‘He’s frightened,’ said Katie. ‘He doesn’t want to say anything that sounds as if he might be ratting on the O’Flynns, even if he’s only asking for bacon and cabbage.’

The governor led them to the interview room, plain and chilly, where Donal Hagerty was already sitting at the table under the window, with two bored-looking prison guards sitting on either side of him. One of the guards reminded Katie so much of her late husband, Paul, that she could hardly bring herself to look at him, in case he spoke with Paul’s voice.

There was no solicitor present, and no need for one, because they hadn’t come here to discuss Donal Hagerty’s own case, or his committal.

‘This is Detective Superintendent Maguire, Donal,’ said the governor. ‘And this here is Detective Inspector Fitzpatrick and Detective Caffrey.’

Katie and Robert and Detective Caffrey sat down opposite Donal Hagerty. He was bent forward in his chair, his shoulders sloping, and his eyes were fixed on the table. He didn’t look up to acknowledge his visitors, or speak. He was forty-one years old, but looked much older, with thinning brown hair, a long bony nose like the rudder of a rowboat, and cavernous cheeks. His agate-coloured eyes seemed to have no life in them at all, as if they were simply tired of looking.

‘Donal, we’re not here to talk about your case, or your sentencing hearing,’ said Katie. ‘We’ve come to talk only about your brother Billy. Before we ask you anything at all, I want to offer you our condolences for your loss. The way that Billy was taken, that was no way for anybody to lose their life, especially so young. He was only thirty-seven, wasn’t he?’

Donal said nothing, and didn’t raise his eyes, but started to pick at one of his fingernails.

‘I’ve seen Billy in the mortuary, Donal, and there’s a question I have to ask you. What name was he given when he was baptized? He was baptized, wasn’t he? We’ve had fierce difficulty finding his records, and there was nothing we could find in his flat to enlighten us.’

‘His name was Billy,’ said Donal, so quietly that Katie could hardly hear him. ‘That’s what he always called himself. Billy.’

‘But what did your parents name him, when he was born?’

‘How should I know? We never knew them. We was brought up in St Hilda’s. It was the nuns that gave us our names and we was never baptized, the neither of us.’

Katie took a deep breath, trying to stay patient. ‘So what name did the nuns give to Billy, when you first went to St Hilda’s?’

Donal didn’t answer, but continued to pick at his fingernail.