“Yeah. It was winter: dark already, and cold, so everyone was indoors. No one saw me.” Her eyes were hooded against the smoke, remembering. “I’m telling you, Francis, I was afraid for my life, going into that house. I’d never been in there in the dark before, not on my own anyway. The worst was the stairs; the rooms had a bit of light coming in through the windows, but the stairs were black. I’d to feel my way up. Cobwebs all over me, and half the steps rocking like the whole place was about to fall down around my ears, and little noises everywhere . . . I swear to God I thought there was someone else in there, or a ghost maybe, watching me. I was all ready to scream if someone grabbed me. I legged it out of there like my arse was on fire.”

“Do you remember where you put the suitcase?”

“I do, yeah. Me and Rosie had that all arranged. It went up behind the fireplace in the top front room—the big room, you know the one. If it hadn’t’ve fit there, I was going to put it under that heap of boards and metal and shite in the corner of the basement, but I didn’t fancy going down there unless I had to. It fit grand, in the end.”

“Thanks, Imelda,” I said. “For giving us a hand. I should’ve thanked you a long time ago, but better late than never.”

Imelda said, “Now can I ask you something, can I? Or does it only go the one way?”

“Like the Gestapo, ve ask ze questions? Nah, babe, fair’s fair: it goes both ways. Ask away.”

“People are saying Rosie and Kevin were killed, like. Murdered. The pair of them. Are they only saying that for the scandal, or is it true?”

I said, “Rosie was killed, yeah. No one’s sure about Kevin yet.”

“How was she killed?”

I shook my head. “No one’s telling me.”

“Yeah. Right.”

“Imelda,” I said. “You can keep thinking of me as a cop if you want, but I guarantee you, right now there’s not one person on the force thinking that way. I’m not working this case; I’m not even supposed to be near this case. I’ve put my job on the line just by coming here. I’m not a cop this week. I’m the annoying fucker who won’t go away because he loved Rosie Daly.”

Imelda bit down on the side of her lip, hard. She said, “I loved her too, so I did. I loved that girl to bits.”

“I know that. That’s why I’m here. I haven’t a clue what happened to her, and I don’t trust the cops to bother their arses finding out. I need a hand here, ’Melda.”