"I'll start the interviews here in the house," Devaney said.

"Right, sir. What'll I do, then?"

Devaney found himself envying the eagerness in his young colleague's freshly scrubbed face. "Mark off this whole area and don't let anyone touch anything. Get the scene-of-crime boys set up if I'm busy when they arrive. And see if you can't get the vehicle owners to give you an inventory of what was in them, to make sure nothing's missing." He suspected that Gavin and Maguire knew more about the inhabitants of Bracklyn House than they had so far been willing to divulge. Perhaps this turn of events would prompt them to be a little more forthcoming. He spoke to Osborne first, in the library, while the other two waited outside.

Hugh Osborne had taken an early flight and driven up from Shannon this morning, he said, and arrived at about twenty minutes past ten. Devaney asked him about security around the house. The front gate was never locked, never even closed. The house only had the two entrances, the big front door, and a smaller door in the kitchen round the back. Lucy always made sure both doors were locked and bolted before she went to bed. Neither of the visitors had keys, since Lucy was generally here during the day, when they would be coming and going.

"I don't want to alarm you unnecessarily," Devaney said, "but I'm not concerned about this only as a property crime--it's fairly serious as property crimes go, but I'm more concerned that this might be some sort of personal threat. Can you think of anything that's happened recently--even something that might have seemed harmless at the time--anything at all that might have angered someone connected to you or your guests?"

"I can't imagine, Detective. I've not had any unpleasant dealings with anyone. Maguire's here doing a small job for me, the excavation at the priory, and Dr. Gavin's just lending a hand. They've been around just over a week, and they'll be finished in another few days. The work they're doing is all very routine in the course of any development."

"You haven't run into any opposition to your project?"

"Nothing explicit."

"What do you mean by 'explicit'?"

"Well, no one has come right out and voiced any opposition. I mean, we've all seen the placards posted everywhere, all that nonsense about bog evictions, trying to stir people up with incendiary language. Knowing some of my neighbors, it's hard not to take those as indirect criticism. I know they mightn't believe it, Detective, but I had nothing to do with Drumcleggan being put up for the list of conservation areas in the first place. I supported the move, but I had no part in the decision."

"So you're saying there's no relationship at all between your project and Drumcleggan being named a protected area?"

"Actually, I wouldn't say that, Detective. The bog does adjoin the property I'm trying to develop. It's not in the immediate plans, and I've not discussed it with anyone yet, but eventually I hope to offer some environmental education programs centering on Drumcleggan. We'd be foolish not to do so. It's an amazing resource."

Not to mention a dead handy place to get rid of a couple of bodies, Devaney thought. He changed the subject. "You've been away. Where?"

"London. I had meetings with my solicitor and with the group that's going to handle the additional financing on my redevelopment plan." Devaney pictured the name the Badger had given him, of Osborne's banker friend, written in block capitals a few pages back in his notepad, and made a mental note to ring London and check the story. He'd get Mullins to check out British Airways to make sure Osborne had been on the early-morning flight.

"As far as you know, there's no apparent connection between this incident and the disappearance of your wife and son?"

"I've been struggling with that question myself, Detective. I can't think of any possible connection." He sat back in the chair and sighed.

"You'll let me know if you think of anything further."

"Of course. Surely this had to have been just some local hooligans," Osborne said. "Some of them can't resist taking the p.i.s.s when they're drunk. It's happened before. Not recently."

Devaney looked into Hugh Osborne's bloodshot eyes. "You may be right," he said. "I hope that's all it was. I'll see the professor next."

Cormac Maguire had heard nothing in the night. "Dr. Gavin and I were out all afternoon; we came back to the house sometime between five and six. We washed up and cooked a meal, and afterwards we sat and talked in my room until about midnight."

"And then?"

"And then Dr. Gavin left and went back to her own room." There was something more he wasn't saying. Why not? Devaney decided to try another approach. "What about Bracklyn's other residents? Where were they all last night?"

