Latimer hesitated, framing in his mind the request he had come here to make. He eyed the man at the other side of the desk. To look at him, with that big square head and those massive shoulders, you’d never think he was a queer. But one foggy night not all that many years ago the Guards had caught him in the gents’ convenience at the top of Burgh Quay, on his knees in front of a young lad with his trousers around his ankles. Why they hadn’t locked themselves into one of the cu bicles was a mystery to all concerned, including, presumably, Gallagher himself. The danger was part of the thrill of the thing, the Minister supposed. All the same, for the highest civil servant in the land to take such a risk was madness, without a doubt.

In the end, though, he got away with it. The Garda that had caught him servicing the bumboy had taken him to Pearse Street barracks, where Detective Inspector Hackett, as he was then, had chosen not to press charges. Not long afterwards, Hackett was promoted to Chief Superintendent. Was there a connection? Hackett was said to be as straight as a die. All the same, at the time Bill Latimer had thought of directing that the matter be looked into. It wouldn’t have done him any harm at all to have exposed a blatant instance of corruption in the upper echelons of the Garda Síochána. He dropped the idea, however, after poor Oscar drove himself over that cliff in Howth and caused such a rumpus. Hackett had been in charge of the case, and had kept it low key, and after a few follow-up headlines on the inside pages the story fizzled out, to the great relief of the Latimer family.

Until now, when it seemed quite possible it would flare up again.

How in Christ’s name had Quirke got on to April’s trail? Had Quirke’s daughter somehow known all along that April wasn’t dead? Maybe April had got in touch with her. When the girl came to him this afternoon, she had claimed not to have known a thing until that phone call from Quirke in the middle of the night. But could he believe her? Maybe it was she who had asked Quirke to go down to Spain in the first place, to talk to April and persuade her to come home.

The Minister leaned forward and tapped ash into the ashtray. His mind was in a whirl. He didn’t know what to think.

‘I’ve had word,’ he said hesitantly, ‘I’ve had word that a – that a person I believed, that everyone believed, was dead, is in fact alive.’

Gallagher waited for more, but the Minister just sat looking at him, with desperation in his eyes. He felt like a rat being backed into a corner.