Lake of Sorrows

Liam Ward turned away from the lakeshore feeling light-headed. He hadn’t been prepared for the sight of Rachel Briscoe’s body floating in the lake, her long hair a dark aureole spread out around her head. The unwelcome vision dredged up memories that he did not want to face again this morning. He was rescued from his thoughts by Catherine Friel’s arrival. Ward felt his heart tighten when she glanced over at him, and was suddenly conscious of the gold band he’d replaced on his left hand.

Twenty minutes later he was consulting with the crime-scene officers on their search of the area when Dr. Friel emerged from the white police tent and signaled for him to join her. As he entered the surreal diffuse light inside the tent, the sight of the girl’s waxen face and blue lips made his stomach lurch unsteadily once more, but he fought off the nausea and stood beside her.

“I’m afraid it’s all too familiar, Liam,” Dr. Friel said. “The garrote is a narrow leather cord with three knots tied in it. And her throat was cut—looks like left to right again, just like Ursula Downes. She also seems to have been hit on the back of the head, but I’ll know more about that after the postmortem. From the temperature and the condition of her skin, she’d probably been in the water about six to eight hours when she was found, which puts time of death maybe between one and three in the morning. No obvious signs of struggle or sexual assault. She does have some unusual scarring on her wrists.” She unzipped the body bag a few inches to gently lift one of Rachel Briscoe’s arms and show him. “They look like deliberate cuts. Completely scarred over, and at least several years old. If I had to venture a theory, I’d say probably self-inflicted.”

“You’re not saying this may have been a suicide?”

“Oh, no, I don’t think it’s possible that the fatal injuries were self-inflicted. Just that she may have had a history of self-injury. It’s not as uncommon as people might think. I don’t know if that detail might be relevant to your investigation, but I thought you should know.” She reached over and pressed his forearm. Her hand felt warm against his wrist, and surprisingly strong. “I am sorry, Liam. I know you were trying to find her.”

Ward nodded and looked out over the lake. The strong wind stirred up tiny wavelets that rippled its surface, driving a pair of mute swans on the far side of the water hard against the rushy lakeshore. How had this place come to be called Loughnabrone, and what other deeds were hidden beneath its waters? These three triple deaths—three lives sacrificed, and for what? Perhaps it was for something beyond rational understanding, something deeper than the motives he could grasp. He’d been fighting the notion. But with this third victim, perhaps he ought to admit there might be some dark connection to the past.

3

The pounding on the door downstairs gradually made its way into Nora’s consciousness. Cormac still slept soundly beside her. They’d been up half the night, over at the Scullys’ house, and had looked forward to a lie-in this morning. She climbed out of bed and went to the window, to find Liam Ward looking up at her, one hand shielding his eyes from the light. Behind him stood Detective Brennan. She hurried into her clothes and down the stairs.

“Dr. Gavin? Sorry to disturb you so early, but we need to have a word with you and Dr. Maguire.”

“About what?”

Ward pursed his lips and frowned. “I’m afraid there’s been another murder. Rachel Briscoe’s body was found this morning at Loughnabrone.”

Nora backed up into the entry, feeling jittery, as if she’d had too much coffee instead of too little sleep. Could something she had said or done in the last few days have placed the girl in even greater danger? “Another triple death,” she said. Ward’s face remained impassive. “It was, wasn’t it?”

“I’m afraid I can’t discuss the details—”

But what else would have driven them straight here, to check on their prime suspect in Ursula’s murder?

Cormac came downstairs, struggling into a shirt, with his hair still standing on end. Nora could see that he wasn’t quite awake, and she also saw each of the detectives noticing the reddish marks on his forehead.

Ward addressed Cormac: “I was just telling Dr. Gavin the reason that we’ve disturbed you so early this morning. A young woman named Rachel Briscoe has been found dead at Loughnabrone. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

A look of helpless disbelief crossed Cormac’s features. “Of course. Anything I can do to help.” He waved them into the sitting room.

Brennan took a seat on the sofa and brought out a small notebook and pen; Ward remained standing. He said, “I have to ask you both where you were last night between the hours of midnight and four o’clock.”