‘How’s it all going?’ asks McAvoy, in what he hopes is a chatty manner. ‘Post-mortem finished?’

‘Not long since,’ says Bradley, leaning against a desk and clearly enjoying having somebody to talk to. ‘Absolutely horrible. He tried to cut out her tongue, if you can believe that. Cuts all over her face. Half strangled her – more than half, I suppose – then finished her off. No murder weapon found at the scene but it looks like he took a hammer and chisel to her chest.’

McAvoy shakes his head, feeling every wound as if it were his own. ‘And the witness?’

She raises her eyebrows. ‘You’re in that camp, are you? Yeah, me too. But the brains trust that runs things, they’ve got her down as a suspect. There’ll be a general appeal first thing in the morning and the image will be distributed to the press, unless Roper manages to find her tonight. I can’t see it myself.’

‘What’s he got?’ asks McAvoy, cautiously.

Bradley shrugs. ‘According to a neighbour, Eva-Jayne’s had some “gipsy-looking lass” staying with her for a couple of weeks. Spotted her staring out the window a few times, apparently. And Eva-Jayne’s got some Traveller connections. Also got a couple of old convictions for fencing stolen goods. Lived there alone. No kids.’

‘Clairvoyant?’

‘Yeah. The lads reckon she never saw it coming.’

‘Rather bad taste,’ says McAvoy, wincing.

‘Christ, you can tell you’re not from around here,’ says Bradley with a smile. Then the smile fades. ‘Regular clients, by all accounts, but not very good record-keeping and her mobile phone is missing, so it’s all going to take some piecing together. Roper reckons the girl lost her temper and did her in. We don’t know who she is yet, but it won’t be long. I’ve been looking at the Traveller connection. Apparently she’s distantly related to some fearsome clan from out of Galway. Had a chat with a Garda over email and there’s some devil of a feud going on over there – tit for tat attacks between this lot and some other. Maybe it’s connected. Maybe this girl just got caught up in it. Maybe …’

‘Maybe she was the intended target,’ says McAvoy, softly.

She considers him, liking what she sees. ‘My proper boss would love you,’ she says, warmly. ‘Big and strong, soft as honey, and a brain like a rocket. You married?’

McAvoy lets it all wash over him. He’s talking to himself, trying to decide on the ‘right’ thing to do. He could tell them her name. Bradley seems a decent sort and it won’t be long before she’ll work out which of the Teague girls the photograph most resembles. He just can’t bring himself to do it. He doesn’t trust that she’ll be fairly treated. He can’t say, in full certainty, that she would be right to hand herself in. He suddenly realizes that he’s already made up his mind. He has to find her.

‘What was it you were wanting, anyway?’ asks Bradley, when she notices he’s lost in thought.