Swallow fell into the rhythm of the prayers, answering the Aves, Paters and Glorias easily and naturally, as in his childhood. Mossop, being Church of Ireland, maintained an awkward silence at his side, rocking slightly on his feet and staring at the ceiling. When the last responses had finished, Swallow stepped forward to the dead girl’s mother and introduced himself and Mossop.

‘We’re truly sorry about this, Mrs Flannery. The G-Division will do all we can to bring whoever did this to justice. We’ve got every available policeman in Dublin on the case now. Do you understand?’

Bridget Flannery nodded. For a moment she attempted to speak, but the words did not get beyond a sob. Swallow guessed she might be forty, though she looked two decades older. Grey-streaked hair and a deeply lined face spoke of a life of want and struggle.

‘Thank you, sir,’ she finally managed. ‘Thank you indeed. She was a very good girl. A very good girl, sir. She was always in the state of grace, and she’s in heaven tonight with God and his saints.’

Swallow was momentarily unsure how to respond to Bridget Flannery’s fervour. He found it disquieting, but it seemed to give her strength. He decided to ignore it.

‘Have you any idea who might have been responsible for what happened to her? Is there anyone who might have wished her harm?’ he asked.

The priest stepped forward, folding his stole.

‘You can see that this poor woman isn’t in any fit state to answer your questions, constable,’ he said sharply. ‘Shouldn’t you have found the brute that did this already?’

Swallow disliked him instantly. ‘And you are, Father . . . ?’

‘Monsignor, actually. Monsignor Feehan. I am in charge of this parish of Mary Immaculate.’

Swallow raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, a monsignor. Very good. I’m Swallow. Detective Inspector, G-Division . . . actually. And I’m in charge of this investigation.’

Bridget Flannery placed a hand on Swallow’s arm. ‘There’s nothing I can say, sir. And it’s hard to talk here, what with poor Alice and all the neighbours. Monsignor Feehan is a good man. And all I know is that my lovely daughter is dead. If you’d like to talk to the monsignor about this . . . terrible thing . . . he’s willing to help you in any way he can. He knew poor Alice very well. All the priests across in the parish church did.’

Swallow was a little surprised by Bridget Flannery’s coherence and delivery. Once she found her voice, she spoke with the confidence and tone of a woman somewhat above her station in life.

The priest’s tone was marginally more conciliatory. ‘If you’d care to come across to the parochial house, Detective Inspector Swallow, I’ll try to tell you whatever you may need to know. If I can help the police in any way, of course I will.’