“Fuck off or I’ll scream.”

And a chip off the old block personality-wise, too. The kid gave me the warm fuzzies all over. I said, “Dial it down a notch there, Penelope Pitstop. This time I’m not here to give you hassle.”

“Then what d’you want?”

“I brought you a new telly. Happy Christmas.”

The suspicion on her face got deeper. “Why?”

“You’ve heard of a guilty conscience, yeah?”

Isabelle folded her arms and shot me the filthies. Up close, the resemblance to Imelda was still there, but not as strong. She had the round Hearne nub of a chin. “We don’t want your telly,” she informed me. “Thanks all the same.”

I said, “Maybe you don’t, but your ma might, or your sisters. Why don’t you try them and find out?”

“Yeah, right. How do we know that yoke wasn’t robbed two nights ago, and if we take it you’ll be round to arrest us this afternoon?”

“You’re overestimating my brainpower.”

Isabelle raised an eyebrow. “Or you’re underestimating mine. ’Cause I’m not thick enough to take anything off a cop who’s pissed off with my ma.”

“I’m not pissed off with her. We had a little difference of opinion, it’s been resolved, she’s got nothing to worry about from me.”

“Better not. My ma’s not scared of you.”

“Good. Believe it or not, I’m fond of her. We grew up together.”

Isabelle considered that. “Then what’d you smash our telly for?” she demanded.

“What does your ma say?”

“She won’t.”

“Then neither will I. A gentleman never divulges a lady’s confidences.”

She threw me a withering look to show that she wasn’t impressed by the fancy talk, but then she was at the age where nothing I did would have impressed her anyway. I tried to imagine what it was like, seeing your daughter with breasts and eyeliner and the legal right to get on a plane to anywhere she wanted. “Is that yoke meant to make sure she says the right thing in court? ’Cause she already gave her statement to that young fella, what-d’you-call-him, Ginger Pubes.”

A statement that she could and presumably would change several dozen times by the time the trial came along, but if I had felt the urge to bribe Imelda Tierney I wouldn’t have needed to blow the budget; I could have stuck with a couple of cartons of John Player Blue. I figured I was better off not sharing that with Isabelle. I said, “That’s nothing to do with me. Let’s get this much straight: I’ve got nothing to do with that case, or that young fella, and I don’t want anything off your ma. OK?”

“You’d be the first fella who didn’t. Seeing as you don’t want anything, can I go now, yeah?”