"Hugh probably told you he was away in London; he just got back this morning. Lucy Osborne's pretty much kept to her room since we've been here; I haven't seen her at all except on the afternoon I arrived. I did see Jeremy twice yesterday, both times only briefly."

"I happened to be here yesterday afternoon myself. The boy's mother told me he was helping you and Dr. Gavin," Devaney said.

"He has been helping with the excavation, but he wasn't with us yesterday. We took the afternoon off to visit a Mrs. Cleary."

"Ned Raftery's aunt?"

"Yes, that's right. Ned told us she might be able to shed some light on the story of that red-haired girl from the bog. We didn't bring Jeremy along. Didn't think he'd be interested, I suppose. He sort of latched on to us, Nora and myself, a few days ago, and started helping out with the dig. Apparently hasn't many friends his own age. He might have felt left out, but that's hardly enough to provoke such a vicious attack."

"When did you say you last saw him?"

"Early evening, when we got back from Mrs. Cleary's. I asked him to join us for a meal; he said he would, but he never showed up."

"No one thought twice about him going missing?"

"He may have been with his mother. I can't say I know what the boy's usual behavior is."

"You've no idea why anyone would want to do something like this? Could it have been intended as a warning?" Devaney could see that he'd struck a nerve.

"A warning about what, Detective?"

"Maybe someone doesn't like the idea of yourself and Dr. Gavin being here. Perhaps someone who doesn't want this development to go through. Can you think of anyone who'd object to Osborne's plans for the site?"

"But in that case, why interfere with Dr. Gavin and myself? We've nothing to do with whether or not the project goes through. And there's no equipment missing. Surely if someone wanted to delay the work at the priory, they could have just stolen or damaged the equipment. Or sabotaged the site."

"Maybe delay wasn't enough. Maybe someone wanted to bring it to a stop." Devaney pressed further: "Did you know that the priory land ab.u.t.ted Drumcleggan Bog? And that it's the subject of a rather heated dispute at the moment?"

"Hugh did mention it, but only once, when we first arrived. I'd seen the signs posted along the road--you know the ones I mean--and when I asked what they were about, he told me, but didn't seem particularly worried. Then the day after we arrived, I was out at the site. Brendan McGann and I had a few brief words. He's evidently not keen on the plans for the priory. He said if I were smart, I'd pack up and go home to Dublin, and not get mixed up in things that had nothing to do with me."

"Why didn't you mention this before?" Devaney asked.

"It just seemed like idle talk. Bl.u.s.ter."

"What's your impression of Brendan McGann?"

"I've only met him a couple of times. He seems to me an unhappy sort of man. Doesn't like Hugh Osborne; that much is very clear. But you live here, Detective; you probably know the why of it better than I do."

"I appreciate your honesty," Devaney said. "As I told Osborne, in all likelihood this isn't related to his wife's disappearance, but until we know more, we can't rule anything out. May I offer some advice to you and Dr. Gavin? Mind yourselves--this may not be an isolated incident."

"No."

"Was there something else you wanted to tell me?"

"When I went to call Dr. Gavin this morning, she told me someone left a dead crow in her room last night. We were actually on our way to phone you when we found the cars. I only hesitated telling you because I didn't actually see the thing--it's probably better if you ask her directly."

"I will," Devaney said, excusing him.

Dr. Gavin was eager to talk. Devaney indicated one of the overstuffed armchairs. "Shall we start with last night? Just describe what happened from, say, late afternoon onward. Whatever you can recall."

"Cormac and I came back from Mrs. Cleary's about five-thirty, I suppose. We had a bit of a mishap on the road, so we were both pretty well covered in mud. I had a bath, and Cormac got cleaned up as well. Afterwards, we had supper in the kitchen, then sat in Cormac's room and talked." Both of them were holding something back about that conversation, Devaney thought. "I must have gone back to my room around midnight, I think."

"And where were Lucy and Jeremy Osborne?"

"I don't know. I didn't actually see anyone." She stopped suddenly. "I thought I heard someone in the stairwell when I came out of Cormac's room. But when I looked, there wasn't anyone there, just an empty bottle on the floor."

"What sort of a bottle?"

