“Curran’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.”

“A-ha,” Quigley said smugly, pointing at me, like I had slipped up and revealed some big secret. “Will I take that to mean he’s the bold lad, after all?”

“Take it whatever way you like it, chum. And if you like it, take it again.”

“It doesn’t matter, sure. Even if it was Curran that did it, he’s only on probation; you’re the one that’s meant to be minding him. If anyone were to find out about this … Wouldn’t that be dreadful timing, and you just on your way back up?” Quigley had edged close enough that I could see the wet glisten of his lips, the sheen of dirt and grease grained into his jacket collar. “No one wants that to happen. I’m sure we can come to an arrangement.”

For an instant I thought he meant money. For an even briefer, disgraceful splinter of time I thought of saying yes. I have savings, in case something were to happen to me and Dina needed looking after; not a lot, but enough to shut Quigley’s mouth, save Richie, save myself, set the ricocheting world back in its orbit and let us all keep going as if nothing had happened.

Then I understood: it was me he wanted, and there was no way back to safe. He wanted to work with me on the good cases, take credit for anything I came up with, and offload the no-hopers onto me; he wanted to bask while I sang his praises to O’Kelly, warn me with a meaningful eyebrow-lift when something wasn’t good enough, soak up the sight of Scorcher Kennedy at his mercy. It would never end.

I want to believe that that wasn’t the reason I turned Quigley down. I know how many people would take it for granted that it was just that simple, that my ego wouldn’t let me spend the rest of my career coming running to his whistle and making sure I got his coffee just right. I still pray to believe that I said no because it was the right thing to do.

I said, “I wouldn’t come to an arrangement with you if you had a bomb strapped to my chest.”

That pushed Quigley back a step, out of my face, but he wasn’t going to give up that easily. His prize was so close he was practically drooling. “Don’t be saying anything you’ll regret, Detective Kennedy. No one needs to know where this was last night. You can sort your bit of fluff; she won’t say a word. Neither will Curran, if he’s got any sense in his head. This can go straight to the evidence room, like nothing ever happened.” He shook the bag; I heard the dry rattle of the fingernail on paper. “It’ll be our wee secret. You have a think about that, before you go disrespecting me.”

“There’s nothing to think about.”

After a moment, Quigley leaned back against the railing. “I’ll tell you something for nothing, Kennedy,” he said. His tone had changed; all the creamy fake-buddy coating had fallen away. “I knew you were going to fuck this case up. The second you came back from seeing the Super, Tuesday, I knew. You always thought you were something special, didn’t you? Mr. Perfect, never put a toe out of line. And look at you now.” That smirk again, this time halfway to a snarl, alive with malice that he wasn’t bothering to hide any more. “I’d only love to know: what was it made you cross the line on this one? Was it just that you’ve been a saint so long, you figured you could get away with anything you like, no one would ever suspect the great Scorcher Kennedy?”