“If he did it. Let’s worry about one step at a time.”

“I know. I just … I fucked up. Sorry.”

He was still messing with his notebook. He looked pale and shrunken, like he was expecting a bollocking. A day earlier he would probably have got one, but that morning I couldn’t remember why I should put in the energy. “No real harm done,” I said. “Anything she says now won’t hold up anyway; she’s on enough painkillers that any statement would get thrown out in a heartbeat. That was a good moment to leave.”

I thought that would reassure him, but his face stayed tight. “When do we give her another go?”

“When the doctors take down her dosage. From what Fiona said, it shouldn’t be long. We’ll check in tomorrow.”

“Could be a good while before she’s in decent enough shape to talk. You saw her: she was practically unconscious there.”

I said, “She’s in better shape than she’s trying to make out. At the end, yeah, she faded fast, but up until then … She’s foggy and in pain, all right, but she’s come a long way since the other day.”

Richie said, “She looked like shite to me.”

He was heading for the car. “Hang on,” I said. He needed a few breaths of fresh air, and so did I; I was much too tired to have this conversation and drive safely at the same time. “Let’s take five.”

I headed for the wall where we had sat the morning of the post-mortems—that felt like a decade ago. The illusion of summer didn’t hold up: the sunlight was thin and tremulous, and the air had an edge that cut through my overcoat. Richie sat beside me, running the zip of his jacket up and down.

I said, “She’s hiding something.”

“Maybe. Hard to be sure, through all the drugs.”

“I’m sure. She’s trying much too hard to act like life was perfect up until Monday night. The breakins were no big deal, Pat’s animal was no big deal, everything was just fine. She was chatting away like we’d all met up for a nice coffee.”

“Some people, that’s how they operate. Everything’s always fine. Doesn’t matter what’s wrong, you never admit it; just grit your teeth, keep saying it’s all grand, and hope it comes true.”

His eyes were on me. I couldn’t hold back a wry grin. “True enough. Habits die hard. And you’re right, that sounds like Jenny. But at a time like this, you’d think she’d be spilling everything she’s got. Unless she’s got a bloody good reason not to.”

Richie said, after a second, “The obvious one is that she remembers Monday night. If it’s that, then it says Pat. For her husband, she might keep her mouth shut. For someone she hadn’t even seen in years, no way.”

“Then why is she playing down the breakins? If she genuinely wasn’t frightened, then why not? Any woman in the world, if she suspects someone’s got access to the house where she and her babies are living, she does something about it. Unless she knows perfectly well who’s coming in and out, and she doesn’t have a problem with it.”