During a pause while he heard Hoey turning a page, Minogue said, "Strangled only? Nothing before or after?"

"No, sir. A quick job. No other injuries apparent. Yet."

Minogue waited for Hoey to say more. He heard another page rustle.

"Anything jump out at you, Shea?"

Hoey hesitated before replying. He had been on the Murder Squad for nearly four years, Minogue remembered, but still held the entry rank of Detective Garda. It was said that Shea Hoey didn't care to chase promotion because he had his own way in the hierarchy of the Squad. He had run several investigations, Minogue knew, but Hoey showed no rancor at having Inspector Kilmartin's name go on the press releases and reports.

"No," Hoey said at last. "It's early days yet. The house is a real mess. Soon as we sort out a bit of the stuff scattered around, we might get a move on…"

"Robbery in progress?" Minogue tried.

"Has all the signs."

"Weapon on the site, is there?"

"Not yet located, sir."

"Have you a suspect at hand, Shea?"

"'Fraid not, sir. I'm thinking it has to be local, though. If it's a robbery, like. To know the place was worth doing."

"Give me directions so." Minogue fumbled for a pencil.

Minogue wondered how he had missed any signs of Combs being strangled on that Sunday evening. That wondering was a conceit, he allowed, because Combs' house was near Kilternan. It was close as a crow flies to where Minogue had kept company with his stones, but Kilternan was below the high ground around Tully. Being a daylight rationalist, Minogue knew that he couldn't have expected divinations of what was happening over the hill from where he himself had put the July Saturday away. No stars over Combs' house, no banshee wails, no ghostly luminance.

It was a quarter to eight before Minogue found the house. The floodlights had raised a halo around it against the dark mass of the hills behind.