Margaret Devlin let out her breath as if she’d been hit in the stomach. Tears began to fall down her cheeks, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Are you sure?” Devlin snapped. His eyes were huge. “How can you be sure?”

“Mr. Devlin,” Cassie said gently, “I’ve seen the little girl. She looks exactly like your daughter Jessica. We’ll be asking you to come see the body tomorrow, to confirm her identity, but there’s no doubt in my mind. I’m sorry.”

Devlin swung towards the window, away again, pressed a wrist against his mouth, lost and wild-eyed. “Oh, God,” said Margaret. “Oh, God, Jonathan—”

“What happened to her?” Devlin cut in harshly. “How did she—how—”

“I’m afraid it looks as if she was murdered,” Cassie said. Margaret was heaving herself up out of the chair, in slow, underwater movements. “Where is she?” The tears were still pouring down her face, but her voice was eerily calm, almost brisk.

“She’s with our doctors,” Cassie said gently. If Katy had died differently, we might have taken them to her. But as it was, her skull smashed open, her 46

Tana French

face covered in blood . . . At the post-mortem, the morgue guys would wash off at least that gratuitous layer of horror.

Margaret looked around, dazed, patting mechanically at the pockets of her skirt. “Jonathan. I can’t find my keys.”

“Mrs. Devlin,” Cassie said, putting a hand on her arm. “I’m afraid we can’t take you to Katy yet. The doctors need to examine her. We’ll let you know as soon as you can see her.”

Margaret twitched away from her and moved in slow motion towards the door, dragging a clumsy hand across her face to smear the tears away. “Katy. Where is she?” Cassie shot a glance of appeal over her shoulder at Jonathan, but he was leaning both palms against the windowpane and staring out, unseeing, breathing too fast and too hard.

“Please, Mrs. Devlin,” I said urgently, trying to unobtrusively get between her and the door. “I promise we’ll take you to Katy as soon as we can, but at the moment you can’t see her. It’s simply not possible.”

She stared at me, red-eyed, her mouth hanging open. “My baby,” she gasped. Then her shoulders slumped and she started to weep, in deep, hoarse, unrestrained sobs. Her head fell back and she let Cassie take her gently by the shoulders and ease her back into her chair.

“How did she die?” Jonathan demanded, still staring fixedly out the window. The words were blurred, as if his lips were numb. “What way?”

“We won’t know that until the doctors have finished examining her,” I said. “We’ll keep you informed of every development.”

I heard light footsteps running down the stairs; the door flew open, and a girl stood in the doorway. Behind her Jessica was still in the hall, sucking a lock of hair and staring in at us.

“What is it?” said the girl breathlessly. “Oh, God . . . is it Katy?”