Ainslie turned to Esterhazy. “Dr. Esterhazy, do you agree that you are a properly interested person in this matter?”

Esterhazy nodded. “I do.”

“And you have declined, of your own free will, to retain a solicitor?”

“That is correct.”

“Very well. Before we begin, let me remind all present of Coroner’s Rule 36: an inquest is not a gathering in which any civil or criminal liability can be assigned — although we can determine if the circumstances meet certain legal definitions of culpability. The determination of culpability is a matter to be taken up separately by the courts, if warranted. Are there any questions?”

When the room remained silent, Ainslie nodded. “Then let us proceed to the evidence. We shall begin with a statement from Ian Cromarty.”

Inspector Balfour listened as the lodgekeeper spoke at some length of Pendergast and Esterhazy — of his initial impressions of them, of how they had shared dinner together the night before, of how Esterhazy had burst in the following morning crying that he had shot his brother-in-law. Next, Ainslie questioned a few of the Kilchurn Lodge guests who had witnessed Esterhazy’s frantic, disheveled return. Then he turned to Grant, the gamekeeper. As the proceedings continued, Ainslie’s face remained an astringent mask of disapproval and suspicion.

“You’re Robert Grant, correct?”

“Aye, sir,” the wizened old man replied.

“How long have you been gamekeeper at Kilchurn?”

“Going on thirty-five years, sir.”

At Ainslie’s request, Grant described in detail the trek to the site of the accident and the death of the search dog.

“How common is it for hunters from your lodge to venture into the Foulmire?”

“Common? It isnae common. It’s agin the rules.”

“So Pendergast and Dr. Esterhazy here violated those rules.”

“That they did.”

Balfour could see Esterhazy stirring uncomfortably at this.

“Such behavior signals a lack of judgment. Why did you let them go out on their own?”

“Because I recalled them from before.”

“Go on.”

“The pair of them were here once, some ten, twelve years back. I took them out meself, I did. Bloody good shots, knew exactly what they were doing, especially Dr. Esterhazy here.” Grant nodded in the doctor’s direction. “If I couldna vouch for that myself I’d never have let them out without a guide.”

Balfour sat up in his seat. He’d known that Pendergast and Esterhazy had hunted at Kilchurn before, of course — Esterhazy had mentioned as much in one of the interrogation sessions — but the fact that Grant had taken them out and could vouch for Esterhazy’s being an excellent shot was news to him. Esterhazy had always played down his skill. Balfour cursed himself for not having discovered this nugget on his own.

Next, it was his own turn to speak. Balfour described his arrival at the lodge; Esterhazy’s emotional state; the search for the body and the dragging of the pool; and the subsequent fruitless search of the moors and surrounding hamlets for any sign of a body. He spoke slowly and carefully. Ainslie listened intently, interrupting only infrequently with questions.

When he was done, Ainslie peered about. “And in the ten days since the shooting was reported,” he said, “the police have continued their searches?”

“That is correct,” Balfour replied. “We dragged the pool not once, but twice, and then a third and fourth time. We also dragged the surrounding pools. We used bloodhounds to try to pick up a trail from the accident scene. They found no trace, although to be sure there had been very heavy rains.”

“So,” said Ainslie, “you have found no independent evidence Pendergast is dead, nor any evidence he is still alive. Is that correct?”

“Correct. We did not recover his body or any personal effects, including his rifle.”

“Inspector,” Ainslie said, “have you found Dr. Esterhazy to be cooperative in this matter?”

“For the most part, yes. Although he describes his shooting skills rather differently than Mr. Grant.”

“And how does Dr. Esterhazy describe his shooting abilities?”

“He calls himself inexperienced.”

“Have his actions and statements corresponded to those of a person responsible for such an egregious accident?”

“So far as I have seen, yes.” Balfour, despite all, had not been able to put his finger on a single thing in Esterhazy’s actions that was inconsistent with shame, grief, and self-blame.

“Would you say he can be considered a reliable and competent witness to these events?”

Balfour hesitated. “I would say that nothing we’ve found to date has in any way disagreed with his statements.”

The coroner seemed to consider this a moment. “Thank you, Inspector.”

Next to speak was Esterhazy himself. In the ten days since the shooting, he had regained a good measure of composure, although a faintly haggard look of anxiety seemed to have deepened about him. His voice was steady, earnest, and low. He spoke of his friendship with Pendergast, which started when his sister married the FBI agent. He briefly mentioned her shocking death in the jaws of a man-eating lion, which elicited audible gasps from the audience. And then — at the gentle prodding of the coroner — he talked about the events leading up to Pendergast’s death: the hunt on the moors; the discussion of which stag to try for; the stalking on the Foulmire; the rising fog; his own disorientation; the sudden, bounding entrance of the stag and his instinctive shooting; the frantic attempt to rescue his former brother-in-law; and the man’s sinking into the quickmire. As Esterhazy spoke of these last events, and of his desperate trek back to Kilchurn Lodge, his veneer of calm broke and he became visibly upset, his voice cracking. The onlookers shook their heads, clearly moved and sympathetic. Ainslie’s face, Balfour noted with approval, remained as mournfully skeptical as always. He had a few questions about minor particulars — the timing of certain events, Esterhazy’s medical opinion of Pendergast’s wound — but beyond that, nothing. Esterhazy’s testimony was over in fifteen minutes. All in all, a remarkable performance.

Performance. Now, why had he chosen that word?

Because, despite everything, Balfour continued to find himself deeply suspicious of Esterhazy. It was nothing he could put his finger on. All the evidence added up. But if Balfour had wanted to kill someone, and make it look like an accident, he would have gone about it precisely as Esterhazy had.

His mind was occupied with these thoughts while a string of minor witnesses cycled through. He glanced at Esterhazy. The man had taken great pains to come across as ingenuous, frank, simple to a fault — the typical bumbling American. But he wasn’t bumbling, and he clearly wasn’t stupid. He had both a medical degree and a doctorate — Balfour had checked.

Ainslie’s dry voice went on. “As I mentioned earlier, the purpose of this inquest is to establish if there was a death. The evidence is as follows. It is the testimony of Dr. Esterhazy that he accidentally shot Aloysius Pendergast; that in his medical opinion the wound was mortal; and that he witnessed, with his own eyes, Pendergast’s submergence in the mire. It is the testimony of Inspector Balfour and others that the scene of the accident was fully investigated, and that the scant evidence found on the site was consistent with Dr. Esterhazy’s testimony. The inspector also testified that no body or effects were recovered either from the mire or from the surrounding moorlands. It is Inspector Balfour’s further testimony that, despite an exhaustive search of the neighboring villages, no trace of Mr. Pendergast has been found, and no witnesses to either his living or dead person have come to light.”

He glanced around the common room. “Under the circumstances, there are two possible verdicts that could be delivered consistent with the facts presented: involuntary culpable homicide, or an open verdict. Involuntary culpable homicide is adjudged to be homicide, save for the fact that the mens rea for murder is not present. An open verdict is a verdict in which the cause and circumstances of death, or in this case even the fact of death, cannot be established at the present time.”