Lake of Sorrows

They passed through what appeared to be a squad room and turned into a stairwell at the building’s rear. Their feet clattered on the concrete stairs, making a hollow, metallic echo in the stuffy stairwell. More desks, more phones upstairs, then a nondescript room with a table and several chairs—an interview room. Cormac was probably just next door. Nora knew they would not have brought her here just to sign a statement; they weren’t finished with her yet, and it was this woman’s job to get something more out of her.

Brennan set a sheaf of typed papers on the table, just out of reach. “We have your earlier statement here ready for you to sign, Dr. Gavin, but we wanted to give you the opportunity to add to it, if you wish to do so.”

Nora studied Detective Brennan’s face: broad, with a generous mouth; thick hair cut in a style that said she was a woman who tolerated a minimum of fuss.

“I’m not sure what you’d like me to add.”

“You live in Dublin, but are staying out here for the moment at—” She checked the typed sheet. “—the Crosses, a house owned by Evelyn McCrossan, is that correct?”

“Yes. You know all this; it’s in my statement.”

“Just want to make sure there’s nothing you’ve inadvertently left out. Now, as I understand it, you’re assisting with the excavation at Loughnabrone, and the archaeologist in charge of that excavation was Ursula Downes.”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that. Ursula was in charge of the bog road excavation, and in the course of that work, her team found the remains that the National Museum team was recovering over the past few days. I was consulting with the National Museum on that secondary excavation.”

“I see. And Ursula’s crew also found the body of Danny Brazil, who apparently was murdered at Loughnabrone Bog twenty-six years ago.”

“Yes.”

“All rather strange and coincidental, isn’t it? It’s also coincidental that your fellow houseguest up at the Crosses is an archaeologist and knew Ursula Downes—knew her quite well, according to our information. Working with her must have been a bit awkward.”

Nora said nothing, but she felt her hands tightening into fists under the table. Brennan, despite her pleasant appearance, was quite good at this.

“Whose idea was it for you and Cormac Maguire to spend time here?”

“I don’t remember, exactly. When the body turned up at Loughnabrone, the museum asked me to come down and consult on the recovery, and when I mentioned it to Cormac, he suggested that we stay at the Crosses.”

“You came out here together from Dublin? When?”

“No. Cormac drove out here on his own last Sunday, and I came out on Monday morning. I wanted to have my own car while I was here.”

“And why did you say he came along on the trip out here?”

“I didn’t. But he told me he was working on some writing and thought a few quiet days in the country might help his concentration.”

“I see. Or maybe he thought it would be interesting to put the two women he was seeing within reach of each other? Maybe the danger of that situation appealed to him. Surely he’d seen Ursula Downes being interviewed on television about the bog body. Surely he’d heard she was working on the site. Isn’t that why he came out here?”

He’d never said anything to her about Ursula before they’d made their plans. “No. I had to be here for the excavation, and he came along to write.”

“Did he mention anything to you about Ursula Downes visiting him at the Crosses on Sunday evening?” Brennan asked.

“Yes, he told me she stopped by just after he got in.”

“This was something he volunteered on his own when you arrived?”

“No, he told me this morning—” Only this morning, after he’d found out Ursula was dead. But what Detective Brennan was suggesting could not be true.

“Can you tell us where Dr. Maguire was last night?”

“He was with me.”

“All night?”

Nora hesitated slightly, trying to feel her way through this minefield, to tell the truth without damning Cormac. “We were together all evening. I fell asleep about eleven-thirty, and he was with me. When I woke up at seven this morning, he was there as well.”

“And in the intervening hours, from half-eleven to seven a.m.?”

“I told you, I was asleep.”

“You didn’t wake in the middle of the night?”

“No, I was very tired.” She felt the calm gray eyes survey every inch of her face. Brennan switched gears again.

“I suppose all archaeologists have their own gear that they bring to an excavation—do you know anything about that? I’d no idea they actually use bricklayers’ trowels; I suppose I thought it would be something more sophisticated than that. And everyone all done up in waterproofs. I suppose the weather doesn’t make all that much difference out on a bog. Wet above, wet below.”