Every breath hurt on its way in. “That’s sweet. I’m touched. So you felt the appropriate response was to fuck my sister.”

Richie looked like he would happily saw his own arm off if it would make this conversation go away. “It wasn’t like that.”

“How in the name of sweet jumping Jesus was it not like that? Did she drug you? Handcuff you to the bedpost?”

“I didn’t go in there planning to … I don’t think she did either.”

“Are you seriously trying to tell me how my sister thinks? After one night?”

“No. I’m just saying—”

“Because I know her a lot better than you do, chum, and even I struggle for any clue about what goes on in her head. I think it’s more than possible that she went to your house planning on doing exactly what she did. I’m one hundred percent positive that this was her idea, not yours. That doesn’t mean you had to play along. What the holy hell were you thinking?”

“Honest to God, it was just one thing led to another. She was scared this case would mess you up, she was going in circles around my sitting room, crying—she couldn’t sit down, she was that upset. I gave her a hug, just to settle her—”

“And that’s where you shut up. I don’t need the graphic details.” I didn’t; I could see exactly how it had gone down. It’s so, so lethally easy to get dragged into Dina’s crazy. One minute you’re only going to dip your toes at the edge, just so you can grab her hand and pull her out; the next minute you’re full fathom five and flailing for air.

“I’m only telling you. It just happened.”

“Your partner’s sister,” I said. Suddenly I was exhausted, exhausted and sick to my stomach, something rising and burning in my throat. I leaned my head back against the wall and pressed my fingers into my eyes. “Your partner’s crazy sister. How could that seem OK?”

Richie said quietly, “It doesn’t.”

The dark behind my fingers was deep and restful. I didn’t want to open my eyes on that harsh, biting light. “And when you woke up this morning,” I said, “Dina was gone, and so was the evidence bag. Where had it been?”

A moment’s silence. “On my bedside table.”

“In plain view of anyone who happened to wander in. Flatmates, burglars, one-night stands. Brilliant, old son.”

“My bedroom door locks. And during the day I kept it on me. In my jacket pocket.”

All those arguments we’d had, Conor versus Pat, half-real animals, old love stories: Richie’s side had been bullshit. He had been holding the answer the whole time, close enough that I could have reached out and put my hand on it. I said, “And didn’t that work out well?”

“I never thought of her taking it. She—”

“You weren’t thinking at all. Not by the time she got into your bedroom.”

“She was your mate—or I thought she was. I didn’t think about her robbing stuff, specially not that. She cared about you, like a lot; that was obvious. Why would she want to fuck up your case?”