‘No, you didn’t think, did you? She was taking anti-psychotics; how much cannabis did—’

‘She didn’t. . .’ A sigh. Then he turned around and walked back into the house. ‘You’d better come in.’

Logan followed him into the lounge. The TV was paused: some sort of generic cop drama where everyone looked like models and no one ever broke wind, scratched their backside, or swore. An open pizza box filled the coffee table, a couple of slices lurking on the cardboard surrounded by discarded crusts. Empty beer cans were lined up like soldiers on the grease-flecked lid.

Garfield collapsed into a stripy armchair. ‘Doreen’s round her mother’s.’

Outside the living-room window, Steel leaned back against the car, pointing at her watch, then her boot.

Logan turned his back on her. ‘What part of, “Is there anything else you haven’t told us?” did you not understand? ’

A swig of beer. ‘Agnes slit her wrists because her mother decided she wasn’t allowed to see Anthony Chung any more. Doctor said she was lucky she didn’t wind up with permanent nerve damage.’ Garfield waggled the can from side to side, making the contents slosh and fizz. ‘She tried to hang herself when she was twelve. So we sent her to a shrink, and that was it: medication.’ He reached for one of the last slices, pepperoni acne glistening on greasy cheese. ‘Twelve and she’s on antipsychotics. What kind of life is that? ’

Silence.

‘Why the hell didn’t you tell us? I asked you if there was anything else, and you looked me in the eye and lied! Did you really think it didn’t matter? ’

A shrug. ‘She was doing better. The overdose was. . . I don’t know. She was upset because Anthony wasn’t enthusiastic enough about her tattoo. They’re like that, always. . .’ He curled one hand into a claw, the whole arm trembling. ‘You know? But she loves him.’

‘Did Agnes take her medication with her when she left? What if she has another episode? ’

Garfield’s mouth turned down at the edges. Then he took a bite, chewing as if it was bitter cardboard. ‘She couldn’t take it with her. We don’t. . . Doreen doesn’t want. . . After the overdose we don’t let Agnes manage her condition on her own. Doreen doles out the pills every day and watches to make sure she takes them.’

‘Then how come she had a pack of Risperidone in her stash? ’

‘Risperidone. . .? ’ He shook his head. Washed the pizza down with the last of his beer. ‘No, she can’t have that: it’s only for when the episodes are really bad. It’s too strong for regular use. We manage her condition with Aripiprazole.’ The empty tin went to stand guard with its comrades.