There was a silence. I said, “I’m going to need an answer, Conor.”

His chin set hard. “Because. I like it.”

Richie stood up, stretched and started moving around the edges of the room, in the loose-kneed, bobbing lope that says Trouble on any backstreet. I said, “That’s not going to do the job, fella. Because—and stop me if this isn’t news to you—two nights ago, when you don’t remember what you were doing, someone got into the Spains’ house and murdered the lot of them.”

He didn’t bother to pretend that came as a shock. His mouth tightened like a vicious cramp had wrenched through him, but nothing else moved.

I said, “So, naturally, we’re interested in anyone who has links to the Spains—especially anyone whose link is what you might call out of the ordinary, and I’d say your playhouse qualifies there. You could even say we’re very interested. Am I right, Detective Curran?”

“Fascinated,” Richie said, from behind Conor’s shoulder. “Is that the word I’m after, yeah?” He was making Conor edgy. The bad-news walk wasn’t intimidating him, nothing like that, but it was breaking his concentration, keeping him from slamming his silence shut around himself. I realized that I was liking working with Richie, more and more.

“‘Fascinated’ would work, all right. Even ‘obsessed’ wouldn’t be out of place. Two little kids are dead. Personally, and I don’t think I’m alone here, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to put away the cock-sucking bastard who killed them. I’d like to think any decent member of society would do the same.”

“Dead right,” said Richie approvingly. The circles were getting tighter, faster. “Are you with us on that, Conor, yeah? You’re a decent member of society, aren’t you?”

“Haven’t got a clue.”

I said pleasantly, “Well, let’s find out, shall we? We’ll start with this: in the course of your year or so of breaking and entering—you didn’t keep track, of course, you just liked it out there—did you happen to notice anyone unsavory hanging around Ocean View?”

Shrug.

“Is that a no?”

Nothing. Richie sighed noisily and started skimming the sides of his shoe soles off the linoleum on each step, with a horrible squealing noise. Conor winced. “Yeah. It’s a no. I saw no one.”

“What about the night before last? Because we need to cut the crap, Conor: you were out there. See anyone interesting?”

“I’ve got nothing to tell you.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You know, Conor, I doubt that. Because I’m only seeing two options here. Either you saw what happened, or you are what happened. If it’s Door Number One, then you need to start talking right now. If it’s Door Number Two … well, that’s the only reason why you would want to keep your mouth shut. Isn’t it?”

People tend to react, when you accuse them of murder. He sucked his teeth, stared at a thumbnail.

“If you can see an option I’ve missed, old son, then by all means share it with us. All donations gratefully accepted.”