A head found in an Irish bog is the starting point for a story of love and trust which weaves subtly in and out of a plotline encorporating murder, past and present, and madness. Curl up in front of a peat fire with a pint of Guinness and enjoy.
'She could be a hundred or a thousand years old.'
'And in all that length of time, how many red-haired girls do you suppose have been executed in the vicinity of Drumcleggan Bog?' She touched his hand. 'Look, I'm not trying to press you into doing something you really don't want to do. But Cormac, look into her face and tell me you feel nothing, no obligation to find out what happened to her.'
Dropping his gaze to the dead girl's face, he was again overcome by a familiar, unbidden swell of pity as he answered: 'I can't.'
Even as he spoke, however, Cormac felt the warmth and weight of Nora's hand on his own, and suddenly realized that the strongest obligation he felt at this moment was not to the red-haired girl on the table, but to the living person who stood across from him, her eyes filled with fierce intelligence and compassion.