Doyle greeted the two detectives amiably when they sauntered into the converted house that served as the village’s garda headquarters. He was a good-looking man, early fifties, a full head of silver-grey hair. Slim, smart in his uniform, with sculpted cheekbones and a jaw that gave him a touch of the Frank Sinatra.

‘Nice to meet you, folks,’ he said. His handshake was firm and self-assured. ‘Sorry it’s in these circumstances. We were shocked when we got the call last night from Dublin. ‘Twas awful to have to bring that news up to Nora. But at least she knows now. There’s some small mercy in that. Can I get you something to drink?’

‘No, thanks,’ Laura said. ‘We’ve just come from lunch.’ She was struggling to get to grips with Doyle in person, given what Elizabeth had told them. He was perfectly welcoming and friendly. Guilt, she decided. He knows he’s messed up.

‘Of course, of course. Sorry you had to wait for me; I didn’t know when you’d be here and had to get something myself. There are only two of us manning the station, so you take your breaks when you can. The chap who just left wasn’t here in 2008 so I figured you wouldn’t be interested in talking to him anyway. But listen, I know you need to be getting on. How can I help you?’

He offered them seats and took one himself, his posture relaxed and open.

‘We want to have a chat with you about Mary Ellen,’ Michael said. ‘About what happened when her mother came in to report her missing.’

They’d decided that Michael would do most of the talking with Doyle. Laura’s gut told her he’d respond better to a male detective.

‘Ah, I see. It’s only natural that they’d think we didn’t do enough, but I really thought she’d just run off. Everybody did, at the time.’

‘Except her family,’ Michael said. ‘And now we know she didn’t. Look, we don’t have time to pussyfoot around – the Lehanes say that they reported Mary Ellen missing on 17th March but you didn’t open an official file on her until April. Why the delay?’

Doyle had the good grace to look embarrassed. He rubbed the back of his neck and leaned forward.

‘Can we speak frankly – colleague to colleague?’

Michael shrugged, a non-committal gesture. If it turned out Doyle had botched the investigation into Mary Ellen’s disappearance, the family would be entitled to pursue it. His only concern at the moment was establishing the facts around the time she’d gone missing and whether they held any clues as to who’d taken her.