But Drug Court had finished for the day. It was after five, and it was night. I gazed through the Georgian windows at the black of the sky. There is a very particular atmosphere in a courtroom after dark. During regular daylight hours, anyone might ramble in for a look: tourists, schoolkids, nosy pensioners, underemployed lawyers, time-killers of various kinds. When it’s late, it’s different. All the people in the courtroom have a stake in the proceedings. At a special sitting, a case that can’t wait till morning, everyone knows that something important and extraordinary is about to happen. I could taste it, that peculiar combination of anticipation and privilege. We would know the story before anyone else, see it, and hear it. Along with a small number of favoured reporters and court staff, legal teams and guards shuffled papers, exchanged looks, or talked quietly in the body of the court, but the scene wasn’t as Gill would have directed it. There had been no waiting supporters, no cheers, no rounds of applause. I had watched the Garda van as it drove into the side yard. Television cameras had filmed its arrival, but there would be no shot of Gill walking in, and no photography was permitted in the building. There wasn’t even a court artist, though there would be one at the trial. For now, Gill had lost control of his image. He would enter the court the same as any ordinary accused person. I sat alone on a bench, in a high corner of the public gallery, and waited.

At about ten past five, the door at the far side of the court opened and a female Garda in uniform walked through, followed by Esther Gill, and Sadie O’Riordan. A hush fell over the room. Whoever had chosen Esther’s court clothes had done her no favours. She must have asked for a suit, but she couldn’t have meant this one, a baby-blue spring wedding coat and dress with a thin flower print chiffon scarf that did nothing to protect her from the biting cold. Despite the make-up, her skin was almost the same colour as her outfit, but she had two faint spots of pink blusher on her cheeks, like an antique china doll. Her hair, normally big and over-styled, was so flat and thin that I could see her skull. The crowd parted before her. The first Garda helped her up the steps to the dock, and sat behind her. Sadie stood on the floor below, in silence.