‘You were out during the day,’ Mullan said. ‘Hugh here called with you in the afternoon and you weren’t there. Where were you?’

‘I was working.’

The blow was sudden and sharp, the wooden bat being swung low, striking him across both shins. He almost toppled off the chair, more with the shock than the pain, though both were considerable. He looked at the unnamed man angrily, as if demanding to know what he’d done to deserve being hit.

‘You’re a teacher,’ the man explained. ‘Schools don’t open on Saturdays.’

‘We had an Open Day,’ Tony spat. ‘The school was open for next year’s pupils, you fucking prick!’

The man came forward quickly, fist raised, but Tony was expecting it this time and curled himself a little in his seat, his hands up over his head and face, his stomach curved, his knees brought up, defensively. He felt a series of glancing blows on his hands and arms, waiting out the attack until he saw, through the gaps, the feet of the unnamed man retreat back to his position. He straightened himself up tentatively, wary that a second series of blows might follow if the man felt frustrated by the lack of impact of the first.

‘I’ll use the nailed side next time, son, you don’t watch your mouth.’

Tony realized that the blow across his shins had been from the flat side of the baton, for while his shins sang in pain, he did not feel the individual piercings that his calf muscle still carried.

‘Fair enough,’ Mullan said. ‘It was Open Day. When did that finish?’

‘About four, I think,’ Tony said. ‘I went home afterwards.’

‘And what then?’

Tony feigned ignorance. ‘What? I ate my dinner.’

‘And then?’

‘I don’t remember. I watched TV, I think.’

‘What did you watch?’

Tony couldn’t remember the TV schedules from the weekend, couldn’t be sure that whatever programme he suggested had either been on, or that some of them wouldn’t ask him what happened during it to test whether he’d actually seen it. He knew enough not to lead himself into a blind alley.

‘Actually, I went to the cinema,’ he said.

‘Which one?’

‘The Odeon on Renfield Street.’

‘What was showing?’

‘The Living Daylights.’

‘What time?’

Tony tried desperately to remember what time the showing had been the night he and Karen had gone to see it. He knew the Odeon were still showing it in the smallest screen, hoped the times hadn’t changed.

‘It was the 8.30 showing.’

Mullan nodded, then tapped Duggan on the arm. The man rose, wordlessly and walked across to the bar. Tony followed him with his gaze, watched as he lifted a phone and a Yellow Pages from beneath the counter. He flicked through the directory, found the number and dialed, Tony’s panic growing with each click as the dial revolved back into place.