In the Woods полностью

Mark watched his fingers, drumming slowly on the table again. Cassie and I waited.

"You know what it means, Knocknaree?" he said eventually. "Hill of the king. We're not sure when the name originated, but we're pretty sure it's a pre-Christian religious reference, not a political one. There's no evidence of any royal burials or dwelling places on the site, but we found Bronze Age religious artifacts all over the place-the altar stone, votive figurines, a gold offering cup, remains of animal sacrifices and some possible human ones. That used to be a major religious site, that hill."

"Who were they worshipping?"

He shrugged, drumming harder. I wanted to slam a hand down over his fingers.

"So you were keeping vigil," Cassie said quietly. She was leaning back casually in her chair, but every line of her face was alert and intent, focused on him.

Mark moved his head uncomfortably. "Something like that."

"The wine you spilled," Cassie said. He glanced up sharply, then cut his eyes away again. "A libation?"

"I suppose."

"Let me see if I have this right," I said. "You decide to sleep a few yards from where a little girl gets murdered, and you feel we should believe you were there for religious reasons."

Suddenly he caught fire, throwing himself forward and jabbing a finger at me, fast and feral. I flinched before I could stop myself. "Come here, Detective, you listen to me. I don't believe in the Church, do you get me? Any church. Religion exists to keep people in their place and paying into the collection plate. I had my name taken off the church register the day I turned eighteen. And I don't believe in any government. They're the same as the Church, every one of them. Different words, same goal: keep the poor under your thumb and supporting the rich. The only things I believe in are out on that there dig." His eyes were narrow, incandescent, eyes for behind a rifle atop a doomed barricade. "There's more to worship on that site than in any fucking church in the world. It's sacrilege that they're about to run a motorway over it. If they were about to tear down Westminster Abbey to build a car park, would you blame people for keeping vigil there? Then don't fucking patronize me for doing the same thing." He stared me out of it until I blinked, then flung himself back in the chair and folded his arms.

"I take it that was a denial that you had anything to do with the murder," I said coolly, when I was sure my voice was under control. For some reason, that little rant had got to me more than I liked to admit. Mark raised his eyes to the ceiling.

"Mark," Cassie said. "I know exactly what you mean. I feel the same way about what I do." He gave her a long, hard green stare, without moving, but finally he nodded. "But you've got to see Detective Ryan's point: a lot of people won't have a clue what you're on about. To them, it's going to look suspicious as hell. We need to eliminate you from the investigation."

"You want me to take a lie-detector test, I will. But I wasn't even there on Tuesday night. I was there on Monday. What does that have to do with anything?" I got that sinking feeling again. Unless he was a lot better at this than I thought, he was taking it for granted that Katy had died on Tuesday night, the night before her body had appeared on the site.

"OK," Cassie said. "Fair enough. Can you prove where you were from the time you left work on Tuesday till you went back in on Wednesday morning?"

Mark sucked his teeth and picked at a blister, and I suddenly realized he looked embarrassed; it made him seem much younger. "Yeah, actually, I can. I went back to the house, took a shower, had dinner with the rest of the lads, we played cards and had a few cans in the garden. You can ask them."

"And then?" I said. "What time did you go to bed?"

"Most people went in around one."

"And can anyone vouch for your whereabouts after that? Do you share a room?"

"Nah. I've a room to myself, because of being assistant site director. I stayed up awhile longer, in the garden. I was talking with Mel. I was with her till breakfast." He was doing his best to sound blasé, but all that arrogant self-possession had vanished; he looked prickly and self-conscious and about fifteen. I was dying to laugh. I didn't dare look at Cassie.

"All night?" I said, maliciously.

"Yeah."

"In the garden? Wasn't that a little chilly?"

"We went inside at maybe three o'clock. After that we were in my room, till eight. That's when we get up."

"Well, well, well," I said sweetly. "Most alibis aren't nearly that enjoyable." He shot me a poisonous look.

"Let's go back to Monday night," Cassie said. "While you were in the wood, did you see or hear anything unusual?"

"No. But it's dark out there-country-dark, not your city-dark. No streetlights or nothing. I wouldn't have seen someone ten feet away. And I mightn't have heard them, either; there are plenty of noises anyway." Dark, and wood-noises: that trill went down my spine again.