‘She went the way she always goes.’

‘You’ll excuse my not knowing, but which way is that?’

The woman puffed out her cheeks, as if she couldn’t believe Kyna’s ignorance. ‘Up St Kevin’s Street. After that, though, only the good Lord knows. Sometimes she’s away for hours.’

‘But up St Kevin’s Street, towards the river?’

‘That’s what I said, like, didn’t I?’

Kyna didn’t answer. She left the woman standing in her doorway and hurried back across the road. She climbed into the car, slammed the door and said, ‘She’s gone off jogging in her grey tracksuit. We’ve only just missed her. According to Mrs Haggerty there, she’s heading north towards the river. If we’re quick we may be able to catch up with her.’

Detective Cushley started the engine, slammed the gearstick into reverse, and they backed out into St Kevin’s Street on slithering tyres, right into the path of a slow-moving Murphy’s coal truck. The truck driver blasted his horn and Kyna could hear him shouting but Detective Cushley ignored him, changed gear, and they sped as fast as they could up to the junction with Barrack Street. Kyna looked left and right into every side turning but she could see no sign of Doireann Greaney jogging in her grey tracksuit.

As it approached the river, Barrack Street sloped downwards, passing the Flying Enterprise Lounge. It ended up at French’s Quay, which was one way westward, so Detective Cushley would have to turn left. The traffic lights were red, so he slowed down, and as he did so, Kyna looked over to the right and said, ‘There she is! There! See her? Behind that fat fellow in the hat! Just waiting to cross the road!’

Detective Cushley stamped on the brake pedal, so that the van behind him almost hit their rear bumper. Kyna flung open the passenger door and scrambled out, dodging across Barrack Street in front of an oncoming car just as the lights changed and Doireann Greaney started to run across the junction. On the other side of the junction was South Gate Bridge, with a low stone wall leading up to it. A young woman in a red raincoat was sitting on the wall, tying up the laces of her knee-high boots, while her small gingery terrier sat on the pavement waiting for her.

Doireann Greaney in her pale grey hooded tracksuit looked like a flickering ghost as she ran diagonally across the road, thin and inhuman. Kyna could see that she was running faster and faster, and she was heading directly for the young woman in the red raincoat.

‘Look out!’ Kyna shouted, her voice hoarse. And then, ‘Doireann! Stop! Doireann!’