Dawn came gray and drizzly, with clouds that resembled heaps of dirty soap suds massing on the horizon. Korrogly’s head ached as if he had been drinking all night; he was sore, filthy . . . even his eyes felt soiled. He peered about and saw only the hillocks, the flattened grasses, the heaving slate-colored ocean, gulls scything down the sky and keening. He rested his head against the sand, gathering himself for the walk back to town, and then remembered the box. It was unlocked. Zemaille, he supposed, had thought that his illusion would dissuade any intruders. He opened it cautiously on the chance that there were more tricks inside. It contained a leather-bound diary. He leafed through the pages, stopping occasionally to read a section; after going over a third of it, he knew that he could win an acquittal, yet he felt no triumph, no satisfaction, nothing. Perhaps, he thought, it was because he still was not sure that he believed in Lemos. Perhaps it was because he knew he should have unearthed the motive sooner; Kirin had given him a clue to it, one he had neglected in his confusion. Perhaps the deaths of Kirin and Janice were muting his reaction. Perhaps . . . he laughed, a sour little noise that the wind blew away. There was no use in trying to understand anything now. He needed a bath, a sleep, food. Then maybe things would make sense. But he doubted it.
The following morning, against Mervale’s objection, Korrogly recalled Mirielle to the stand. She had on a brown dress with a modest neckline – a schoolteacher’s dress – and her hair was done up primly like that of a young spinster. She had, it appeared, passed beyond mourning, and he wondered why she had not worn black; it might signal, he thought, some indecision on her part, some change of heart as related to her father. But whether or not that was so was unimportant. Looking at her, he had no emotional reaction; she seemed familiar yet distant, like someone he had known briefly years before. He knew that he could break down that distance and dredge up his feelings for her, but he was not moved to do so, for while he knew they were still strong, he was not sure whether they would manifest as love or hate. She had used him, had confused him with her sexuality, had undermined his concentration, and nearly succeeded in killing her father, who was very likely innocent. She had told him that she could have been a good actress, and she had been unsurpassable in her counterfeit of love, so perfect in the role that he believed she had won a piece of his heart for all time. But she was a perjurer and probably worse, and he was duty-bound to make her true colors known to the court, no matter what the cost.
‘Good morning, Miss Lemos,’ he said.
She gave him a quizzical look and returned the greeting.
‘Did you sleep well last night?’ he asked.
‘Oh, dear,’ said Mervale. ‘Is the counsel for the defense next going to inquire about the lady’s breakfast, or perhaps her dreams?’
Judge Wymer stared glumly at Korrogly.
‘I was simply trying to make the witness feel comfortable,’ Korrogly said. ‘I’m concerned for her welfare. She’s had a terrible weight on her conscience.’
‘Mister Korrogly,’ said the judge in tone of warning.
Korrogly waved his hand as if both to accede to the caution and dismiss its importance. He rested both hands on the witness box, leaning toward Mirielle, and said, ‘What is the great work?’
‘The witness has already answered that question,’ said Mervale, and at the same time, Mirielle said, ‘I don’t know what more I can tell you, I . . .’
‘The truth would be refreshing,’ said Korrogly. ‘You see, I know for a fact you haven’t been candid with this court.’
‘If the counselor has facts to present,’ said Mervale, ‘I suggest that he present them and stop badgering the witness.’
‘I will,’ said Korrogly, addressing the bench. ‘In due course. But it’s important to my presentation that I show exactly to what extent and to what end the facts have been covered up.’
Wymer heaved a forlorn sigh. ‘Proceed.’
‘I ask you again,’ said Korrogly to Mirielle, ‘what is the great work? And I warn you, be truthful, for you will not escape prosecution for any lie you may tell from this point on.’
Doubt surfaced in Mirielle’s face, but she only said, ‘I’ve told you all I know.’
Korrogly took a turn around the witness box and stopped facing the jury. ‘What was the purpose of the ceremony in progress on the night that Zemaille was killed?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Was it part of the great work?’
‘No . . . I mean I don’t think so.’
‘For someone who was Zemaille’s intimate you appear to know very little about him.’
‘Mardo was a secretive man.’
‘Was he, now? Did he ever discuss his parents with you?’
‘Yes.’
‘So he was not secretive concerning his origins?’
‘No.’
‘Did he ever discuss his grandparents?’
‘I’m not sure. I believe he may have mentioned them once or twice.’
‘Other relatives . . . did he ever discuss them?’
‘I can’t remember.’
