‘So, you didn’t see her on the day she went missing? Because there’s a witness who saw her leaving your house that afternoon.’

‘Who?’

‘That doesn’t matter.’

‘Maybe she called by and I wasn’t in.’ He shrugged and examined his nails.

McCabe was good-looking. Sculpted cheekbones, big baby blues, wavy blond hair and olive skin. But he had a mean-looking mouth and a vicious tongue.

Linda broke her silence.

‘She was a tad young for you, wasn’t she – Fiona? Do you like them that age? Impressionable?’

McCabe chewed the inside of his cheek.

‘What’s it to you, Granny? Do you think I should be shagging oul’ wans like you? Like a bit of rough, do you?’

Linda’s features remained placid.

‘Oh, darling. I wouldn’t hire you to cut my grass, let alone tend to my bush.’

Tom’s mouth fell open, but it was nothing compared to McCabe’s reaction. He was so astonished at the retort that his eyes bulged out of their sockets.

The psychologist was at her best when she contrived to unnerve the other person in the room. Well, she’d certainly accomplished that with McCabe.

‘Is that why you hit her?’ Linda continued. ‘Because she gave you lip? Don’t you just hate it when women answer back? Sometimes you just have to slap that cheek out of them.’

McCabe shook his head, slowly. He was still recovering.

‘I don’t hit women.’

‘Not even a little bit?’

‘I said, I don’t hit fucking women!’

‘Enough!’ Tom banged the table. McCabe jumped. His front was slipping. The inspector knew his sort. The bravest man in the world with somebody weak and vulnerable. He wasn’t so hard when confronted by people who weren’t afraid of him.

‘We know you were hitting Fiona Holland. I only had to see you in action back in the restaurant to know your default setting is to lash out. Why did you run from us?’

‘You’re going to try to pin this serial-killer shit on me, aren’t you? I read the papers. You think somebody has taken Fiona and that it’s the same person who killed those other girls. But I didn’t hurt her, or anybody. I never even met any of those women.’

‘Really? What job did you do before you went to work in Trim? Where did you live?’

‘Dublin. I worked in restaurants here, too.’

‘Ever lived in Waterford?’

‘Waterford?’ McCabe’s expression was one of bewilderment. ‘I’ve never even been to Waterford.’

‘So you didn’t know Pauline O’Hara?’ Tom leaned in, examining the other man’s face closely for tells.

‘I knew it. I fucking knew it. She’s one of them dead ones, isn’t she? What sort of sick bastard do you think I am? I’ve changed my mind, I want a solicitor.’

The inspector sat back.