"A whiskey bottle. I threw it away when I got to my room." Devaney waited. "I could tell there was something wrong; the bed was rumpled. When I pulled back the covers I found that someone had left me a message. There was a dead crow in the bed. My first thought was to call you--"

"You should have."

"Yes, I know. But whoever left it there meant to frighten me, and I wasn't about to give them any satisfaction. So I threw it out the window."

"Excuse me?"

"I wrapped it up in the bedsheets and threw it out the window. And when I looked out this morning, it was gone."

Devaney felt a sharp twinge just behind his eyebrows. "Who would want to frighten you?"

"I'm not sure. But I don't think it was the first time. I got a strange phone call when I was home in Dublin last Monday. It was late at night, and the person--I couldn't tell who it was, or even whether it was a man or a woman--just said, 'Leave it alone. They're better off.'"

"You're absolutely certain those were the words?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I tried to get the person to say more, but whoever it was hung up."

"Is there anything else you can remember from the past few days, any little thing that seems amiss or odd in any way?"

"When I came back from Dublin a few days ago, I found broken gla.s.s all over the floor of my bathroom. At the time, I thought it must have been an accident. Now I'm not so sure. When I went to get a broom to sweep it up, I came across Lucy Osborne, down on her knees scrubbing the floor in the front hall. All done up like a cleaning woman, head scarf and everything. I don't know, it was just odd. She said her cleaner, Mrs. Hernan, was down with a flu, but for some reason, I don't really know why, I didn't believe her. It was something in the way she handled the brush and the bucket--like she was used to it."

"Let's go back to the crow for a moment. Whoever put it in your room had access to this house. Hugh Osborne says he was in London last night and didn't get back until this morning. If his story checks out, that leaves Lucy or Jeremy, and why would either of them want to warn you off? What have you been doing here?"

"Nothing. I've done nothing to provoke anyone, unless--" Dr. Gavin began absently fingering the bra.s.s nail heads that stood out on the arm of her chair. She continued: "I was wandering around upstairs one day--by the way, did you know there's a painting studio way up on the top floor?"

Devaney nodded. "It's Mina Osborne's."

"I came downstairs when I heard a child's voice--it turned out to be a video of Mina and Christopher Osborne. And I found Jeremy sleeping in the next room, a nursery, in a child's bed. That's when Lucy came in. She wasn't happy to see either of us in that room." She paused again, and Devaney could see that she was wrestling with whether to tell him any more. "Cormac probably told you that Jeremy is helping with the work at the priory. I've caught him a couple of times, staring at me." She sighed. "He may be upset because he thinks Cormac and I don't want him around."

"And do you?" Devaney asked. She was fl.u.s.tered by his question, and colored deeply. "I don't mean to pry; it's important that I have all the facts."

"We weren't actually trying to get rid of him. I just can't see Lucy Osborne putting a rotten animal carca.s.s in someone's bed; it's so completely out of character. I wish I could be so sure about Jeremy. But he doesn't strike me as the kind of kid who'd go around bashing things. And the other thing is, if the damage to the cars was meant to scare us off, it was a pretty poor job, since we can't leave without them."

Devaney was with her on that point. It seemed unwise to a.s.sume that all of the previous night's events were somehow related.

When he opened the door for Dr. Gavin, Devaney found Lucy Osborne sitting in the foyer, waiting to give a statement. Although her windows faced the drive, she had little to add.

"I'm a very light sleeper," she said, "and normally would have been awakened by the slightest noise in the yard, but I hadn't slept well for a couple of nights previous, and decided I'd take one of my tablets to see if I couldn't get a decent rest. I'm very sorry not to be more help. Have you any idea who would do such a thing?"

"Have you?"

"The local villagers are nothing but ruffians, the lot. I wouldn't put this sort of thing past any one of them." She got up to leave the room.

"You do a lot of gardening, Mrs. Osborne?"

"Flowers are my pa.s.sion, as you may have gathered."

"I suppose you always get a few animal pests disrupting the beds--moles and birds and the like."

