I hesitate but there’s no way out of this. If I lie, they’ll find out and then they’ll wonder why I’m lying.

‘Lila.’

It comes out in a whisper. I wait for a response, for the axe to fall. But McCarthy’s face is neutral, her eyes giving nothing away. Walsh writes something in his notebook.

‘Lila. OK. And did you ask anything else of Ms O’Brien?’

For the love of God, why did I ask those stupid questions? Why couldn’t I just leave it alone?

‘Mrs Stedman? Anything you can tell us will help with our inquiry.’

‘But wasn’t it an accident? Cora’s death?’ Please let it not be suicide.

McCarthy doesn’t answer my question. ‘Did you say anything else in your text to Ms O’Brien?’

‘I asked her if Lily had any illnesses.’

McCarthy looks like I’ve just confirmed something she already knew and I’m relieved that I told the truth.

‘Why did you ask that?’

This is dangerous territory.

‘Stuff I saw online.’ The answer comes to me in a rush. ‘Rumours on various true-crime forums. People speculate all sorts of things on those boards. Someone said they saw a child that looked like Lily, but this child had very severe asthma. As far as I know from asking around, Lily didn’t have asthma, so I don’t think it was her.’ That actually sounds plausible, I think, and it is this small jolt of confidence that inspires me to try a question of my own. ‘Is there a reason you’re asking all this? I can’t imagine it has anything to do with what happened to Cora?’

McCarthy says nothing for a moment, then seems to make up her mind.

‘We found a notebook in Ms O’Brien’s bag. She’d written down your name, and the words you’ve just mentioned – “Lily/Lila” and “illness” – followed by a question mark. Do you know why Cora might have done that?’

I shake my head. ‘I’ve no idea.’ This time I’m telling the truth. ‘Was there anything else in the notebook?’

Another pause. ‘That’s all for now, we’ll be back if we need more,’ McCarthy says, sidestepping my question. And, I realize, I have inadvertently sidestepped hers. I’ve not been asked if I saw Cora again since Tuesday. Which means they don’t know I was in her house yesterday morning. While I’m trying to work out whether it’s better to say it or not, they’re getting up to leave. I say nothing and see them out.

The story of Cora’s death is spreading like wildfire. Once the gardaí leave, I see messages from Liz Landry and Fran, and three missed calls from Mark. My finger hovers over the number to phone him back but I stop before pressing Call. I need a minute. The news has flattened me. It seems impossible that she was alive yesterday when I had coffee in her garden. Alive this morning – eating breakfast, I imagine, like any other day; listening to the radio, planning her weekend – and now, in the most grotesque way, she’s dead. Lying in a morgue. And with no immediate family to mourn her, she’s desperately alone. I hardly knew her and I can’t quite fathom why this is hitting me so badly, but it is. I pick up my phone again to call Mark but now I can’t get through. I try Liz Landry next, and she answers.