There was no answer to that. Jenny’s shoulders moved in something like a shrug. “My head hurts, and my face. They’re giving me painkillers. I guess they help. Did you find out anything about … what happened?”

Fiona had kept her mouth shut, which was good, but interesting. I shot Richie a warning glance—I didn’t want to bring up Conor, not while Jenny was so slowed and clouded that her reaction would be worthless—but he was focusing on the sun coming through the blinds, and there was a tense set to his jaw. “We’re following a definite line of inquiry,” I said.

“A line. What line?”

“We’ll keep you posted.” There were two chairs by the bed, cushions squashed into their angles where Fiona and Mrs. Rafferty had tried to sleep. I took the one closest to Jenny and pushed the other towards Richie. “Can you tell us anything more about Monday night? Even the smallest thing?”

Jenny shook her head. “I can’t remember. I’ve been trying, I’m trying all the time … but half the time I just can’t think, because of the drugs, and the other half my head hurts too much. I think probably once I’m off the painkillers and they let me out of here—once I’m home … Do you know when … ?”

The thought of her walking into that house made me wince. We were going to have to talk to Fiona about hiring a cleaning team, or having Jenny stay at her flat, or both. “I’m sorry,” I said. “We don’t know anything about that. What about before Monday night? Can you think of anything out of the ordinary that happened recently—anything that worried you?”

Another shake of Jenny’s head. Only fragments of her face showed, behind the bandage; it made her hard to read. “The last time we spoke,” I said, “we started discussing the breakins you had over the past few months.”

Jenny’s face turned towards me, and I caught a spark of wariness: she knew something was off—she had only told Fiona about one—but she couldn’t find what. “That? Why does that matter?”

I said, “We have to examine the possibility that they could be connected to the attack.”

Jenny’s eyebrows pulled together. She could have been drifting, but some immobility said she was struggling hard to think, through that fog. After a long minute she said, almost dismissively, “I told you. It wasn’t a big deal. To be honest, I’m not sure there even were any breakins. It was probably just the kids moving things.”

I said, “Could you give us the details? Dates, times, things you noticed missing?” Richie found his notebook.

Her head moved restlessly on the pillow. “God, I don’t remember. Back in, I don’t know, maybe July? I was tidying up, and there was a pen and some ham slices missing. Or I thought there might be, anyway. We’d all been out that day, so I just got a bit nervous in case I’d forgotten something unlocked and someone had come in—there’s squatters living in some of the empty houses, and sometimes they come poking around. That’s all.”