I felt a stab of fear. The hospital. The first thing that occurred to me was Lissa Bennett, that her husband Chris had got to her, finally, and that she was properly hurt. I followed Molloy out of the station and to the squad car with a knot in my chest.

“What’s going on?” I asked as we drove through town.

He shook his head. “I’m not sure. Some kind of a row.”

I was sure the matron had told him more than that, but he didn’t seem to want to discuss it. I was just surprised to be asked along.

The wet ground hissed under the tires as Molloy parked as close as he could to the hospital’s main door. There was no sign of anything unusual outside, just a grey sky overhead and a still waterlogged car park, the few patches of grass still sodden.

We ran into reception, at which point Molloy seemed to know where he was going. And I was just about to follow him when the entire Burns family appeared.

I was relieved to see that Lissa was with them, folding up a sheet of paper, having clearly just been discharged. She still looked pale and shaken, but she was alive and conscious and had obviously suffered no further mishaps. Jude and Peadar greeted me with smiles, the daughters without, a neat gender split. It seemed I’d managed to get myself on the wrong side of both Burns women.

“What are you doing here?” Jude asked, his smile turning to concern. “Is everything all right?”

Before I could reply, loud voices drifted from the corridor Molloy had just taken. Checking the sign for the first time, I realized it led to the morgue. I ran down it with the sense that Jude was at my heels.

The narrow hallway outside the mortuary was clogged with people: Amanda Jameson, Molloy and Mary plus a hospital porter and Hal the undertaker, who was wringing his hands and looking distinctly agitated. There was an odd smell, which I tried to ignore. Morgue chemicals presumably. Formaldehyde? I felt a shiver.

I presumed Bob’s body remained behind the double doors where Amanda was standing, arms crossed, feet splayed like a bouncer; her stance rather at odds with the Chanel-style navy suit that she was wearing. Another new outfit.

“This stupid woman won’t get out of our way,” she said imperiously. “Get rid of her please, Sergeant.” She seemed awfully close to clicking her fingers at Molloy.

Mary, standing a few feet away, was in tears, big, wet tears rolling down her beautiful face.

Molloy raised his hands. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on here? Slowly and calmly. I’ve only just been informed that Mr Jameson’s remains are being released. So, what exactly is the problem?”