“Did you see him again?”

“Nah.”

“Did he get the key back to you?”

“Yeah. The day after. Under the rock, like he said.”

“Do you know does your key fit the Spains’ door?”

Which was a tactful way of putting it. Jayden shrugged, too easily and not vehemently enough for a lie. “Never tried.”

In other words, he hadn’t wanted to risk getting caught by someone who knew where he lived. “Did your man get in by the back door?” Sinéad wanted to know. Her eyes were wide.

“We’re exploring all the possibilities,” Richie said. “Jayden, what did this fella look like?”

Jayden shrugged again. “Thin.”

“Older than me? Younger?”

“I guess the same as you. Younger than him.” Me.

“Tall? Short?”

Shrug. “Normal. Maybe sort of tall, like him.” Me again.

“Would you recognize him if you saw him again, would you?”

“Yeah. Probably.”

I leaned over to my briefcase and found the photo array. One of the floaters had put it together for us that morning, and he had done a good job: six twenty-somethings, all lean, with close-cropped brown hair and plenty of chin. Jayden would need to come down to HQ for a formal lineup, but we could at least eliminate the possibility that he had given his key to some unrelated weirdo.

I passed the array to Richie, who held it out to Jayden. “Is he in here?”

Jayden milked it for all it was worth: tilting the sheet at different angles, holding it up to eye level and squinting at it. Finally he said, “Yeah. This guy.”

His finger was on the middle shot in the bottom row: Conor Brennan. Richie’s eyes met mine for a second.

“Jaysus Christ,” Sinéad said. “He was talking to a murderer.” She sounded somewhere between awestruck and outraged. I could see her trying to work out who to sue.

Richie said, “You’re sure, Jayden?”

“Yeah. Number Five.” Richie reached to take back the array sheet, but Jayden was still staring at it. “Was he the guy that killed them all?”

I saw the quick flicker of Richie’s eyelids. “It’ll be up to the court and the jury to decide what he did.”

“If I hadn’t’ve given him the key, would he have killed me?”

His voice sounded fragile. The ghoulishness was gone; all of a sudden he just looked like a scared little kid. Richie said gently, “I don’t think so. I can’t swear to it, but I’d bet you were never in any danger, not even for a second. Your mammy’s right, though: you shouldn’t talk to strangers. Yeah?”

“Is he gonna come back?”

“No. He’s not coming back.”

Richie’s first slip: you don’t make that promise, at least not when you still need leverage. “That’s what we’re trying to make sure of,” I said smoothly, stretching out a hand for the sheet. “Jayden, you’ve been a great help, and it’ll make a big difference. But we need all the help we can get, to keep this guy where he is. Mr. Gogan, Mrs. Gogan: you’ve also had a couple of days to think back and see whether you know something that might help us. Does anything come to mind? Anything you’ve seen, heard, anything out of place? Anything at all?”