‘Vincent Carney knew we were coming,’ Tom said, quietly, and Healy’s jaw dropped. ‘Somebody told him. He said, and I quote: “You think I killed her, don’t you? He said. I’m not talking to you. Want Bart.” Now, Bart. Who was he referring to when he used the words “He said”? Did you tell him we thought he was a murder suspect when you told him to come out of the house and offer himself up for arrest? Or did you mention that when you rang to alert him that we were on the way?’

Healy collapsed back into the chair.

‘I didn’t ring him to say you were on the way.’

‘Really? He was just roaming around the farm with a shotgun looking for Dublin detectives to take potshots at, was he? Will I tell you what I think?’

Healy stared at the inspector coolly.

‘I think you rang Carney to warn him, knowing he’d get riled up and do something stupid. There’s no way you’ve got to know him that well and not realised the man is volatile. Maybe he knows you well, too. Maybe he knew about your little thing with Fiona. I can imagine her telling him she was going to inform her boyfriend Bart if he tried to touch her again. And that would have scared him. And you, because now somebody knew you were shagging a girl half your age and barely legal. So you went out to see Vincent and told him there’d be no charges pressed because you’re his buddy. And you’ve been keeping him sweet ever since.’

Tom paused and watched as the various emotions flashed over Healy’s face, while he tried and failed to disguise them – dismay, panic, shock. What, if any of it, was genuine?

‘You know what else? Maybe you told Vincent little fairy stories. Tales about when you worked in Cork and got to know Mary Ellen Lehane – what a dirty little slut she was. Isn’t that what you were implying when you kept asking her family about her sex life back then? And Vincent lapped it up, but now he knows too much about you. And if he shoots at two detectives, maybe we’ll fire at him in self-defence, or the ERU will gun him down …’

‘Woah, woah, woah.’ Healy had turned puce. ‘What the hell are you saying? You think I’m …? Jesus Christ, have you lost your mind?’

‘You didn’t even mention that you’d been involved in Mary Ellen’s case.’

‘Because I wasn’t! I mean, I was, but not in the way you mean. I was asked to go over to Glendale and help with a bloody search party. I talked to the family once or twice. I was based in Cork City, for crying out loud, I could have been asked to help out with the other missing girl, Treasa, as well. But I wasn’t.’