‘I already told the guard that yesterday when he charged me.’

‘Still, but we’re recording this conversation and it’s just for the record.’

‘Twenty-two. Twenty-three on April the sixteenth. That’s my official birthday anyway.’

‘Your official birthday?’

‘Saint Drogo’s Day.’

‘Is there a reason for that?’

‘Saint Drogo’s my patron saint. He was the same as me. His mother died when he was being born, like mine. And he’s the saint of unattractive people, like me.’

‘Who said you were unattractive?’ asked Detective O’Donovan.

Doireann let out a bitter bark of a laugh. ‘Are you fecking blind or something? Look at me.’

‘You’re not unattractive.’

‘Well, you’re the only person in the whole world who doesn’t think so. How many other girls do you know who are six feet two and weigh fifty-six kilos? I’ve been bullied ever since I was eleven. “Hand me down the Moon”, that’s what all my classmates used to call me. And they’d throw peanuts and biscuits at me because they said I need fatting up.’

‘That was at St Catherine’s?’

Doireann nodded, and whispered something. It sounded venomous, and obscene, although Katie couldn’t hear what it was.

‘I thought you were happy at St Catherine’s,’ she said. ‘You did well in the athletics team.’

‘That was the only time I was anything close to happy, when I was running. I was always way ahead of all the other girls, and I won all the cups. But that only made them hate me even more.’

‘Have you never had a close friend you could confide in – girl or boy?’

‘Only Saint Drogo. He understood me. He was ugly, too – so ugly that he shut himself away so that people wouldn’t have to look at him. He lived off nothing but water and the Eucharist, which was pushed through a hole in the wall. But he mortified his flesh, to remind himself that God had made him, even if he was ugly.’

‘And you did the same? You cut yourself?’

‘When you feel the pain, and when you see the blood, there you are, like – that’s proof.’

‘Proof of what, Doireann?’

‘Proof that you’re not imaginary. Proof that you’re real.’

Katie opened the folder that she had brought with her and took out two sheets of paper. She passed one to Doireann and another to Sionha.

‘As you can see, these are the names of all seven people you’ve been charged with murdering, with the dates, times and places of each of the alleged offences listed beside them. Plus the attempted murder of that young woman yesterday at South Gate Bridge. I’m asking you to read through these names and give me your response to each of the eight charges.’