Katie began to say, ‘Come here to me, Orla—’ but then she abruptly stopped herself. What if Orla carried out her threat, and did reveal that she had been having an affair with Garrett during Phinean Joyce’s trial? Brendan of all people would go for it like a hungry mongrel. He would have no compunction about reporting her both to Assistant Commissioner Frank Magorian and the Garda Ombudsman, and immediately suspending her from duty, pending a full investigation. He might use it as an excuse to demote her, or even to sack her altogether.

Sure, she could retaliate by reporting him for rape and sexual harassment, but if she did that she would be in danger of looking like a slut who was simply trying to justify her own lack of morals. Brendan would have only to say, ‘Ah come on, she gave me the impression that she was crying out for it,’ and her counter-accusation would stand no chance at all of being believed. In the notorious case when Garda Majella Moynihan had come within a hair’s breadth of being dismissed from the force for having a baby out of wedlock, the garda who had made her pregnant had only been cautioned and fined £90. An Garda Síochána was still a man’s world.

And Katie couldn’t help thinking of the consequences, not only for her career but for preventing crime in Cork. If she were suspended, she would no longer be able to go after Thomas O’Flynn and Barry Riordan and all the other Cork gangs she wanted to rout out. She would also be forced to abandon every other case that she was working on, like the Lee Pusher, and the fatal stabbing in the Zombie Lounge.

Not only that, she would have to abandon her investigation into Garrett’s murder, and that would cause her more grief than anything else. After all these years and everything that had happened, she still loved the memory of him, and he had still been wearing her claddagh band when he died.

‘I’ll tell you, Orla, you can threaten me all you like,’ she said, trying to sound calm. ‘But the Phinean Joyce trial was years ago now, and you’ll be fierce hard put to prove that Garrett and I were involved with each other, especially now that he’s no longer here to be questioned about it. On top of that, you’re bound to be asked why it took you so long to report it, if you thought it was such a desperate miscarriage of justice.’

‘Don’t fool yourself, Kathleen. There’s bound to be some evidence that you and he were having an affair. Emails, hotel receipts. Billets-doux.’

‘If I were you, I’d be considering your own defence before you start worrying about mine. You know that we’ll identify that fellow who was driving Garrett’s car. And sooner rather than later.’