*

I left Richie writing up the request form. I already had a mental list of places to look for Dina, left over from the last time and the time before that and the time before that: her exes’ flats, pubs where the barman liked her, dive clubs where sixty quid would get you plenty of ways to fry your brain for a while. I knew the whole thing was pointless—there was every chance in the world that Dina had caught a bus to Galway because it looked so pretty in some documentary, or entranced some guy and gone back to look at his etchings—but I didn’t have a choice. I still had my caffeine tablets in my briefcase, from the stakeout: a few of those, a shower, a sandwich, and I would be good to go. I slapped down the cold little voice telling me that I was getting too old for this, and much too tired.

When I put my key in the door of my flat, I was still running through addresses in my head, working out the fastest route. It took me a second to realize that something was wrong. The door was unlocked.

For a long minute I stood still in the corridor, listening: nothing. Then I put down my briefcase, unsnapped my holster and slammed the door open.

Debussy’s Sunken Cathedral chiming softly through the dim sitting room; candlelight catching in the curves of glasses, glowing rich red in dark wine. For one incredible, breath-robbing second, I thought: Laura. Then Dina uncurled her legs from the sofa and leaned forward to pick up her wineglass.

“Hi,” she said, raising the glass to me. “About bloody time.”

My heart was slamming at the back of my throat. “What the fuck?”

“Jesus, Mikey. Take a chill pill. Is that a gun?”

It took me a couple of tries to get the snap done up again. “How the hell did you get in here?”

“What are you, Rambo? Overreact much?”

“Christ, Dina. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Pulling a gun on your own sister. And here I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

The pout was a mock one, but the glitter of her eyes in the candlelight said to be careful. “I am,” I said, bringing my voice down. “I just wasn’t expecting you. How did you get in?”

Dina gave me a little smug grin and shook her cardigan pocket, which jingled merrily. “Geri had your spare keys. Actually, you know something, Geri has the whole of Dublin’s spare keys—Little Miss Reliable, sorry, Mrs. Reliable, isn’t she exactly who you’d want checking your house if you got burgled on holiday or something? Like if you were making up the person who has everyone’s spare key, wouldn’t she be exactly like Geri? God, you should’ve seen it, give you a laugh: she’s got them lined up on hooks in the utility room, all nice and labeled in her best handwriting. I could’ve robbed half her neighborhood if I’d felt like it.”