The Cold, Cold Ground

is frozen. My name is Lucia but everybody calls me Mimi! It’s a tell. He was rushed. He didn’t know he was doing it. And Eurydice, remember? Eurydice doesn’t make it back! Lucy didn’t make it back! Apollo taught Orpheus to play the lyre. Apollo is the lord of light. Lucia means light. Don’t you see? Ariadne’s thread. The labyrinth leads us right back here!”
    Laura folded her arms and sighed, “Jesus, is this how you do your police work? You wouldn’t get away with this in pathology.”
    I was babbling and I fucking knew it. And she was right: this wasn’t police work, this was intuition, guesswork. It was feeble.
    I went back upstairs, hunted under beds, in the back of cupboards, in the bathroom …
    When I came back down, Laura was sitting on the sofa.
    “Shall we go?”
    She was disappointed. She wasn’t impressed with my detecting skills. Join the club, sister .
    “He killed her. He’s the ‘S’ that was seeing Lucy,” I insisted.
    I sat next to her on the leather sofa.
    “Where’s the evidence that Lucy was here?”
    “He got rid of it all.”
    “Why would he kill her? What possible motive could there be?”
    “She was a hunger striker’s wife. He knocked up a hunger striker’s wife.”
    “Ex-wife. And so what?”
    “It would look bad. It would hurt his career.”
    “Come on. Murder hurts it even more.”
    “Maybe they had a fight.”
    She squeezed my hand. “There’s nothing here, Sean. He lives near Woodburn Forest? His name begins with ‘S’?”
    “And Tommy Little was coming to see him. And he listens to Puccini.”
    “Let’s go before he comes back. You’ll lose your job, Sean.”
    “No. It’s all about Tommy! It has to be. Tommy Little did come to see him. Tommy Little was here in this room.”
    “He killed Lucy and he killed Tommy?”
    “Yes! They’re linked. They’ve always been linked!”
    “Maybe you can pin all the unsolved murders in Northern Ireland on Freddie Scavanni,” she said sensibly enough, but I barely heard her.
    “It’s him. It has to be,” I said, with a touch of panic now.
    “Why does it have to be? So you can solve the case and be the hero? Come on, Sean, let’s go.”
    “Five more minutes. We’ll find something.”
    “Yesterday you were saying that it was Shane Davidson. That he had an affair with Tommy Little and killed him to cover it up. That he was the one who made the false trail …”
    “I was wrong about that! They had nothing to do with killinghim. Shane is Billy White’s boy and Shane was having an affair with Tommy Little but he didn’t kill him.”
    “I’m sure Shane will be relieved to hear that.”
    The grandfather clock ticked.
    Crows cawed from the woods.
    Laura got to her feet and pulled me up with two hands.
    “Let’s get out of here,” she whispered.
    I stood there for another minute, thinking, desperately … but finally I had to admit defeat.
    “I was so sure,” I said.
    “I know,” she replied and kissed me on the cheek.
    “Everyone wants a chance at redemption.”
    We went back outside and I closed the door behind me.
    “Come on. Let’s go get lunch somewhere,” Laura said.
    I hesitated. “Let me look in the woods for two minutes and then we’ll head.”
    She was much happier now that we were out of the house. She took my hand.
    “Let’s say he topped both of them. He’s got to get rid of Tommy’s body well away from here. And her. He can carry her over his shoulders and hang her in the woods,” I said.
    “Why doesn’t he just bury both of them?”
    “I’ve been thinking about that. Time is a factor. He’s got a couple of hours at the most before Tommy going missing rings all the alarm bells. A couple of hours to concoct a plan …”
    “But why is he doing all this, Sean? Don’t you need a motive?”
    We went to the badhun ’s cast-iron back gate, lifted an interior latch and walked in the wood. It was damp and dark. Strange white mushrooms were pushing their way through the sodden earth. Giant ferns were growing from the shells of fallen trees. There was a dungy smell, the smell of rotting leaves, autumn, graveyards.
    “Just a couple of steps and we’re in Woodburn Forest,” I said.
    “But remember Lucy wasn’t found anywhere near here. Itwas all the way over that hill, wasn’t it?” Laura asked.
    “Obviously he can’t hang her right next to his house.”
    “How does he carry her?”
    “Over his shoulder. Fireman’s lift. You could carry someone for a mile like