“Look, Mark,” Cassie told him, suddenly and bluntly, “you were in the wood either Monday night or Tuesday night. We can prove it with forensic evidence if we have to, but that’s going to waste a lot of our time, and believe me, we’ll make sure it wastes plenty of yours. I don’t think you killed that girl, but we need to know when you were in the wood, what you were doing there and whether you saw or heard anything useful. So we can spend the rest of the day trying to drag it out of you, or you can just get it over with and go back to work. Your call.”

“What forensic evidence?” Mark demanded skeptically.

Cassie gave him a little mischievous smile and pulled the rollie, neatly encased in a Ziploc bag, out of her pocket. She waved it at him. “DNA. You left your butts at your campsite.”

“Jesus,” Mark said, staring at it. He looked like he was deciding whether or not to be furious.

“Just doing my job,” she said cheerfully, pocketing the bag.

“Jesus,” he said again. He bit his lip, but he couldn’t hide the grudging smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “And I walked straight into it. You’re some woman, all the same.”

“So they tell me. About sleeping in the wood . . .”

Silence. Finally Mark stirred, glanced up at the clock on the wall, sighed.

“Yeah. I’ve spent the odd night there.”

I moved back around the table, sat down and opened my notebook.

“Monday or Tuesday? Or both?”

96

Tana French

“Monday, only.”

“What time did you get there?”

“About half past ten. I lit a fire and went to sleep when it burned down, around two o’clock.”

“Do you do that on every site?” Cassie asked. “Or just Knocknaree?”

“Just Knocknaree.”

“Why?”

Mark watched his fingers, drumming slowly on the table again. Cassie and I waited.

“You know what it means, Knocknaree?” he said eventually. “Hill of the king. We’re not sure when the name originated, but we’re pretty sure it’s a pre-Christian religious reference, not a political one. There’s no evidence of any royal burials or dwelling places on the site, but we found Bronze Age religious artifacts all over the place—the altar stone, votive figurines, a gold offering cup, remains of animal sacrifices and some possible human ones. That used to be a major religious site, that hill.”

“Who were they worshipping?”

He shrugged, drumming harder. I wanted to slam a hand down over his fingers.

“So you were keeping vigil,” Cassie said quietly. She was leaning back casually in her chair, but every line of her face was alert and intent, focused on him.

Mark moved his head uncomfortably. “Something like that.”

“The wine you spilled,” Cassie said. He glanced up sharply, then cut his eyes away again. “A libation?”

“I suppose.”

“Let me see if I have this right,” I said. “You decide to sleep a few yards from where a little girl gets murdered, and you feel we should believe you were there for religious reasons.”