Whenever he had a spare hour, his practice having grown large and profitable following the trial, Korrogly would use the time to do the pretrial work that he neglected and continued to investigate all the circumstances surrounding Zemaille’s death. In this he made no headway until almost a year and a half later, when he interviewed an ex-member of the dragon cult on the beach below the bluff where the temple had once stood. The man, a slight balding fellow whose innocuous appearance belied his dissolute past, was nervous, and Korrogly had been forced to pay him well in order to elicit his candor. He was of little help for the most part, and it was only toward the end of the interview that he provided information that substantiated Korrogly’s doubts.
‘We all thought it strange that Mirielle took up with Mardo,’ he said, ‘considering what happened to her mother.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Korrogly asked.
‘Her mother,’ said the man. ‘Patricia. She came to the temple one night, the night she died as a matter of fact.’
‘What?’
‘You didn’t know?’
‘No, I’ve heard nothing about it.’
‘Well, I don’t suppose it’s public knowledge. She only came the once, and that same night she drowned.’
‘What happened?’
‘Who can say? Word was that Mardo had her into his bed. Probably drugged her. Maybe she fought him. Mardo wouldn’t have liked that.’
‘Are you saying he killed her?’
‘Somebody did.’
‘Why didn’t any of you come forward with this?’
‘We were afraid.’
‘Of what?’
‘Griaule.’
‘That’s ludicrous.’
‘Is it, now? You’re the man who got Lemos off, you must understand what Griaule’s capable of.’
‘But what you’re saying, it throws a different light on things. Perhaps Lemos and Mirielle plotted this whole affair to get revenge, perhaps . . .’
‘Even if they did,’ said the man, ‘it was still Griaule’s idea.’
Following this interview, Korrogly checked the tides on the night of Patricia Lemos’ death and discovered that they had been sweeping out from the temple bluff toward Ayler Point, that had her body entered the water in the early morning, she might well – as had been the case – have washed ashore on Ayler Point. That, however, was the extent of his enlightenment. Despite exploring every avenue, he could come up with no evidence to implicate Lemos or his daughter in a plot against Zemaille. The matter continued to prey on him, to cause him bad dreams and sleepless nights; having been used, he had an overwhelming compulsion to understand the nature of that usage, to put into perspective all that happened, so that he could know the character of his fate. He did not know whether he wanted more to believe that he had been manipulated by Griaule or by Lemos and his daughter. Some nights he thought he would prefer to cling to the notion of free will, to think that he had been the victim of human wiles, not those of some creature as inexplicable as God; other nights he hoped that he had won the case fairly and freed an innocent man. The only thing he was certain of was that he wanted clarity.
Finally, having no other course of action open, he went to the source, to Lemos’ mansion on Ayler Point, and asked to see the gemcutter. A maid advised him that the master was not in, but that if he would wait, she would find out if the mistress was at home. After a brief absence she returned and ushered him onto a sunny verandah that overlooked the sea and provided a breathtaking view of the Almintra quarter. The strong sunlight applied a crust of diamantine glitter to the surface of the water, spreading it wider whenever the wind riffled the tops of the wavelets, and the gabled houses on the shore looked charming, quaint, their squalor hidden by distance. Mirielle, clad in a beige silk robe, was reclining on a lounge; on a small table close to her hand lay a long pipe and a number of dark pellets that Korrogly suspected to be opium. There was a clouded look to her eyes, and though she was still lovely, the marks of dissipation had eroded the fine edge of her good looks; a black curl was plastered to her sweaty cheek, and there was an unhealthy shine to her skin.
‘It’s wonderful to see you,’ she said lazily, indicating that he should take a chair beside her.
‘Is it?’ he said, feeling the rise of old longings, old bitternesses. God, he thought, I still love her, despite everything; she could commit any excess, any vileness, and I would love her.
‘Of course.’ She let out a fey laugh. ‘I doubt you’ll believe me, but I was quite fond of you.’
‘Fond!’ He made the word into an epithet.
‘I told you I couldn’t love you.’
‘You told me you’d try.’
She shrugged; her hand twitched toward the pipe. ‘Things didn’t work out.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’ He gestured at the luxurious surround. ‘Things have worked out quite well for you.’
‘And for you,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard you’ve become a great success. All the ladies want you for their . . .’ A giggle. ‘Their solicitor.’
