Pharaoh shushes her, making small cooing noises as if rubbing the back of a weeping infant. Leads her through a double door and down a corridor, swiping her card against the keypad outside a small, darkened room. She flicks on the lights. Whoever was here last hasn’t tidied up after themselves. There are operational scribblings on the whiteboard and empty cups of coffee scattered around the horseshoe of tables and chairs. She helps Roisin to sit down. Spies a half full jug of water on a desk by the window and pours a splash into a glass that looks relatively clean. Hands it to Roisin, who takes it with shaking hands. It rattles against her teeth as she sips.

‘Fin,’ she says. ‘And Lilah. Lilah was hurt …’ She folds in on herself as the tears come. Shakes, as the sobs bind her like rope.

Pharaoh crouches in front of her. Tries to put herself in her eyeline – to make a connection; to show her that she is in a safe place. She pushes her hair back from her face. Wipes her tears with the palm of her hand and cups her cheeks. ‘Let me,’ she says, gently. ‘Let me tell you what I know, and we’ll go from there, yes?’

Roisin nods, gratefully. Sniffs hard. Gives a silly little smile and instantly swallows it back. Pharaoh stands. Crosses to the door and leans against it, arms folded.

‘You’ve dropped Lilah off with Sophia,’ she says. ‘Sophia says she’s hurt herself – a nasty puncture wound to the hand. Says Lilah isn’t talking much, and by Christ that girl’s a chatterbox. And Hector isn’t where he’s supposed to be. Now, I don’t pretend to be Miss Marple, but given what I know about what happened to you all those years ago, and the fact that you look fucking dreadful, I’m guessing Fin is the one we have to worry about, yes?’

Silently, Roisin nods. Pharaoh takes a breath. Thinks about the big, quiet, red-headed lad she has known and loved since he was five years old. Forces herself to keep her emotions in check. Breathes steadily, keeping calm.

‘The man who killed your auntie,’ says Pharaoh, slowly. ‘Eva-Jayne Puck. I’m thinking your family may have taken their revenge on him …’

‘I didn’t know,’ mutters Roisin.

‘I’m thinking that he’s suffered at their hands,’ continues Pharaoh.

‘My daddy,’ she sniffs. ‘He only just told me, I swear. He thought he was dead. We all did. Aector wanted things done properly but by the time he was well enough to ask questions, everything had been taken care of and there was no way anybody was going to cooperate with an investigation or tell him where the bodies were.’ She looks past Pharaoh, as if staring into a memory. ‘And by then, we were in love.’

Pharaoh sighs, rolling her eyes. Re-crosses her arms. ‘He wasn’t dead, was he? Your dad was taking his time with him. Took too much time, didn’t he? He got away.’