The phone lit up without need for a passcode. Behind its icons was a photograph of Chloe and a woman who Ben guessed to be her mother. They were cuddling into each other on a wicker sofa, tanned and holidaying somewhere warm by the looks of it. Their big eyes and matching smiles sparkled in the sun like a cheesy cosmetics ad. The woman could have passed for her older sister, such was her youth and likeness. Chloe looked so different. Her hair was a light, chestnut brown and trailed past her shoulders. And she was laughing like she had when they first met.

Ben’s hand carried a slight tremor as he inputted the number, his eyes twitching between the phone and the laptop with every digit.

The man answered almost immediately.

‘Barry,’ said the cheerless voice.

Ben hadn’t registered what he was doing until the onus was on him to speak.

‘Detective, my name is Benjamin French. I was hoping that maybe you could help me.’

‘I would suggest you call the station, Mr French, and explain to them the nature of your problem. They’ll be far better equipped to help you than I can.’

‘Actually, it’s you I wanted to talk to.’

‘Okay,’ Barry replied after a long sigh, airing his disinterest, ‘what is it that I can do for you?’

‘I was hoping you could tell me who Doctor Alec Sparling is?’

Silence. That told Ben all he needed to know.

‘And what makes you think I know that name?’ the detective replied, a hint of what could have been spite garnishing his words.

‘You worked the Carol Fortune case two years ago, didn’t you?’

‘I did.’

‘Well, the thing is that…’

‘Mr French,’ Barry interrupted, ‘if this is another podcast or true crime piece, then I’m sorry to disappoint you. I’m not at liberty to discuss cases with every—’

‘No,’ Ben put in, ‘it’s not that. I’m an historian, like she was. And like her I’ve been contacted by Alec Sparling.’

‘You’re saying that this doctor of yours knew Carol Fortune.’

‘Yes, I know for a fact that he did. Carol Fortune and I attended the same university. And I think that…’

How could Ben explain what they were experiencing? There was no way that one of the Tír Mallachts could have followed them back to Chloe’s home. And yet he had seen him with his own eyes.

‘You think what exactly?’ Barry pressed.

‘I think that what happened to Carol Fortune might be happening to us.’

‘And who’s us?’

‘Chloe Coogan. She’s an archaeology student, doing her master’s. Sparling emailed both of us.’

‘Archaeology, you say?’ Barry said thoughtfully.

Ben heard some rummaging, as though the detective was reorganising his desk. Pages were being turned. Was he consulting a file?

‘Tell me, Mr French, why did Doctor Sparling contact you?’ Barry asked.