‘There’s a name from the past,’ says Kincaid, still smiling. ‘Bet you wish you didn’t know it, eh? Brought you nowt but trouble.’

McAvoy doesn’t reply. Just glares at Kincaid until he looks away.

‘Your wife,’ he says, with something close to sympathy. ‘A strong woman, I’ve no doubt. Worth all the heartache, I’m sure. But that family …’

‘My family too,’ says McAvoy, loyally. ‘I don’t want to hear any of your prejudices, Constable Kincaid.’

Kincaid smiles at that. ‘By Christ but you’re not like I imagined you! Scared of his own shadow but fierce when he’s riled – that’s what your father-in-law calls you. You do know that he mentions you a lot, don’t you? Sweetens business deals, offers incentives, gets away with murder because he’s got a highly decorated English policeman on his payroll.’

‘Scottish,’ corrects McAvoy. ‘And no, I don’t know that.’

‘I’m with the Gardai,’ says Kincaid, as some colour returns to his cheeks. ‘A place where you have friends, it seems.’

‘This way you have of talking …’ growls McAvoy. ‘It’s grating on me. Tell me what you came here to say or I’m going.’

‘There’s people who know your name, that’s what I’m saying,’ snaps Kincaid, looking put upon. ‘You did a good thing when you went to America. Helped make sure a popular man came home alive.’

‘Brishen Ayres?’

‘Well it wouldn’t be Valentine Teague, would it?’

‘Valentine’s got a good heart,’ says McAvoy, wrapping his arms around himself. He feels cold, as though chill water has seeped into his skin.

‘The Heldens and the Teagues have been fighting for years,’ says Kincaid, finishing his drink. ‘That’s normal. The truces don’t last long. We don’t tend to get involved unless civilians are hurt, or if there’s a camera nearby that brings it to the public eye. Nobody thanks us for getting too involved in Tinker scuffles.’

‘Don’t say that word,’ snaps McAvoy. ‘Ever.’

‘Fine. Traveller. Pavee. Whatever. The scraps don’t matter. What matters is their wholesale illegal acts. The smuggling. The armed robberies. The drugs.’

‘They’re not involved in drugs,’ says McAvoy, automatically.

‘Bet they’re not involved in guns either,’ says Kincaid with a smile. ‘But look, Papa Teague knows the score. He takes risks and if he’s caught he does his time. He lives as he chooses. He doesn’t ask us for special treatment and he’d never mention your name in a police interview or in court. But we’ve got intelligence on him – a file as thick as your arm. And he’ll be going away, sergeant. I can promise you that. He put a bullet in the head of one of the top men in the Helden family. And once he’s inside, I very much doubt he’ll survive to finish his sentence. I’d advise your wife to buy a mourning dress. I don’t say that with any malice – I’m just outlining things as they stand.’

McAvoy looks down at the floor. There are shards of glass on the hems of his trousers and the laces of his boots. He brushes at them. Cuts his fingers. Sucks them and tastes blood. Thinks of Papa Teague and wonders whether he’ll be welcome at the funeral. Whether he’ll grieve for the man for whom he has a solid feeling of respect. He knows his father-in-law to be a criminal and former convict, but he takes care of his family. He’s loyal. He loves fiercely. He’d die before letting harm come to those who matter to him. He’s a good man, in his way.