If my heart could speak, it would say that my every word is a lie. Her husband is gone and he better stay gone, because if he comes back I might just have to kill him.

Sofia places her cheek beside her slim fingers. ‘It’s a strong heart, Daniel. Strong enough to protect me.’

‘No one’s going to hurt you now, Sofia. That guy, the Keerist almighty guy, he’s gone for good.’

‘Kee-rist almighty beep,’ whispers Sofia, then falls asleep just like that.

Kee-rist almighty beep? says Ghost Zeb. What the hell does that mean?

I decide to think about that later; for the moment I’m thinking about how Mrs Delano just called me Daniel.

The human mind has layers, Simon Moriarty once told me. Some of them know what’s going on. Some of them don’t.

I really must call that guy.

So I do, call the guy, next evening over a late late breakfast before I head out to work. I’ve had eighteen hours’ sleep and three square meals and I feel like it’s time to solve some of my problems.

‘Hey, Doc. It’s Daniel McEvoy.’

Silence on the other end for a few moments, while Moriarty opens his mental filing cabinet.

‘Daniel? Daniel bloody McEvoy. A blast from the past. How are you doing, Dan? Not too well, I’m guessing.’

I allow my gaze to drift out the window. There’s a light drizzle coming down silver though the streetlights. Looks nice, like movie rain.

‘Well, I’m noticing how nice the rain’s looking, if that means anything.’

I hear the sound of a Zippo wheel spinning and it brings me back ten years.

‘Noticing rain? You are truly screwed, my boy. Nine out of ten serial killers start paying close attention to meteorology just before they cut loose. By the way, you do know it’s two in the morning over here. You’re lucky I was up carousing.’

I’m smiling into my phone, a sucker for the old accent.

‘Whatever, you arsehole.’

‘Gobshite.’

‘You sure you have a degree?’

‘You called me, Sergeant McEvoy. What’s your problem?’

‘Problems, Doc. Problems.’

‘Okay. Shoot, so long as you’re aware I’m billing the army for this.’

Down the street a couple are arguing about something. She’s big on the hand gestures, waving like a windmill. Would I find that cute or irritating? Shit, I’m already irritated.

‘Okay. I’ve got this woman in love with me.’

‘Well done. Live long, die happy.’

‘No. She thinks I’m someone else.’

‘Ah . . . Well, sometimes secrets are a good thing. I know that general thinking says holding things in can be damaging, but some things are better kept to oneself.’

‘It’s more than secrets, Doc. She actually believes I’m a different person. Her husband, I think.’

‘And you’re not her husband?’

‘No. I’d remember.’