‘Sorry. Wasn’t sure what you drank, so I just got you what I was having. Hope you like milk in it.’

He stared at the top of the man’s head, the mousy brown hair greasy and matted to his skull. Tom had yet to get a proper look at Carney. It was hard to register somebody’s facial features when they were pointing a shotgun at you.

The man looked up, his pale blue eyes expressionless. He had small, almost feminine features – plump red lips, eyelashes so dark they appeared as though he was wearing mascara, soft, fleshy white cheeks.

He looked like he wouldn’t hurt a fly.

‘Told the girl,’ he croaked. ‘The pretty one, with the curly hair. I’ll only speak to Bart. Get me Bart.’

Ray flinched at Carney’s mention of Laura. He didn’t want this attempted rapist thinking of her as pretty.

‘Bart isn’t coming,’ Tom said. ‘Why don’t you talk to us, Vincent?’

‘Nope.’

The man put his head on the table again.

‘You’re aware that you can have a legal representative present for this interview, aren’t you?’ Tom confirmed.

Nothing.

The inspector lowered his voice and spoke again, very gently.

‘You’re in a lot of trouble, Vincent. You shot at members of An Garda Síochána. That’s a really serious offence. Don’t make this any worse for yourself. Why did you fire the gun at us?’

The other man remained silent.

‘We found your mother and father’s room,’ Tom said. ‘You’ve kept it lovely for them, Vincent. I imagine they’d be very proud of you.’

The man stirred. He lifted his head a few inches from the table and peered at Tom from under wet lashes. He was crying.

‘You think I’m a retard, don’t you?’

The inspector shook his head.

Any engagement was good. Just get him talking.

‘Why would I think that?’

‘They all do. Up in the village. They think I’m slow. Especially the …’

‘Who, Vincent?’

He’d clamped his lips shut again. Carney’s words were slow, his speech deliberate. The man did come across as having some sort of intellectual incapacity, but it could all be an act.

Tom took a deep breath. His parents. That was the key.

‘Your folks didn’t think you were slow.’

Vincent shook his head.

‘Nope. They loved me.’

‘And you loved them. Is that why you keep their room so nice? Do you think they’ll come back?’

The other man’s face was scornful.

‘Can’t come back. They’re dead. ‘m not stupid.’

‘I know. It’s just, sometimes, when we lose somebody, it can be very hard to let them go. To accept that they’re not going to return. Especially when they die unexpectedly. Your parents died suddenly, didn’t they?’