I thank Sean before walking out of his office even more confused than I was when I walked in. The old wooden stairs creak as I make my way downstairs and out through the door onto the busy street. I’m trying to push my fears out of my head but now I can’t help thinking about what Andriu said about Faye. How she had become weird. Asking if I thought she could be involved in the murder. Andriu must know something about Faye that I don’t. Something that made him leave. I need to talk to him to try to make sense of this.

It’s okay for Sean to say that Faye is not my problem. He doesn’t know that she is. I was the one who dragged Faye into all this. I gave her name as the support medical person that would assist me. The suppliers of the Nembutal insisted I had medical expertise with me in case something went wrong. I shouldn’t have been so abrupt with Faye on the phone when she called me last week but I was annoyed she had told the detective I knew Avril Ryan.

I push open the door of the café for what I sincerely hope will be the last time ever.

The moment of happiness that embraced me this morning seems so far away now. My mind is bending with endless scenarios and Faye is not the only one I’m worried about. I’ve yet to ask my dad if he knew Avril Ryan.

Chapter Fifty

Dad is standing with his back to me on the porch polishing the letterbox. He has headphones in his ears so he doesn’t hear me calling him while I walk up the pathway. He jumps when I tap him on the shoulder.

‘Jesus,’ he says, ‘you frightened the life out of me.’ He leans in and kisses me on the cheek, taking the polish and cloth with him as he pushes the door fully open.

When I step inside the house, his hard work becomes apparent. There’s a beautiful fresh smell of vanilla and everything is gleaming.

‘Gosh, Dad, you’ve been hard at it. The place looks great.’

The hallstand, usually covered in letters and crap, is completely cleared and there’s a candle burning in a glass ornament in the centre of it. I can tell the doors have been washed down because the usual scuff marks around the handles are nowhere to be seen. The kitchen is also spotless when I step inside. The smell of disinfectant saturates the air making me cough briefly. I hate that smell.

When I see a vase of flowers at the centre of the table, I begin to question what’s going on. My father never bought flowers in his life. Even for Valentine’s Day. He always bought my mam perfume or chocolates, saying flowers were a waste of money.