When Moirin had returned to her office, Kyna looked at Katie and raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. ‘Justice Connolly? Isn’t he the tall fair-haired feen who looks like that He-Man out of the Masters of the Universe?’

‘That’s your man. They’ve sent him down from the Central Criminal Court to back up Justice O’Rafferty.’

‘So why does he want to take you out to dinner?’

‘I don’t know. He’ll be sentencing Donal Hagerty on Monday so maybe he wants to discuss the whole gang situation in Cork – the O’Flynns and the Riordans and all the rest of the scummers. It could be that he wants my opinion on whether he should hand down Hagerty a mandatory life sentence. If he did that, maybe it would give those gangs a warning that they can’t ignore.’

‘Over dinner?’

‘Ah, come on. Even judges have to eat. They’re only human.’

‘That’s what bothers me. Well, the “man” bit of “human” does, anyhow.’

‘Kyna, I get hungry too.’

‘That bothers me even more.’

Katie went up to her and kissed her on the lips, twice.

‘You don’t have to be bothered. He’s a judge, not some local lecher, and he knows that I’ve only just this minute laid Conor in his grave. And if there’s any leftovers, I’ll fetch you back a doggy bag.’

26

Detective Cushley parked in the disabled bay at the end of St Nessan Street and switched off the engine.

‘You’re sure you don’t want me to come with you? What if she’s a black-belt karate expert? What if she attacks you with a knife?’

‘Jack, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, and if I do get myself into any trouble I can always give you a shout, can’t I?’

‘Fair play to you, sarge. I like to think of myself as a visible deterrent, that’s all.’

Detective Cushley was built like a minotaur, so bull-chested that he could barely button up his jacket. He had a bull’s head, too, with an abrasive grey crew cut and deep-set eyes, and he looked permanently frustrated and furious, as if a nun had jumped the queue at O’Brien’s sandwich bar ahead of him.

‘Sure like, I know exactly what you mean,’ Kyna told him, trying to sound soothing. ‘And if this Doireann Greaney needs to be visibly deterred, I promise you I’ll call you.’

Kyna climbed out of the car and crossed the road. St Nessan Street was a short, narrow street with small terraced houses on both sides, all of them pebble-dashed but painted in a variety of colours, grey and white and cream and one blue. Neat white net curtains were hung at every window and wheelie bins were standing on the pavement outside every front door.