The Celtic Riddle

Chapter Eleven. A FLAME OF VALOR

WHAT Deirdre had to say to the gardai put Conail O'Connor in jail. Or rather, to be more precise, Conail's reaction to what Deirdre had to say got him in trouble. Conail, hot-headed at the best of times, I'd warrant, was brought to the brink by his split with Fionuala and the constant ribbing he was subjected to, some of it friendly, some of it not, on the subject of his little encounter with Alex. His being hauled in for questioning had resulted in a physical altercation in the garda station that left one police officer with a bloody nose and Conail in handcuffs.

Conail was being led off to a cell, as I went into the station to talk to Rob.

"Piss off, will you?" he said as an officer took his arm. "I was looking for my wife," he bellowed over his shoulder as he was taken away. "I know she was there. Flirting with every man she came across. Somebody will have seen me."

"Seen him where?" I asked Rob as he led me to his little corner of the station. They'd given him a desk in the middle of a busy room, opposite an engaging young officer who gallantly gave up his chair and went searching for another when Rob and I arrived.

"Town," Rob replied. "Deirdre has told us this morning that she saw Conail O'Connor at Second Chance late the night Michael Davis died. After pub closing time. He says he was looking for his wife, but in town, not at Second Chance."

"Well, we all saw him in town at one point, didn't we, when he made that scene in the bar. But I talked to Deirdre before she went off to Dublin, and she didn't say a word about it. Why is Deirdre saying this now? Why not before?"

"Something about loyalty to the family, didn't want to get any of them in trouble when she was sure Conail hadn't really done anything wrong et cetera, et cetera. I can see why you refer to her as Deirdre of the Sorrows, by the way. Sad little lady. I see her kind of face from time to time, usually on the victims. They have an expression on their faces that seems to say that they know life will disappoint them, that something bad will happen to them. And the funny thing is, it does. I don't know whether they're victims because they look like victims, that they invite it in some way, or they look that way because of things that have happened to them already. Either way, I never quite know what to do or say to people like that." He paused for a moment. "Anyway, that's the reason I asked you to come down here, to try to confirm times again. I know we've been through this before, but in light of Deirdre's statement, we're going to have to go through it all again."

He looked tired. Well he might, of course, chasing criminals all day and doing the horizontal two-step with Ban Garda Maeve all night.

"How are you, anyway?" he said, smiling at me.

"It's ages since we had a chance to talk."

"Fine," I said. "I'm using my time here to find some stock for the store. Figure I might as well do something useful while I wait."

"Good," he said. I knew what he was thinking. He wanted to believe me, but wasn't sure whether he could or not. But he liked the idea of what I'd said. He thought it would keep me out of trouble. "Are you really?" he said suspiciously.

"Absolutely," I replied. I took a photo of the dining room set the seller had given me out of my bag and laid it out in front of him. "See? Lovely, isn't it? I found a beautiful silver tea service, too."

"Great," he said, handing the photo back to me. We seemed to be having trouble talking about anything other than police work, I realized. We used to talk all the time. This was not so good.

"Well," he said. "Down to business. Let's go over that evening again. Michael and Breeta left together?"

"Yes. She had to catch the last bus into Killarney. Michael was going to walk her to the bus stop, then he'd promised her he'd go back to Second Chance to get Vigs."

"The turtle," Rob said.

"Tortoise, actually, but yes."

"Method of transportation?"

"He was walking her to the bus, but he had his bicycle, so he would have used that to get to the house. She would confirm this, I'm sure."

"She has, more or less. Sullen young woman, isn't she? Has she said anything to you?"

"Not a word," I said. "Literally. She's not speaking to me."

