One of each couple had a job, long hours and long commutes; the other man had been made redundant a week ago, the other woman back in July. She had tried to make friends with Jenny Spain—“We were both stuck out here all day, I thought it’d be less lonely if we had someone to talk to …” Jenny had been polite, but she had kept her distance: a cup of tea always sounded lovely, but she was never free and never sure when she would be. “I thought maybe she was shy, or she didn’t want me to think we were best friends and start dropping in every day, or maybe she was annoyed because I never tried before—I never had a chance, I was barely even home … But if she was worried about … I mean, was it … ? Can I ask?”

She had taken it for granted that it was Pat, just like I had told Richie everyone would. I said, “We have someone in custody in connection with the crime.”

“Oh, God.” Her hand went to her husband’s, on the kitchen table. She was pretty, slim and blond and nicely put together, but she had been crying before we arrived. “Then it wasn’t … It was just … some guy? Like a burglar?”

“The person in custody isn’t a resident of the house.”

That made the tears start leaking out again. “Then … Oh, God …” Her eyes went over my shoulder, to the far end of the kitchen. Their daughter was about four, cross-legged on the floor with her smooth fair head bent over a plush tiger, murmuring away. “Then it could’ve been us. There was nothing to stop it being us. You want to say, ‘There but for the grace of God,’ only you can’t, can you? Because that’s like saying God wanted them to be … It wasn’t God. It was just an accident; just luck. Only for luck …”

Her hand was white-knuckled on her husband’s and she was working hard to hold in a sob. It hurt my jaw, how much I wanted to be able to tell her that she was wrong: that the Spains had sent out some call on the sea wind and Conor had answered, that she and hers had made a life that was safe.

I said, “The suspect is in custody. He’ll be staying that way for a long time.”

She nodded, not looking at me. Her face said I didn’t get it.

The husband said, “We were wanting to get out anyway. We’d have been gone months ago, only who’d buy this? Now …”

The wife said, “We’re not staying here. We’re not.”

The sob broke through. Her voice and her husband’s eyes held the same splinter of helplessness. They both knew they were going nowhere.

*

On our way back to the car, my phone buzzed to tell me I had a message. Geri had rung me just after five.

“Mick … God, I hate to bother you, I know you’re only up to your ears, but I thought you’d want to know—maybe you already do, sure, but … Dina’s after walking out on us. Mick, I’m so sorry, I know we were supposed to be looking after her—and we were, I only left her with Sheila for fifteen minutes while I went down to the shops … Is she after coming to you? I know you’re probably annoyed with me, I wouldn’t blame you, but Mick, if she’s with you, please, could you ring me and let me know? I’m really sorry, honestly, I am …”