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Then, one morning, much to my surprise, Bríd showed her into my consulting room.

“A Miss Étain Moledy to see you.”B ríd made it clear that she did not realize that we were related.

“What are you doing here?”I hissed in astonishment after Bríd had closed the door.

Étain smiled brightly.

“I’m here for a medical examination, big brother,”sh e replied calmly.

“What?”I nearly exploded, trying to keep my voice low and wondering if she were joking.

“Your famous Mr. Ronayne has sent me.”

I stared at her.

She continued in an unconcerned tone: “I went to audition for him. He likes my voice and thinks I have a great talent. He wants to send me on a tour of Australia. It all boils down to his medical examiner giving me a clean bill of health for the insurance, and you are the medical examiner for the company.”

“This isn’t ethical,”I protested. “I am your brother. Does Ron-ayne know . . . ?”

I glanced nervously to the door beyond which my nurse receptionist sat.

“Of course not,”Étain snapped. “I used my married name and called myself ‘miss.’”R onayne won’t know. He contacted you at the College of Physicians, so he doesn’t even know you live in Chapeli-zod. And you use that goddamn mobile phone, so he wouldn’t even associate my phone number with you. In other words, it’s up to you. Are you going to blow the whistle on me?”

Of course, I wasn’t. I have already said that I felt responsible for Étain, especially after the sad experience with her husband, Art Moledy.

“Is this singing deal what you really want?”I asked.

She smiled eagerly at me and nodded rapidly.

“You know it is. It could lead to good things.Yes, it is what I really want.”

I knew Étain, If she had set her heart on something, then there was nothing that I could do to dissuade her.

Ronayne was pleased at the report I sent in. I wished Étain well.

It was a day later that there was a discreet knock at my consulting room door. Bríd showed in two men whose soft hats and raincoats gave them the appearance of refugees from a movie set of a 1940s detective thriller. Indeed, so stereotyped were they that, at first, I thought they were clients of Averty Enterprises. But Bríd coughed hollowly and said, “Two gentlemen,”sh e made clear that she was dubious over the use of the word, “from the Gardaí.”

It was only after one of them showed me his warrant card that I realized that she was not joking, and they were, indeed, members of the Garda Siochána, the Irish police.

“I am Detective Halloran,”said the one who had showed me his identification. “Dublin Metropolitan Division.””He was a sotcky man with gloomy features. He did not bother to introduce his colleague, who had simply entered the room, then lounged with his back against the wall by the door, hands in pockets.His jowls worked rhythmically as he masticated chewing gum.

“How can I help you?”I asked.

“Not sure that you can, Doctor,”H alloran confessed in a voice that showed he contemplated the worst in life. He fished into his bulky raincoat and withdrew a faded photograph. “Recognize her?” He pushed the print across my desk and seated himself opposite.

I frowned as I stared at a young girl in school uniform.

“I don’t think . . .” Then I peered closer. “Does she have red hair, by any chance?”

There was a long sigh as if Detective Halloran had just been told that he was going to face the rest of his life in loneliness and penury.

“She does,”h e intoned mournfully.

It was the red-haired Cork girl who had been one of my first two clients from Averty Enterprises.

“I did a medical examination for her,”I offered.

“When was that?”

“About a month ago.”

“Why?”

“Do you mean, why did I examine her?”

He raised his eyes to the ceiling as if it were perfectly obvious what he meant by the question.

I told him the story. He sighed moodily. He had apparently known all along my part in the story and was seeking my official corroboration.

“What’s happened?”I asked.

“Her body is missing.”

“Her body?”I was startled.“Do you mean,