"She's not saying much to anybody, I gather. Okay," he sighed. "The last bus was at ten-thirty. Breeta was on it: the driver remembers her. He thinks Michael was at the stop, which makes sense. He would have waited with her until the bus came. Then he bicycles to Second Chance. That would take at least twenty minutes. Brendan here," he said gesturing to the officer at the desk next to him, who smiled, "strapping young man that he is, did the route and timed it. Let's say he got there about eleven. Now Conail was in and out of various pubs all evening, although he has difficulty accounting for his time beginning around ten or ten-thirty. He says he ran into Fionuala, and they had another argument, a loud one, I gather. Several people say they heard a man and a woman shouting at each other out in the street. That may account for a few minutes, but that's all. What do you figure Michael did?"

"I think he did what he said he would do. He went back to Second Chance to get Vigs. He could let himself in at the back door. The staff had keys to the staff entrance. It was late…"

"Not all that late, but the family, that is Sean, Eithne, and Margaret claim to have gone to bed very early, and didn't hear a thing. Deirdre has a room up in the attic, so she probably wouldn't have heard anything. She claims she didn't. She does say, though, that she saw Conail creeping around outside the house. She looked out the window, apparently. It was raining a little, so it might have been difficult to see in the dark, but she says she recognized his walk and his shape. Conail is adamant that he went nowhere near the place."

"So Michael would have gone looking for Vigs. Deirdre had Vigs, though. She gave him to me when she went to Dublin. That may mean Michael didn't find Vigs, that he never made it into the house, or that he did and took him outside. Did Deirdre say where she found Vigs?"

"In the house, she says."

"So Michael could have run into Conail before he got into the house. And then what? Conail stabs him with a hypodermic?"

"Conail doesn't seem to have a drug problem, just an alcohol and temper problem," Rob replied. "These Irish do seem to like their drink, don't they? Almost a stereotype, some of them. But I don't know. Conail insists he didn't see Michael that evening at all. Too busy yelling at his wife to have seen Michael in the bar at the Inn, apparently. The question is, even if he did, why kill him? Just because he'd had a very bad day? It wasn't Michael's fault Conail's wife ditched him, although I suppose she could have been flirting with him. She was flashing a fair amount of leg around that evening, chest too, if I remember correctly."

I smiled to myself. I'd thought he was so besotted with Maeve that he hadn't noticed Fionuala, but apparently he had.

"And it wasn't Michael who flattened him out at Malachy and Kevin's place: It was our very own Alex." He grinned. "Sure wish I'd been there to see that. So what would he kill Michael for?"

"For a clue?" I said. "Michael had a clue in his hand, part of one at least."

"We've looked into the clues, of course, talked to those lawyers, McCafferty and McGlynn, one of them anyway. I can't seem to tell them apart," he said, checking his notes. "McCafferty it was. He says they had nothing to do with hiding the second set of clues and didn't know who did. Nor did they know which line of the poem went in each of the envelopes. I suppose we have to believe him, being a fellow member of the justice system and all that." "Did you find out what clues everyone had? That would be important, wouldn't it?"

"Of course I did," Rob said. "I'm a seasoned crime investigator, remember? Conail and Fionuala got one about," he stopped and looked at his file again, "a ray of the sun. Conail showed it to me, or rather he threw it at me. Margaret claims to have destroyed hers, without looking at it, so it could be anything; Eithne and Sean got the clue about the stag of seven slaughters; Padraig Gilhooly got…"

"Salmon in a pool," I interjected. "Michael got the furious wave, Alex, the sea-swell. The trouble is there are more clues than people, or original envelopes if you will. The beauty of the plant might have been Breeta's clue, the one stolen from the safe at Second Chance. Michael must have found it-maybe he wrestled Conail for it. Michael was awfully fond of Breeta, and he'd not want anyone else to get her clue."

"Wrestled Conail or somebody else," he replied. "Could be. Or maybe he just found it in the house somewhere. A lot of speculation isn't there? We'll keep seeing what we can get from Conail. Ban Garda Minogue is interrogating him now." I noticed he always referred to her as Minogue in my presence and never Maeve. "We haven't got enough evidence to hold him for the murder-at this point it's her word against his-but fortunately perhaps, he's given us another reason to keep him here. Garda Murphy might not agree it's fortuitous, of course. His nose is being looked at right now. Broken, most likely, and swelling up something fierce. By the way," he said, "can you decipher this?" He handed me a sheet of paper, one that I'd come to recognize, with Eamon Byrne's initials and Second Chance at the top.

