Richie’s shoe squealed inches behind Conor, and he jumped. He said, and there was an edge to his voice, “Like I said: I’ve got nothing to tell you. Pick your own options; not my problem.”

I swept my pen and notebook out of my way and leaned forward across the table, into his face, leaving him nowhere else to look. “Yeah, it is, old son. It bloody well is. Because me and Detective Curran and the entire police force of this country, every single one of us is out to bring down the fucker who slaughtered this family. And you’re right smack in our crosshairs. You’re the guy who’s on the spot for no good reason, who’s been spying on the Spains for a year, who’s filling us up with bullshit when any innocent man in the world would be helping us out … What do you think that says to us?”

Shrug.

“It says you’re a murdering scumbag, fella. I’d say that’s very much your problem.”

Conor’s jaw tightened. “If that’s what you want to think, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Jesus,” Richie said, rolling his eyes. “Self-pity much?”

“Call it what you want.”

“Come on. There’s loads you can do about it. You could give us a hand, just for starters: tell us everything you saw going down around the Spains’ gaff, hope something in there helps us out. Instead, you’re gonna sit here and sulk like some kid who’s got caught smoking hash? Grow up, man. Seriously.”

That got Richie a filthy look, but Conor wasn’t biting. He kept his mouth shut.

I eased back into my seat, adjusted the knot in my tie and changed the note to something gentler, almost curious. “Do we have it wrong, Conor? Maybe it wasn’t like it looks. We weren’t there, me and Detective Curran; there could have been a lot more to it than we realize. This might not be murder at all; it could have been manslaughter. I can even see how it could have started out as self-defense, and then things got out of hand. I’m willing to accept that. But we can’t do that unless you tell us your side of the story.”

Conor said, to the air somewhere over my head, “There’s no fucking story.”

“Oh, but there is. That’s not really up for debate, is it? The story might be ‘I wasn’t in Brianstown that night, and here’s my alibi.’ Or it might be ‘I was out there and I saw someone dodgy hanging about, and here’s a description.’ Or ‘The Spains caught me breaking in, they went for me and I had to defend myself.’ Or ‘I was up in my hide getting good and stoned when everything went black, and the next thing I remember I was sitting in my bathtub, covered in blood.’ Any one of those could fly with us, but we need to hear it. Otherwise, we’re going to assume the worst. Surely you can see that. Can’t you?”