Before she left the station that evening, Katie went down to the holding cells to look in on Doireann Greaney. Halfway along the corridor she met the duty physician, Maebh Dorgan, who had just finished examining her. Dr Dorgan was a short woman with a double chin and glasses and a triangular brown-dyed hairstyle that made it appear as if she had a large slice of barmbrack balanced on top of her head.

‘You’ve come to see Doireann?’

‘I have, yes. How is she?’

‘Unconscious. I did a blood test earlier and she’s taken a high dose of lisdexamfetamine. Not dangerously high, but enough to knock her out. Plus she has a blood alcohol level of sixty-three milligrams, so she’s over the drink-drive limit.’

‘Lisdexamfetamine?’

‘That’s usually prescribed for attention deficit hyperactivity disorder – ADHD. One of its side effects is that it can make you aggressive and give you violent mood swings, but if you take too much it can make you pure drowsy.’

‘How about her general health? Any other symptoms?’

‘She has multiple scars on the insides of her wrists, which indicate self-harming, although not recently. She’s also twenty kilos underweight for a young woman as tall as she is, so we can almost classify her as anorexic, or maybe bulimic.’

She looked back towards her cell and said, ‘The best we can do now is let her sleep it off and see what she’s like in the morning – physically and psychologically. I’d say myself that whatever she’s guilty of, she’s had a fierce hard life, one way or another.’

*

The next morning’s Irish Sun was no kinder to Katie than the previous two days’ issues. She could see it lying on top of all the other newspapers as she hung up her coat. LEE PUSHER SUSPECT SEIZED – But why did 7 have to drown before cops caught on?

Detective Inspector Fitzpatrick knocked and came into her office even before she had sat down. He nodded towards the newspapers on the coffee table and said, ‘I’ve seen it. That Owen Dineen really has his teeth into you, doesn’t he?’

‘I’m ignoring it,’ said Katie. ‘There’s no point in getting my knickers in a twist.’ She didn’t tell him about her growing conviction that Owen Dineen’s attacks on her were entirely personal, rather than a serious media campaign for more effective policing.

‘You should lodge a complaint with the Press Council.’

‘I might, in the fullness of time. Right now I’ve far too much on my plate to be bothered about the press giving me grief.’ She sat down and flicked through the memos and files that Moirin had left on her desk for her, and then she looked up. ‘So what do you have for me, Robert? Hey – you’re smiling, so you are. You look like you lost a fly-button and found a bitcoin.’