"Conail's clue?"

"Yup. He gave it to us. Said it was a worthless piece of junk. Jennifer told me you'd all been able to decipher any that turned up, ogham or something I think she said."

"It is. Alex is really the expert. He broke the code, so to speak. I recognize some of the letters now, but I'd have to have my cheat sheet. It's in a safety-deposit box at the Inn. Make me a copy, and I'll go right back there, do it and call you back."

"Thanks," he smiled. "That will save us some time. I already have a copy, so here it is. I'd like the rest of the clues, too, if you don't mind, although I gather they don't say much. Don't say anything about Deirdre's accusations, will you? We don't want to reveal our source to the family, most especially to Conail himself. We've just told him that an unspecified someone passing by saw him hanging around there. How's Jennifer doing, by the way? She's all right, isn't she? I haven't seen her much lately, but she seems happy."

The question I'd been dreading. I looked about me. There was one garda, Rob's deskmate, working just a few feet away, two others well within earshot. Somehow, I didn't think this was the time to tell him his daughter thought she was in love with an Irish sailor twice her age. "She's okay," I said. "But I think she misses you and your fatherly guidance." There, that was a big hint. "You should try and spend some time with her, just the two of you, so you can talk."

"Yes," he replied. "I should, and I will. I'm sure she's getting plenty of guidance from you, though. Just like you're guiding me, right now." He smiled. "Thanks for the advice."

I got up to leave. If he thought I was giving his daughter guidance, he wasn't going to be too pleased with the result. "Since I'm dispensing advice right now, I have some more for you. Get some sleep," I said as I headed out the door. I heard him chuckle, but didn't look around.

Conail and Fionuala's clue, the ray of the sun, was Grianan Ailech to Granard down the line of the noonday sun. No more helpful than any of the rest. I wrote them all down on a piece of paper and dropped them off at the garda station for Rob on the way to my next buying expedition. I'd heard there was an auction at a town on the other side of the Dingle Peninsula called Ballyferriter. I stopped off for a bite of lunch at a little wine bar on the main street of town and found, to my surprise, Jennifer and Gilhooly, Malachy and Kevin. I smiled at her and the two brothers, and glared at Gilhooly.

"How'd you get all the way over here?" I asked them.

"Paddy borrowed a van," Jennifer said, gesturing toward the window. A dilapidated van sat outside.

"We've found another clue," Jennifer said. "I made a copy of Uncle Alex's ogham table and brought it along."

"It's a mystery," Malachy said. Jennifer handed me the paper.

"All seen and seeing ring of fire," I read. "Which line of the poem did this one come from?"

"A flame of valor," Malachy replied. "And we've found another one, the one that goes with he who clears the mountain paths. Kev here had the idea that would refer to Mt. Brandon, named after St. Brandon, so we hiked all the way up the path to a cairn, and found it there."

"That's great," I said.

"Not entirely," Malachy said. "Tere's a small problem with it, you see. 'Twas hidden the same way as the others, and it has Byrne's initials on it and everything."

"But?"

"But it's blank! Here, take a look."

I looked. The now familiar paper was there, but it was, as Malachy said, quite blank.

"What does this mean?" Jennifer asked no one in particular. "The paper doesn't look as if it's ever been wet, or anything. Like the ink might have washed away."

"How should I know?" I replied. "Unless…" They all looked at me.

"There have been more of the second set of clues than the first. I mean, we've found ogham clues for lines of the poem no one was given. Presumably, we were supposed, with the clues we got, to figure out it was from 'Song of Amairgen,' and go and find all the lines of the poem, not just the ones we had." I stopped there, and they all waited. "So," I hesitated. "So I don't know."

