"With the same object?" Minogue interrupted.

"To be exact and evasive at the same time, with an object of the same material, surface area and weight. Perhaps another stone."

Connors looked up from his notes, his mouth a little open.

"Scrapings under the nails, nothing."

No struggle? wrote Connors.

"This young man had had a glass or two of wine and some class of Italian food."

Donavan looked directly at Connors.

"Perhaps the Garda would require to see details…?"

Connors looked up abruptly from the notes and swallowed. Minogue glanced at him.

"Leave it in the file for the moment if you please, Doctor," said Minogue.

"Could have used a bit of exercise. But couldn't we all? Non-smoker. A bit fond of his rashers and eggs. No signs of sexual activity, if you follow me. Teeth all his own. Isn't the National Health great?"

"One blow, then others?" queried Minogue.

"Exactly. The thing is that the head would have to have been lying on a surface with no give in it when these stones or the stone were dropped. That alone would account for the particular shattering effect at the back too, you see. A simple principle really, no great shakes. Think of nutcrackers. One side couldn't be make of rubber or the like."

Donavan arched back in his chair and filled a pipe. The file lay open on the desk. They listened to Connors' diligent pencil scratching. The window was full of green, like a big sponge, waving slowly. Nothing like a willow tree to show the time passing, thought Minogue.

"Bad cess to the fecking thing," Donavan said mildly. He threw the lighter across the desk. "I don't doubt that Nora paid twenty pound for this bloody gas lighter with the flame thrower thing for the pipe. And you think it works because it cost an arm and a leg? Not a bit of it," he muttered.