"Yes, we're all done in here, sir. And then there's daylight tomorrow and-"

"And ye'll be back with a vengeance," said Minogue. He turned to the two faces in the doorway. Grown schoolboy faces awaiting reprimand.

"And excuse the language, if you don't mind, sir. It's just that we know him and we do be slagging him. You know how it is."

Minogue put on his best version of a mollified teacher's face.

"To be sure, lads. Tell me, how long more here tonight?"

"Half an hour about. It's an awful sight, isn't it?"

Minogue nodded and turned to examine the room again. Drawers of clothes had been upended on the floor. He tiptoed around the clothes and stood by the window. It faced east so far as he could tell. He walked closer and looked out. A scattered sprinkle of lights from other houses tucked under the mountains.

There was nothing on the easel. What would be worth painting from this window? He hunkered down by the sheets of drawing paper which had been swept violently to the floor. Straightening one, Minogue felt a tremor of recognition. He stood back and studied the pencil drawing. The work showed practice and mastered technique on what Minogue would have said was a very difficult project. Though these concentric patterns could be found on other ceremonial stones from Ireland's prehistory, Minogue was certain that the stone and patterns in this drawings were from the ruins of Tully church. Minogue's hands remembered the warm, smooth granite of Tully. Succour. Was it that which attracted Combs there?