"So, this means that when we get this far, there are no more clues," Jennifer said. "Isn't that what you're thinking?"

"I guess so. We're still missing some lines before this. We would have to try and find them, to see if there are any ogham clues that go with them, and maybe one or two lines after this one to see if they are blank too. Then we'd know."

"The lines from this one, the one about the mountain paths," Malachy said, looking at the copy of the poem Jennifer had brought with her, "are slightly different in structure. Instead of I am something or other, they start with he who: he who clears the mountain paths, he who describes the passage of the moon and so on. So maybe we have come to the end of the clues. Maybe we need to find the missing ones before that. We're missing the one about the stag of seven battles and the ray of the sun, aren't we?"

"Not anymore," I said. "We now have ray of the sun, which is," I paused to hold up my notes.

"Grianan Ailech to Granard down the line of the noonday sun," Jennifer read aloud. "Where did you find this one?"

"The garda station," I replied. "It's a long story." I felt vaguely guilty about handing over the clue I got from Rob. But I'd given him all the ones we had so far, hadn't I?

"Did you get a chance to talk to Dad?" Jennifer asked. She looked a little lonely in a way, I thought, and missing him. She was wondering whether I'd told him about her and Paddy.

"Only briefly," I said. "There were a lot of people around." She looked relieved. "Don't tell him I told you about Conail's clue," I added.

"Maybe we could do a deal here," she said, a mischievous smile slowly appearing on her face.

"And maybe we couldn't," I said, although I found myself beginning to smile too. "Just don't tell him."

"What did she say?" Kevin asked.

"She said don't tell Rob she told us the clue," Malachy said directly into Kevin's ear.

"Not that, the clue," Kevin shouted. "What was the clue?"

"Grianan Ailech to Granard down the line of the noonday sun," Malachy shouted back. A couple of other diners looked our way.

"I know Granard," Kevin said. "It's a town, County Longford, I believe. I don't know about this ring of fire thing, but Granard's a real place."

"This is the first real place name we've had," Paddy said. "Maybe it's hidden in Granard. Maybe we should go there. I'll see if I can keep the van for another day or two. We could leave tonight."

Jennifer doing an overnighter with this guy? I didn't think so.

"Hold on a sec," I said. "There are a lot of other clues we still haven't found. Why don't we just concentrate on finding them all, and then see what we've got."

Jennifer looked disappointed. "I guess you're right," she sighed. "But I just want to get going and find this thing, whatever it is."

"That's a good point," I said. "Eamon Byrne said the clues were about what it was, as well as where it was. Maybe the Granard clue is a what, not a where. Without the what, even if we knew where, we wouldn't know what to look for. I mean is it bigger than a bread-box? Animal, vegetable, mineral?"

"I think it's gold," Malachy said. "The bogs. Eamon Byrne was in the turf business, peat. They've found all sorts of treasures hidden in the bogs, stashes of gold and everything. The Celts apparently hid stuff in the bogs, or maybe they threw it in as an offering or something. Roman coins, Viking treasures, gold tores. Those are the metal collars the Celts wore around their necks," he said to Jennifer. "In battle that was all they wore, that and their swords and shields. Starkers, they were, when they were fighting. Must have been something to see." He roared with laughter and slapped his knee. "Denny has some good stories about those battles," he said. "We'll get him to tell them soon. That's if you're up to helping him to a whiskey or three, Lara," he added.

"I am," I replied. I had to laugh too. I loved these three old guys.

"So what's left in the way of lines of the poem?" Paddy asked. "The stag of seven slaughters, I know, but what else?"

"Let's see," I said, looking at my notes. "Lake in a plain, a piercing spear waging war, and a god that fashions heroes for a lord, whatever that is."

"Kevin has an idea for one of those," Jennifer said. "We were going there after lunch. Some observatory, or something."

