‘At this stage there is nothing to indicate that Jamesy Harte is in any way connected to the events last night,’ DI Bradley says. ‘And we’d really appreciate it if the media didn’t facilitate the spreading of rumours to that effect. I’m going off the record here, folks. This is a very sensitive case, not only in terms of what actually happened last night, but also because of the issues surrounding the Doherty family. No doubt, you’ll be aware of Mr Harte’s announcement of his intention to try and clear his name, and the increased media attention on the story as a result of the anniversary of Kelly’s death.’

I feel myself colour. He’s not blaming me, exactly. But he might as well be all the same.

‘Our priority at the moment is to find the men responsible and bring them before the courts,’ he said. ‘Now, ladies and gentlemen, I appreciate your time here today and your cooperation on this matter,’ DI Bradley says, cutting off Nuala before she can ask another question.

‘That’s all we have for today,’ Sue says in a voice that makes it clear that the proceedings are over.

DI Bradley turns and walks back towards the police station. DS King stays where she is, though, and as I slip my phone back into my bag, she approaches me.

‘Ingrid, do you mind if we have a word? Why don’t you follow me in?’

I glance towards my colleagues – God knows the last thing I want is for them to see me being led into the station, in any capacity.

‘Give it five minutes and come back in. I understand this is sensitive,’ she says, following my gaze. ‘But we really do need to talk to you. There’s been a development.’

‘About my car? Did the CCTV footage show anything?’

She shakes her head. ‘No, well. I don’t know. I think the area was too poorly lit to catch anything of note. But that’s not what we need to talk to you about. It’s about Jamesy Harte.’

Chapter Thirty-Three

Ingrid

DS King’s face is serious but when she speaks, she thanks me for waiting behind and leads me down a warren of corridors to an office where DI Bradley is sitting behind a desk.

‘Ingrid,’ he says. ‘Sit down.’

‘I wasn’t expecting an invite into your inner sanctum,’ I say, trying to keep my voice light. I don’t want him to know I’m rattled.

‘Well, it seems today is your lucky day,’ he tells me as I take my seat opposite him. ‘Look, Ingrid, I’ll cut to the chase here. First thing this morning, the police attended the address of Jamesy Harte to speak to him in light of the attack last night.’

‘You think Jamesy Harte has something to do with it?’ I ask.