‘I’d really rather go home,’ I tell her, and really, it’s all I want, despite what she is saying to me. Despite the fact it may or may not be safe to do so.

‘Ingrid,’ she says, her voice calm as she leads me by the arm to a waiting police car, ‘we really don’t advise that at the moment.’

I look at her, blinking, as I take my seat and she shuffles in beside me, away from prying eyes.

‘Tell me what’s happened,’ I say, even though there is a part of me that doesn’t want to know.

‘Okay. I’m not sure I should be telling you this, but in light of what has just happened here, I don’t suppose I’ve a choice. There’s been an incident at the Doherty house.’

My eyebrows raise. The Doherty house? ‘What kind of incident?’

She takes a deep breath. ‘Mr Doherty has been injured – quite seriously, I believe.’

‘How?’

She pauses for a moment as if she’s not quite sure what to say next, or if she should be saying anything at all to me.

‘He’s been attacked, Ingrid. I don’t have all the details, but it would appear he is in a bad way.’

‘Mr Doherty?’ I ask, incredulous. ‘Liam Doherty has been attacked? Why would anyone attack him?’

This makes no sense. Surely it can’t have anything to do with the story in the paper or Kelly’s anniversary? The only person who could possibly be aggrieved by that is Jamesy Harte. He’d been angry and emotional on the phone earlier, but surely not?

‘We’re trying to find out more,’ DS King says. ‘But, Ingrid, there is reason to believe it is connected to the recent interest in Kelly’s murder. In light of what has happened, and what has been done to your car, we really don’t think it would be wise for you …’

Something clicks in my mind. I need to get to Creggan. I’m not sure who else will have heard what has happened, but if I can be at the scene first, maybe … This is a big story. I reach for the car door to get out.

‘I appreciate your concern, DS King, but really, I’ll be fine. I should probably be letting you get on with things. Sounds like you’ve bigger fish to fry than the tyres on my car,’ I add.

I think of Bernie Doherty’s face, gaunt and lost. She knows me. She might talk to me about what happened. Unless she has gone to the hospital. Maybe I should go there instead …