‘He’s not worth it, Leilie,’ said Wexford.

‘I know that, I know what he’s worth. But you won’t get me being disloyal to him, Mr Wexford, I shan’t say a word.’

‘Let’s go in and sit down.’ He made his way to the table where it was lightest and sat down in the chair Tony Jasper had sat in. ‘Where’s the baby?’

‘With my mum.’

‘Rather much for someone who’s just come out of hospital, isn’t it?’ Wexford looked at his watch. ‘You’re going to be late for work. What time is it you start? Eight-thirty?’

‘Eight,’ she said. ‘I’m not going. I couldn’t, not after what’s happened to Paddy. Mr Wexford, you might as well go. I’m not going to say anything. If I was Paddy’s wife you couldn’t make me say anything, and I’m as good as his wife, I’ve been more to him than most wives’d have been.’

‘I know that, Leilie,’ said Wexford, ‘I know all about that,’ and his voice was so loaded with meaning that she stared at him with frightened eyes whose whites shone in the dusk. ‘Leilie,’ he said, ‘when they drew the chalk circle and put the child in it the girl who had brought him up refused to pull him out because she knew she would hurt him. Rather than hurt him she preferred that someone else should have him.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said.

‘I think you do. It’s not so different from Solomon’s judgement of cutting the baby in half. The child’s mother wouldn’t have that happen, better let the other woman have him. You pleaded guilty in court to crimes against your first son you had never committed. It was Jasper who injured that child, and it was Jasper who got you to take the blame because he knew you would get a light sentence whereas he would get a heavy one. And afterwards you had the baby adopted – not because you didn’t love him but because like the chalk circle woman you would rather lose him than have him hurt again. Isn’t it true?’

She stared at him. Her head moved, a tiny affirmative bob. Wexford leaned across to the window and opened it. He waved his hand out of the window, withdrew it and closed the casement again. Leilie was crying, making no attempt to dry her tears.

‘Were you brought up as a Catholic?’ he said.

‘I was baptized,’ she said in a voice not much above a whisper. ‘Mum’s a Catholic. Her and Dad, they got married in Galway where Mum comes from, and Dad had to promise to bring the kids up Catholic.’ A sob caught her throat. ‘I haven’t been to mass for years. Mr Wexford, please go away now and leave me alone. I just want to be left alone.’

He said, ‘I’m sorry to hear you say that because I’ve got a visitor for you, and he’ll certainly be staying the night.’ He switched on lights, the living-room light, the light in the hall and one over the top of the door, and then he opened the door and Polly Davies walked in with young Ginger in her arms.