“Yeah,” I said. “You’re probably right.” I realized that I had stopped moving, what felt like a long time ago. “So maybe she did.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Maybe the two of them were in it together: Conor and Jenny. That makes everything a whole lot simpler, doesn’t it? No need for Conor to worry about keeping the noises away from Jenny: if Pat asks her, ‘Do you hear that?’ all she has to do is look blank and say, ‘Hear what?’ No need to worry if the kids hear, either: Jenny can convince them they’re just imagining things, and they shouldn’t talk about it in front of Daddy. And no need for Conor to break in and move equipment around: Jenny can look after all that.”

Under the white fluorescents, Richie’s face looked like it had in the stripped morning light outside the morgue: bleached white, eroded down to the bone. He didn’t like this.

I said, “That explains why she’s playing down Pat’s state of mind. It explains why she didn’t tell him, or the local uniforms, about the breakins. It explains why Conor wiped the animal off the computer. It explains why he confessed: protecting his girlfriend. It explains why she’s not grassing him up: guilt. In fact, old son, I’d say it explains just about everything.” I could hear the pieces falling into place all around me, a small neat patter like soft raindrops. I wanted to lift my face to it, wash myself clean in it, drink it down.

Richie didn’t move and for a moment I knew he felt it too, but then he caught a quick breath and shook his head. “I don’t see it.”

“It’s clear as day. It’s beautiful. You don’t see it because you don’t want to see it.”

“It’s not that. How do you get from there to the murders? If Conor was aiming to send Pat mental, it was working great: the poor bastard’s head was melted. Why would Conor dump all his plans and kill him? And if Jenny and the kids are what he’s after, what’s he doing killing them too?”

I said, “Come on.” I was already striding down the corridor, as fast as I could go without breaking into a run. Richie had to trot to keep up. “Remember that JoJo’s badge?”

“Yeah.”

“The little fuck,” I said. I took the stairs down to the evidence room two at a time.

*

Conor was still in his chair, but there were red marks around one thumb where he had been chewing on it. He knew he had fucked up, even if he wasn’t sure how. Finally, and about time, he was nervous as hell.

Neither of us bothered to sit down. Richie told the camera, “Detective Kennedy and Detective Curran resuming interview with Conor Brennan”; then he leaned back in a corner at the edge of Conor’s vision, folded his arms and bumped one heel off the wall in a slow, nagging rhythm. I didn’t even try to stay still: I circled the room, fast, shoving chairs out of my way. Conor tried to watch both of us at once.