Cooper brushed his sleeve straight, staring at her in amazement. He had no idea what had provoked that outburst.

‘What do you mean, Diane?’

She looked around the room, and leaned closer to whisper in his ear. ‘This information about the operating meth lab? Did you, by any chance, get that from my sister?’

It was one of those moments when Cooper knew it was pointless trying to lie. Fry had him fixed with such a concentrated stare that she would notice even the slightest flicker of an attempt to conceal the truth.

‘Yes, Diane, I did. She –’

Fry interrupted him. ‘I don’t want to hear the sordid details. I just want you to know that when I got home today, she was gone.’

The door opened, and Murfin came out of his interview with the new superintendent looking dazed and in need of a stiff drink or two.

Fry straightened up, trying to make everything appear normal.

‘How did it go, Gavin?’ she asked.

Murfin looked at her. ‘How did it go? All I can say is – the goat survived, but the bishop will never be the same again.’

An hour later, Fry stood up at the conclusion of a meeting with Superintendent Branagh and the other senior officers. At least they’d established with a fair percentage of certainty how Nadezda Halak had died. Results now available from the Forensic Science Service laboratory were consistent with damage to her soft tissues from an explosion of phosphine gas. The tiny fractures to the bones of Nadezda’s hand were probably the result of a futile attempt to protect herself from the debris hurled out by the explosion.

The function of Orla Doyle at Pity Wood Farm wasn’t confirmed yet. There was a general assumption that could be made from her history in Dublin. Garda records showed Orla to have been a street girl from the age of sixteen. Fry didn’t like assumptions, but she had no contrary evidence to present.

There was also no evidence to show how Orla Doyle had died, at least without possession of her skull. If only the skull recovered from Tom Farnham’s garage had been hers, there might have been some progress.

Fry strongly suspected that Martin Rourke had killed her, possibly when she’d tried to leave her employment. That wasn’t allowed, and injury or death were occupational hazards. She would dearly like to gather enough facts to make a case for a murder charge against Rourke, but she didn’t know where to turn for leads.

‘Well, the tip-off that DC Cooper obtained from his informant looks credible,’ said Detective Superintendent Branagh as the meeting broke up. ‘That was good work on his part. I’m delighted some of the division’s officers are developing useful intelligence sources.’