The Time Roads

“Man or woman?” Ó Deághaidh asked.

“A man. At least, I believe so.”

A pause. “Tell us exactly what you saw.”

Síomón considered how to phrase it. “First I only saw a movement. I thought it was the wind, moving the tree branches, but then I clearly saw a … a shape or shadow amongst the trees. I’m sorry I cannot be more clear. When I pointed them out to Evan, whoever it was started running.”

“A shape or shadow. That does not sound so certain.”

“I wasn’t at first, but now I am.”

“So. You saw a man amongst the trees. He ran, and you gave chase. Very foolhardy of you, Mr. Madóc.”

“I know. I wasn’t thinking very clearly. Evan shouted for me to stop, but all I could think was I had to catch the murderer before he escaped.”

Ó Deághaidh nodded. “I see. Go on.”

Síomón licked his dry lips. Without a word, the same sergeant refilled his cup. Síomón drank the water down in one swallow, trying to ignore how Ó Deághaidh watched him. “I chased him across the green,” he said, “and around Begley Hall and into the alleys behind. I had stopped to catch my breath. Before I could go on, Evan caught up and tackled me to the ground. By that time, the stranger got away. But before he did, I had a clear look at him in the moonlight.”

“You saw his face?”

“No.” Síomón closed his eyes, trying to recall exactly what he had seen. Mist and shadows. The knife-cold wind blurring his vision. The hiss of leaves sliding over leaves. A figure outlined against the stone wall of the dormitory.

“He wore a strange squashed hat and a loose coat. I could not make out his face. But it was a man.”

“Are you certain of what you saw? Mr. De Mora says you took ill by the body.”

“I am quite certain,” Síomón said evenly. “I knew by his height and his clothes and the way he stood.”

“Just so.” Ó Deághaidh exchanged a glance with one of the gardaí. “Mr. Madóc, I should tell you that we’ve spoken with Mr. De Mora. He does not recall any stranger, man or woman.”

“Impossible. Evan ran after me. He threw me to the ground and said I was a fool to chase the man.”

“Mr. Madóc, your friend was quite clear about that point. I saw no one, he told us, but with the clouds over the moon, I’m not surprised.”

Síomón shook his head. “I cannot believe he said that. Sure there were clouds, but the moon was bright enough to see by.”

Ó Deághaidh’s expression did not change, but his gaze shifted momentarily from Síomón to the other men in the room, then back. “Tell me about your meeting yesterday with Seán Blácach,” he said.

“I had no meeting with Seán Blácach.”

“Do not lie to me, Mr. Madóc, else things will go badly.”

Síomón reached for his water cup, then remembered it was empty. In a level voice he said, “There was no meeting, Commander. Not yesterday. Not ever. No matter what he said—”

“Seán Blácach said nothing, Mr. Madóc. My sources are other witnesses. Three students have reported they saw two men outside the dining halls near dusk. One was Seán Blácach. The other was a tall fair-haired man, well dressed. Normally they would have thought nothing, except that the fair-haired man seemed quite agitated.”

“Any number of men could fit that description.”

“No, sir. No, they could not. We have a list of those in Awveline and the university who match this description. You are on that list. So are three others, including your friend Evan De Mora. Do you deny meeting with Seán Blácach?”

“I do.” His voice came out as a whisper. Louder, he repeated, “I do deny it, no matter what anyone else claims.”

A short interlude followed, with Ó Deághaidh consulting with the gardaí. One exited the room, only to return within moments with a stack of scribbled notes. Ó Deághaidh pressed his lips together, as if annoyed, then his countenance cleared.

Síomón thought the interview done, but Ó Deághaidh launched into another series of questions about Síomón’s activities for the previous week—every lecture, every session in the library, every person who spoke to him, or who could confirm his whereabouts. “We are not singling you out, Mr. Madóc,” Ó Deághaidh said, during a pause. “We are asking everyone the same questions. Mr. De Mora sits in another room in this same building, and Mr. Blácach in another yet. Tomorrow we shall interview Miss Patel. I cannot expect you to like our methods, but I do expect your cooperation.”

“I am cooperating,” Síomón said wearily.