Part 35 (1/2)

*It's not impossible.'

*You know it is.'

*You're jumping to conclusions. It could be old Mulrooney getting protective about people going on his property.'

*Like trespa.s.sers will be executed.'

*I'm not saying it is, I'm saying it could be.'

I shook my head. Dr Finlay spat behind him again. Duncan looked at his watch again.

*It's gone eight,' he said.

Dr Finlay trudged slowly back to us. Ignored us, in fact, for a few moments while he leant heavily on the bonnet of the Land-Rover. There were tears in his eyes. He had come looking for fine Irish whiskey and ended up to his elbows in decaying people. He had a right to cry.

I put a hand on his left shoulder. *You okay?'

He nodded wearily. His hair was plastered to his scalp; his jaw, thickly stubbled, hung down, heavy; his lips were dry and cracked.

*So what did you find?' Duncan asked bluntly.

Finlay pushed himself off the car. He held his hands up, level with his chest, looked about him, confused for a moment. Looking for somewhere to wash them. Then he shook his head. Silly, he mouthed. He rubbed them down his trousers. *Well,' he said. And stopped. And looked back at death row. He gave a slight shake of his head. *I don't ever want to have to do that again.'

*Who would?' said Duncan.

*What about Murtagh and Mary?' I asked. *I take it death wasn't by drowning.'

*No. Of course not. They were both shot. In the chest. Looks like a shotgun did it. They're practically hollow.'

*Oh G.o.d,' said Duncan, turning away. He took a deep breath of the sea wind. *Oh G.o.d,' he said again.

*And the others?' I asked.

*I'd say much the same. Difficult to tell. They're pretty far gone.'

*Have you any idea at all who they were?'

*Yes and no. Two of them I can make a stab at. One's a priest of some description; at any rate, he's wearing a dog collar, although I'm not aware that we've gone short of priests in the recent past.'

*How long do you reckon he's been dead?'

*I couldn't say, not accurately. It's not really my field. Six months, maybe. The other one, he's been under a good deal longer, but at least we can put a name to him. Mark Blundell. From Belfast.'

*You recognise him?'

*If I knew someone looked like that, I'd be worried.'

*So how . . .?'

*Detective work. And this.' He reached into the side pocket of his jacket and produced a damp-looking leather wallet. *Inside his coat.' He handed it to me and I flipped it open. The contents were remarkably well preserved, considering where they'd been; there were a few damp spots on the three twenty-pound notes I withdrew and the half-dozen fast cash receipts were badly faded. The Visa card looked as good as new. A plastic-coated Department of the Environment ident.i.ty card. A driving licence. A curling photo of a woman with two toddlers.

Duncan took the driving licence from me. He examined the photo. Shook his head. *He's changed,' he said.

I took it back. *Thank you, Sherlock,' I said.

Duncan turned away again. *I hate this. All of it.'

*What do they tell you, Starkey?' the doctor asked. I could tell he already knew.

I quickly re-examined the evidence. *That he's been underground about six years. That's how long the autobank receipts date back. That he was based at the Department of the Environment in Belfast. That he was married with a couple of kids.'

*Anything else?'

*That he was probably here on a work-related matter. The receipts are dated for early February. You don't get tourists that time of the year, do you?'

Finlay shook his head. *Rarely. Bird watchers, mostly. Some government people during the winter, but they're always Department of Agriculture, checking we're not exceeding our fis.h.i.+ng quotas or trying to sell us on the benefits of myxomatosis. I can't think why someone from Environment would bother with us a and get shot for his trouble, if that's not going a bit far.'

Duncan nodded across at the line of corpses. *The other two a one of them couldn't be his wife, could it? Maybe they're all bird watchers . . . an accident . . .' He trailed off. *We sometimes get bird watchers during the winter, maybe the two of them . . .?'

Finlay shook his head. *They're both male. Young adults. Eighteen. Seventeen. G.o.d love them.'

*His wife's probably still sitting at home waiting for him then,' said Duncan.

*Four people don't just disappear without anyone noticing,' I pointed out.

*Not here anyway. I'd know about it. For sure.'

*So apart from Mary and Murtagh then, we can surmise that the four others are all from the mainland.'

*Aye. I suppose.'

*And we can also surmise that Father White and his fellow travellers, having made such a public show of the search for Mary and Murtagh and finding the boat and his gun and his warrant card, are not only involved in their murder, but in the murder of four others as well.'

*Aye, it would be looking that way.'

*But what would be the b.l.o.o.d.y point?' shouted Duncan, throwing his hands up angrily. *It's all meant to be about love and salvation. Not this.'

*Well, that's the million-dollar question, Duncan,' I said. Finlay shook his head ruefully. *It doesn't make sense.' He slapped his hand down on the bonnet, then bunched it up into a fist and ground it into the palm of his other hand. *That trial, that b.l.o.o.d.y trial, was all about protecting Christine. But it wasn't about this . . .'

*What about the priest?' Duncan asked.

I had a pretty good idea. The Primate had been wrong. I had been right. Murdered, not converted. I said, *If he's only been dead six months, then the chances are he was visiting and found out too much . . .'

Finlay nodded. *That's possible. But this chap from the Environment. My G.o.d, Starkey, if he's been down there for six years a that pre-dates any thought of Christine by two years. What's the b.l.o.o.d.y point in that?'

I shrugged. There didn't have to be a point, or if there was, it was a point of no return, a point we had just pa.s.sed.