"A few. We manage to deal with them. The crows are a terrible scourge. I had to resort to poison, but that seemed to take care of them."

"Poison? So what do you do when a dead crow turns up in the garden?" He watched for any change in her demeanor but saw nothing.

"Jeremy takes care of it for me." Then she stopped, puzzled by his line of questioning. "Why are you asking me all this?"

"Just routine. I want to make sure I speak to all the potential witnesses. If your son is outside, would you mind sending him in?"

"I'm afraid he's not here, Detective. He was running an errand for me this morning and hasn't returned yet. But he should be back any time now; I'll tell him you're waiting to speak with him, shall I?" Devaney now understood why Lucy Osborne had so eagerly volunteered: she hadn't a clue where her son was. Just then the library door opened slowly, and Jeremy Osborne's dark head peered cautiously around it.

"Hugh said you wanted to see me--" When the boy saw his mother, he turned his face away automatically, but the movement was not quick enough to keep her from seeing the cracked, swollen lip and the darkening bruise on his left cheek. Lucy Osborne's alarm was instinctive; she stepped protectively between Devaney and the boy.

"Jeremy, what on earth happened? Did someone hurt you?" Devaney could see her inspecting her son's face and frame for any other injuries. The boy's face and clothes were clean, as were his hands, though the knuckles were swollen and abraded.

"I'm all right. I slipped climbing over an embankment when I was out." As Lucy searched her son's face, Devaney saw ordinary motherly concern, but something else as well: wordless entreaty, supplication. He realized that at this moment, for the first time since he had met her, Lucy Osborne seemed completely bereft of her usual and formidable lines of defense.

"Thank you for your statement, Mrs. Osborne," Devaney said. "I'll just finish up with Jeremy here, and then be on my way."

"I'd like to stay, if you're going to question my son," she said. The boy looked pained.

"There's no need. This isn't a formal interview, just a couple of routine questions."

"Nevertheless--"

"I'll be all right, Mum, don't worry." Devaney thought they'd have a harder job getting rid of her, but Lucy Osborne withdrew without another word. He gestured for the boy to sit on the sofa, and placed himself in the chair facing. Jeremy's eyes traveled nervously to the door a couple of times, as Devaney began jotting down a few brief notes in his book.

"Sore head?"

The boy's eyes snapped toward him. "Sorry?"

"I asked if you had a sore head." Jeremy studied him curiously. "You have to watch yourself with the whiskey," Devaney continued. "Only takes a few before you're stone mad. You're better off on the beer at your age." Jeremy took this fatherly advice with a trace of suspicion, but Devaney could see that underneath the brusque exterior, the boy craved this kind of attention.

"Why don't you tell me what you were up to last night, Jeremy? Don't worry, it's strictly between ourselves at this point."

"You'll have to put it down in there," Jeremy said, looking at the notebook.

"That's right. But nothing goes into any file except a formal statement, if that becomes necessary. You may be sure I don't pa.s.s this round for people's mothers to read. Were you down at Lynch's again last night?" Jeremy shook his head wordlessly, and Devaney could see the dim memory of the evening coming back to him in the successive waves of shame, anger, and disappointment that washed over his face. Devaney leaned forward and spoke as gently as he could. "Where were you, Jeremy?"

The boy's eyes were on the patterned carpet, his voice was barely audible. His long fingers picked at a thread coming out of the seam of his black jeans, and Devaney could see that his nails had been bitten to the quick. "I nicked a bottle Hugh keeps in his workshop. I remember having a few drinks from it, but I don't know what happened then. I woke up this morning in the woods."

"So what you told your mother about slipping on the embankment--"

"I couldn't tell her I'd been out all night." The pathos in his voice was sincere. "I'm not supposed to be drinking. She gets worried enough as it is."

"So you don't know how you happened to get those--souvenirs?"

"No." Jeremy gingerly touched his broken lip, and winced. Well, f.u.c.k me if he isn't telling the truth, Devaney thought. If he did do it, the scene-of-crime boys might soon have the evidence; drunks weren't normally careful about not leaving prints.