"Oratory," Malachy corrected her. "The Gallarus Oratory. Kevin thinks that would be the place for lake in a plain. Religious place, very ancient. Yer man Eamon Byrne's kind of place. 'Tis a bit obscure to be sure. The clues we've left are getting harder. But Kev sees it this way. There are no lakes in plains around here. They're all in the mountain valleys. So he tinks 'tis the Gallarus Oratory, on account of it's in the shape of an overturned boat, and it's resting on one of the few flat areas there are. So if we're done here, let's get going."

The Gallarus Oratory was an extraordinary structure, very old, and set in a windswept plain with a view over to the water far away and three hills that looked like curling waves whose motion had been caught and frozen in some cataclysmic event in earth's early history. "The three sisters," Malachy said, following my glance. "That's what they're called. Now come look at the oratory."

It was made without mortar, just thousands and thousands of stones carefully placed to create a tiny early Christian church, maybe twenty feet by sixteen, its sides tapering up to form a corbelled arch roof and ceiling. It did indeed look a little like an upturned boat, its keel in the air. There was only one small window and one low door facing each other at either end.

I touched the walls inside. "A beauty, isn't it?" Ma- lachy said. "No mortar, but it's still watertight, after a thousand years! More. It is supposed to date to the eighth century. It's the same construction as those clo-chans we saw on the slope of Mount Eagle, except they were round, and this is a rectangle. A beauty," he repeated.

We heard a shout outside and hurried to find Jennifer and Paddy waving a piece of paper that had been folded and wedged until it was about an inch square.

"Found it around the back, between the stones," Paddy said.

"Hurry up, open it!" Jennifer exclaimed. "I've got the alphabet."

The two of them unfolded the paper as quickly as they could, but not fast enough for the others who crowded around.

"Is there anything on it?" Kevin asked, trying to peer over Paddy's shoulder.

"There is!" Jennifer crowed. "But it's too windy here. We'll have to translate it later. What about the hero one, what could that be."

"Now let's think about that," Malachy said, as we headed back to the van. "What do you say to the god that fashions heroes for a lord, Kev? Any of your brilliant ideas on this one?"

"Did you say hero?" Kev yelled.

"I did," Malachy said.

"Well, who's the greatest hero of the west of Ireland?" he said.

"Grand idea, Kev!" Malachy said.

"Okay," I said. "I give up. Who is the greatest hero of the west of Ireland?"

Kevin and Malachy looked horrified at my ignorance. Paddy merely smiled and opened up the van.

"Why Fionn MacCumhail!" Malachy said, saying something that sounded like Finn McCool. "Head of the Fianna, wasn't he? The greatest warriors ever. And, as it turns out, Fionn fought one of his greatest battles right here in Dingle. Can you get this thing moving any faster this time, now Paddy? And do you tink it's up to the climb?" he said, giving a tire a little kick.

"We'll go as fast as it will take us, Malachy," Paddy said. "Fast as it will go. Now hop in. Will you be following behind, Ms. McClintoch?"

"Where are we going?"

"Two possibles. Fionn MacCumhail's table, which is a dolmen in the Slieve Mish Mountains, or some sites around Ventry, where an epic battle was fought by MacCumhail. The dolmen will be a bit of a climb, and I may have to be the one to do it. If that's the case, I won't be doing it today," he said, squinting into the sun, now low.

"Then let's pause here for a moment," I said. "What about the other one, the one about the piercing spear waging war?"

Kevin scratched his head. "This one's got me puzzled," he said. "But I'll keep thinking."

"I'd think the piercing spear might very well be in Eamon's own study," I said. "It was filled with swords and spears and stuff. It could be Margaret's clue-she claims she destroyed hers without looking at it-and if so, Eamon might have wanted to make it easy for her to find. The first one was right on the property, at least down in the little cove. Maybe this one is there, too. If it is, she's probably found it already, unless she really meant it about not looking for any of them."

"How would we get that one?" Jennifer asked. "We'd have to get into the house to do it."

"Tere's no way I'm going into that fecking place," Paddy said.

