“More than that,” said Cassie. Her mother was half French, and as a child she spent summers with her grandparents in Provence; she says she’s forgotten most of her spoken French at this point, but she still understands it. “A professional.”

Simone inclined her head. “Yes. She loved even the hard work—not only for the results it brought, but for its own sake. A real talent for dance is not common; the temperament to make a career of it is much rarer. To find both at once . . .” She looked away again. “Sometimes, on evenings when only one studio was being used, she would ask if she could come in and practice in the other.”

Outside, the light was beginning to dim towards evening; the skateboard kids’ calls floated up, faint and crystalline through the glass. I thought of In the Woods 63

Katy Devlin alone in the studio, watching the mirror with detached absorption as she moved in slow spins and dips; the lift of a pointed foot; streetlamps throwing saffron rectangles across the floor, Satie’s Gnossiennes on the crackly record player. Simone seemed pretty sérieuse herself, and I wondered how on earth she had ended up here: above a shop in Stillorgan, with the smell of grease wafting up from the chip shop next door, teaching ballet to little girls whose mothers thought it would give them good posture or wanted framed pictures of them in tutus. I realized, suddenly, what Katy Devlin must have meant to her.

“How did Mr. and Mrs. Devlin feel about Katy going to ballet school?”

Cassie asked.

“They were very supportive,” Simone said, without hesitation. “I was relieved, and also surprised; not every parent is willing to send a child that age away to school, and most, with good reason, are opposed to their children becoming professional dancers. Mr. Devlin, in particular, was very much in favor of Katy going. He was close to her, I think. I admired this, that he wanted what was best for her even if it meant letting her go away.”

“And her mother?” Cassie said. “Was she close to her?”

Simone gave a little one-shouldered shrug. “Less, I think. Mrs. Devlin is . . . rather vague. She always seemed bewildered by all of her daughters. I think perhaps she isn’t very intelligent.”

“Have you noticed anyone strange hanging around in the past few months?” I asked. “Anyone who worried you?” Ballet schools and swimming clubs and scout troops are pedophile magnets. If someone had been looking for a victim, this was the obvious place where he might have spotted Katy.

“I understand what you mean, but no. We look for this. About ten years ago a man used to sit on a wall up the hill and look into the studio through binoculars. We complained to the police, but they did nothing until he tried to convince one little girl to get into his car. Since then we’re very watchful.”