The New Policeman by Kate Thompson

along the street, and Bran hobbled at his heels. At the square he crossed over to the house that ought to have been the vet’s practice. He knocked on the door anyway. If Burke’s was a shop, and if thechemist’s was an alchemist’s, then perhaps there might be some version of a vet in the house. But the door was opened by Drowsy Maggie.
    “Hello again,” she said. “Have you come for a tune?”
    “No,” said J.J. “I was looking for the vet.”
    “What’s a vet?”
    “A vet. You know. A doctor for animals.”
    “I didn’t know there was such a thing,” said Maggie. “We don’t have them here, anyway. Nor doctors, either.”
    “You don’t have doctors?”
    “What would we want them for?”
    “To make you better,” said J.J. “When you’re ill.”
    Maggie shook her head. “It doesn’t work like that here. If you’re well you’re well and you won’t get ill. If you’re ill you’re ill and you won’t get any better. I wouldn’t worry about her. Nobody gets any worse, either…” Maggie hesitated. “At least, that’s the way it was”—she pointed at the sky—“when the sun was where it ought to be.”
    J.J.’s head was beginning to spin. “But she’s in pain,” he said.
    “She is, isn’t she?” said Maggie. “Poor Bran. Are you sure you don’t fancy a tune?”

     
----

THE GOLD RING
Trad

----

4
    The new policeman arrived into work bright and early on Monday morning. He was sent, along with Garda Treacy, to make house-to-house calls along the route that the missing boy would have taken between Anne Korff’s house and the village. To Larry’s relief, Anne Korff herself was not at home. He had, during the journey from Gort, already referred to her once as “Lucy Campbell,” and he didn’t want any further confusions arising.
    They brought a photograph of J.J. with them and showed it to everyone they found at home that morning, but no one remembered seeing the boy on Saturday. One or two people, however, had seen Garda O’Dwyer. After the second reference to his beautiful fiddle playing, Garda Treacy said, “We must get alisten to you sometime. Where do you play?”
    “At home, mostly,” said Larry.
    “Does Sergeant Early know?”
    “I don’t think so,” said Larry.
    Treacy stopped the car outside the next house on the road, but he didn’t get out. “He plays himself, you know. The banjo.”
    “A monstrous instrument,” said Larry. “They should have left it in America where it belongs.”
    “Don’t let the sergeant hear you say that,” said Treacy.
    “I won’t,” said Larry.
    They returned to the station for their lunch, and afterward they drove to the village to continue with their inquiries. They started with the shops. Word of J.J.’s disappearance had reached everyone by that time, and the two guards met with a lot of concern, but no information.
    They were in Fallon’s supermarket when they ran into Thomas O’Neill, one of Kinvara’s oldest residents. He was buying milk and had already paid for it, but he stayed beside the cash desk when the two guards came in. He listened as Garda Treacy began to interview the girl who was at the till, then he stepped up close to Garda O’Dwyer.
    “I know you from somewhere,” he said.

    “Really?” said Larry, smiling benignly and edging away at the same time. He had a horror of old people, especially those with good memories.
    “We’ve met,” said Thomas. “I can’t think where.”
    “I can’t think where either,” said Larry. “But people often mistake me for someone else. I’m told I’m the spit of my father when he was my age.”
    “What’s your name?”
    Larry told him. Thomas shook his head. “It’s ringing no bells,” he said. “Where are you from?”
    “I grew up in Sligo,” said Larry. “But I’ve moved around a lot.”
    Garda Treacy was moving toward the door and Larry made to join him.
    “It’ll come to me,” said Thomas.
    “We’re looking for a missing teenager,” said