"Me neither," Malachy said. "Nor I," Kevin agreed.

"I was just passing by on my way to Rose Cottage," I said, handing Margaret Byrne my card at the door of Second Chance. For a moment, she stared at it. "This is my assistant, Jennifer, by the way. Jennifer, this is Mrs. Byrne. I'm sorry to trouble you, and I'm not sure whether you were aware or not, but as you can see, I am the co-proprietor of an antiques and design shop in Toronto called Greenhalgh McClintoch. I have noticed that your home is up for sale, and it occurred to me that you might be thinking of selling some of the contents. I'm particularly interested in some of your husband's maps, which I saw the other day, if there are any that are not being given to Trinity College. I have a client who is a map collector and several of them are quite good. If those are not available," I went on, "I'd be most grateful if you could show us anything that you're thinking of selling."

"We have not yet decided what we will be selling," Margaret said reluctantly. "We will, of course, be getting rid of some things. We are thinking of moving to cozier quarters," she said, "and won't have the space, you understand."

"Of course," I agreed. Perhaps, I thought, the family really was as broke as everyone in town was saying. "I do hope you will decide before I leave for Canada, which I think will be very soon. By the way," I said, taking an envelope from my bag and handing it to her. "A letter of reference from my bank."

Margaret looked at it for a moment. "Come in," she said at last.

"Will you be looking for another place around here?" I asked, brightly attempting to make conversation.

"I doubt it," Margaret said. "I think I'd like to go back where I was born. It's in Connemara. Do you know it?"

"I don't," I replied, "although I've heard Conne-mara's spectacular. That's close to Galway, isn't it?"

"It is," she replied. "Absolutely beautiful. I think I might like to go back."

"Is that where you met your husband?" I asked. She nodded.

"Did you meet him after he'd been to sea, after he knew Alex?"

"Before that," she said. "We were engaged, but he went off to sea. I became engaged to another man, but then Eamon returned, and I was swept off my feet again." For a moment, she sounded sad, almost wistful, and I began to feel horribly guilty. This treasure hunt occasionally felt a little like a parlor game, and it was easy to forget that these were real people, with real feelings. It was only by concentrating on the task at hand and reminding myself that finding the treasure might be the key not only to Alex's future, but also an end to the violence, that I was able to carry on. Then she turned abruptly. "Here," she said. "My husband's study.

"The people from Trinity College have been here as you can see," she said, pointing to glass cabinets stripped bare, darker red marks showing where the weapons had rested against the velvet. "They have not left much. Are you interested in oils? These were my father's. Quite good, I believe." Not too sentimental, that woman, but perhaps she was just being pragmatic.

"Lovely, aren't they, Jennifer?" I said. Jennifer nodded vigorously. In truth, there was only one oil there that had any value beyond the sentimental, in my opinion, so I made a note of that one. While Margaret stood watching us, we carefully looked everything over, lifting objects from time to time, moving others slightly to look under them. At last I found what I wanted; at least I was reasonably sure I had. I went to the glass doors and looked outside. "Lovely day, isn't it?" I said before turning away. I was rather overusing lovely, it occurred to me, but perhaps it was because I was nervous.

My presence in the window was the signal for Alex, now hidden behind the potting shed, and who if found could claim to be crossing the property to get to Rose Cottage, to use my cell phone to call the house. The telephone rang three times. There was one in the room, but Margaret ignored it. A few moments later, Deirdre hove into view. Once again, she seemed surprised to see me. "It's for you, Madam," she said, ignoring me.

"Excuse me for a moment," Margaret said. I was elated. I was banking on the fact that Margaret would not take a call in my presence. The trouble was, Deirdre stayed put.

Jennifer walked up to her. "Sorry, but would it be all right if I used the bathroom?" she asked. Deirdre looked startled and hesitated for a moment, and I thought all was lost.

