She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“That’s OK. We understand. Could you take a moment and think back, see if anything comes to you?”

“I don’t … There’s nothing. I can’t … ”

She was tensing up, her hand tightening on Richie’s again. I said, “That’s fine. What’s the last thing you do remember?”

Jenny gazed at nothing and for a moment I thought she had drifted away, but then she whispered, “The babies’ bath. Emma washed Jack’s hair. Got shampoo in his eyes. He was going to cry. Pat … his hands in the sleeves of Emma’s dress, like it was dancing, to make Jack laugh …”

“That’s good,” I said, and Richie gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. “That’s great. Any little thing could help us. And after the children’s bath … ?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. The next thing was here, that doctor—”

“OK. It might come back to you. Meanwhile, can you tell me whether there’s anyone who’s bothered you, over the past few months? Anyone who worried you? Maybe someone you knew was acting a bit odd, or you saw someone around who made you nervous?”

“No one. Nothing. Everything’s been fine.”

“Your sister Fiona mentioned that you had a break-in during the summer. Can you tell us about that?”

Jenny’s head stirred on the pillow, like something hurt. “That was nothing. Not a big deal.”

“Fiona sounded like it was a pretty big deal at the time.”

“Fiona exaggerates. I was just stressed that day. I got worried about nothing.”

Richie’s eyes met mine, across the bed. Somehow, Jenny was managing to lie.

I said, “There are a number of holes in the walls of your home. Do those have anything to do with the break-in?”

“No. Those are … They’re nothing. They’re just DIY stuff.”

“Mrs. Spain,” Richie said. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m positive.”

Through all the fog of drugs and damage, something in her face glinted dense and hard as steel. I remembered what Fiona had said: Jenny isn’t a wimp.

I asked, “What kind of DIY stuff?”

We waited, but Jenny’s eyes had clouded over again. Her breathing was so shallow that I could barely see her chest rise and fall. She whispered, “Tired.”

I thought about Kieran and his ID hunt, but there was no way she would be able to find those in the wreckage of her mind. I said gently, “Just a few more questions, and we’ll let you rest. A woman called Aisling Rooney—her son Karl was a friend of Jack’s from preschool—she mentioned that she tried to get in touch over the summer, but you stopped returning her calls. Do you remember that?”

“Aisling. Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you ring her back?”

A shrug; barely a twitch, but it made her wince. “I just didn’t.”

“Had you had problems with her? With any of that family?”

“No. They’re fine. I just forgot to ring her.”

That flash of steel again. I pretended I hadn’t seen it, moved on. “Did you tell your sister Fiona that Jack had brought home a friend from preschool last week?”