chair near the door.

Ward moved to sit down opposite Brazil on the sofa, feeling like an awkward suitor in his collar and tie. Brazil’s wheezy breath grew perceptibly faster, in through the nose, but out through pursed lips, and each exhalation seemed to take more effort than the last. “Mr. Brazil, my name is Liam Ward; I’m a detective.”

Brazil nodded, evidently not wanting to waste his breath in responding when every ounce of oxygen was precious. Ward continued: “I’m here to tell you that workers at Loughnabrone Bog discovered a body two days ago. I’m sorry to inform you that it’s been positively identified through dental records as the body of your brother, Danny.”

Brazil said nothing, but closed his eyes and concentrated fiercely upon each breath. Just as he seemed about to speak, the man pitched forward in a violent coughing fit—a ragged, tearing sound from somewhere deep within. His wife was beside him in a second, pulling his shoulders back, and Ward noticed once again her smooth, youthful hands. Her husband gripped her forearm, hard enough that Ward thought it must be hurting her; he could see the pain in her face, but she said nothing. At last Brazil sat back in the chair, exhausted, bright tears streaming down his face, but whether they had been brought on by the news of his brother’s death or by the coughing fit, Ward couldn’t be entirely sure.

“I’m also sorry to have to tell you that your brother’s death doesn’t appear to have been accidental. I’ll have to ask you a few questions. I can do that now, if you’re up to it. If not, I can come back later.”

“What do you want to know?” wheezed Dominic Brazil. “He left. Went off to Australia, we thought.” His voice was like a child’s wind-up toy running out of steam. His hand still rested on his wife’s forearm, but she slowly withdrew it, and rubbed the spot where he’d held her fast. Had that grip been just a reflex, a spasm, or some sort of communication?

“When was the last time you saw your brother, Mr. Brazil?”

He thought for a moment. “It was Midsummer’s eve, but the year—what was the year?”

His wife reminded him. “It’s twenty-six years ago tomorrow.”

“You say you thought he’d gone away. Did you ever hear from him after he left home?” Dominic Brazil shook his head fractionally.

“Did no one worry about him not staying in touch with the family?”

“He could be dreadful mulish.”

“Why did he want to leave?”

“Nothing for him here. He hated the bog like poison.”

“I understand he hurled for Offaly, but he was injured?”

Brazil nodded. “After that blow to the head, he couldn’t play anymore. He suffered from fierce headaches. That’s when he started talking about Australia.”

“How did he have enough money to get to Australia?”

“He had the reward.” Brazil’s look suggested that everyone knew about the reward.

Teresa jumped in: “For the hoard they found on the bog. There was a finder’s fee.”

“Do you mind if I ask how much?”

“Twenty thousand—pounds, it would have been at that time.”

Ward tried to imagine a couple of Bord na Mona lads with that kind of cash. “You split the money equally?”

“I bought him out, his share of this place. He had enough for Australia.”

“And no one thought it strange that he never wrote? No one tried to find him?”

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

Ward was taken slightly aback; Teresa Brazil had said exactly the same thing in his office. “Who were his mates? Anybody from the workshop that you can recall?”

“Never paid much attention to any of them. He had a couple of mates on the hurling team, but when he quit playing, they fell out. All he really cared about here was those bees.”

“Bees?”

“He kept hives above on the hill. Used to spend hours up there.” Teresa Brazil rose abruptly and left the room.

“What about girls? Was Danny involved with anyone?” Brazil shook his head, saving breath.

“Had he had a dispute with anyone? Over something on the job, maybe? You said he had a falling out with some of the hurlers?”