Laura and Michael left for Cork early on Monday morning. The plan was to visit Mary Ellen Lehane’s family first on the western side of the county. Then they would make their way across to east Cork to see Treasa Lee’s family in Cobh. If it got too late, they’d stay the night and return to Dublin the following day.

There had been a moment, when Tom let them know who was pairing up with whom, when Laura had hoped she might be teamed up with Ray Lennon. But he’d been chosen to go with their boss, as usual. She didn’t regret her decision to finish with her boyfriend Eoin last year. It wasn’t fair on him, when she had feelings for someone else. And she’d really thought that Ray was starting to give out signals. Yet again, though, she’d been wrong. She was completely bloody invisible to him.

‘I might have hated you at 6 a.m., but good call on the early start,’ Michael said, interrupting her thoughts. ‘It’s going to be another stonker of a day; better we get the driving done early. How long will it take, again?’

‘They say four and a half hours, but I can do it in four. We might need a bathroom break, mind. Unless you want to use one of the water bottles.’

Michael smiled.

‘I’ve never been to West Cork.’

‘You’re shitting me.’

Laura glanced sideways at her colleague. He was as respectably dressed as it got for him – a short-sleeved shirt and pair of Levi’s. They were en route to meet grieving families, so he’d left the sports tees at home. But he’d shaved his spiky brown hair recently and, with his sunglasses on, looked more like a drug dealer than ever. She estimated that she dressed ten years older than him, in her sharp suits and labelled clothes, when in fact, he had a few birthdays on her.

‘I was thinking about bringing Anne and the baby down this summer.’

‘You should,’ Laura said, amused. As a Kerry woman, she’d spent a lot of time in the neighbouring county of Cork. She still couldn’t get her head around Dubliners, who’d quite happily hop on a flight to Spain but wouldn’t think of venturing to other parts of their own country. They seemed to consider the capital’s M50 ring road as some sort of demarcation line.

They made good time and arrived on the Beara Peninsula just after 11 a.m., even managing to stop for a quick breakfast along the way.

‘Do you need the satnav for this last bit?’ Michael asked. ‘The address is Glendale village, but I don’t think the family live slap bang in the middle.’

‘The satnav!’ Laura snorted. ‘What should I type in? The Lehanes’ house? Don’t worry, we’ll find it.’