"Oh, you mean the toilet," she said finally. "Yes, please follow me." Quickly I lifted the glass case, now empty, where once Byrne's favorite spearhead, the one he attributed to Lugh Lamfada, had rested. I pulled the piece of paper out quickly, and by the time Margaret returned, I was standing looking out over the grounds once again.

"They hung up," Margaret said.

"How annoying," I said. "Ah, here's Jennifer."

I looked around a little more, extracted a promise that she'd call me if she decided to sell the old Oriental carpets in the room, then offered more than it was worth for the painting, paid cash, and told her I'd send someone around to pick it up later, if that was satisfactory. Apparently it was.

A few minutes later, Jennifer and I were sitting in Rose Cottage with the others, clue in one hand, ogham alphabet in the other, Jennifer regaling them with the story of our adventure. By the time she was through with her tale, Margaret Byrne was only microseconds away from discovering what we were after, and Deirdre about to call the police.

The story was better, or more edifying at least, than the clue: "Umbilicus Hiberniae, the sacred center" it said. Not very helpful, but there was one more clue to go, if my theory was correct. Then we'd see what there was to see.

Alex had gone down to the pier and brought back some wonderful fish, determined to prepare a meal for us all, his first dinner party, he said, in his new home. It was somewhat daunting with no electricity, but Paddy got the fire roaring, Jennifer and I lit candles and set the table, and we had a rather jolly time of it in his cozy little cottage. There was the fish, cooked in a pan over the fire, potatoes hot from the coals and slathered in Irish butter, and lots of fresh vegetables followed by strawberries in thick Irish cream. It was a bit strained at first, between Paddy and me, although I could find nothing to fault in his manner that night, no matter how I tried. He was solicitous to Jennifer, kind to Malachy and Kevin, helpful to Alex, and generally stayed out of my way, calling me Ms. McClintoch when called upon to address me. He had the casual charm of the Irish that was quite disarming, when the conversation and the companionship drew him out of his normal reticence, and finally I decided a truce was in order. "We didn't get off to a very good start the other day," I said to him as we were setting out the food on the table.

"We didn't," he agreed.

"I thought you'd run us down in the water. It was your boat, I think," I added carefully.

"Could have been," he said. "Do you still think I was at the helm?"

"No," I replied. "Malachy and Kevin said you wouldn't do such a thing, and that's good enough for me.

He smiled. "They're grand old boys, aren't they? And no, it wasn't me, although I regret to say it may have been my boat. There were a few extra knots showing on her than there should have been for its just being in the boatworks. The boys at the works took her out to see she was going all right, after they'd worked on her, but not as far as all that."

"Who do you think might have taken it?"

"Conail," he replied.

"Why?"

"Kind of hotheaded thing he might do. Get us both at one time, if you see what I mean: scares you off the hunt and gets me in trouble at the same time. They're a bad bunch up there at Second Chance," he added. "Treated me rough, they did. Tink they're better than everybody else, but they're not. Except Eamon. He was a fine one. Took me in, made me feel like one of the family. Treated all of us right-Michael and John and me. Not her, though. Margaret. A bad piece of work, she is. Treated me like dirt. Conail too, and Sean. The two sisters, they went along with it."

"Only two of them?"

"Not Breeta," he said softly. "Not her. She's a fine one, like her Da."

"You should call me Lara," I said.

"Should that be Aunt Lara?" he smiled.

"No, it shouldn't," I replied. Don't push your luck, I thought.

Late in the evening, well fed and warmed by the conviviality, we left Alex ensconced in his cottage and picked our way carefully overland to the main road, not wishing to run into Sean McHugh and his rifle at night, and thence back to town. I dropped Malachy and Kevin off before going on to the friend of Paddy's from whom he'd borrowed the van. He took off from there on his motorbike, and I took Jennifer back to the Inn.

There was an envelope waiting for me on my return. In it was a note. / came to see you, it said. / will come back on my day off. Day after tomorrow, 1o'clock. Please wait for me. There is something I have to tell you. Very important. D. Flood.