Before she left the station, Katie rang Kyna to make sure that she had fully recovered. Kyna was back at her flat now, ‘and I’m all snuggled up with Merrow my one-eyed cat and a mug of hot chocolate’.

‘Will you be fit to come in tomorrow? I’ll be needing you so.’

Katie told her about the O’Flynns’ birthday party, and the plan that she had been devising to ambush the Riordans.

‘Oh, my God. I’ll be there for that, Katie, don’t you worry. Besides that – well, besides that, I miss you.’

‘I miss you, too. I’m so glad you’re feeling better.’

She hung up and headed for the door, but before she could reach it, her phone rang. Mother of God. Please don’t land me with another crisis. It’s a quarter to seven and I’m shattered and all I want to do is get home to Barney and Foltchain.

She went back to her desk, picked up her phone, and snapped, ‘Yes? What do you want? I’m finished for the day.’

But a deep warm voice said, ‘Katie? It’s Kieran – Kieran Connolly. How are you going on? I’ve been waiting to hear from you.’

‘Kieran… I’m so sorry. Moirin did pass me your message but I haven’t had a second to myself.’

‘I was only wondering if you’d be free for dinner this evening. If you’re too tired, there’s no bother, we could always make it another day. Sunday, maybe, or one day next week. I’ve had you on my mind and it would be grand to see you again.’

Katie closed her eyes for a moment out of sheer relief.

‘I’m a little weary, Kieran, to tell you the truth. But if you don’t mind my nodding off halfway through the soup, I’d love to come for dinner. I feel like there’s a whole circus going on inside of my head, elephants and clowns and all, and it would be heaven to fold up the big top and forget about it, if only for a few hours.’

‘I’ll pick you up in five minutes, then.’

‘Make it ten. I need to fix my face. I’ve been out in the rain today and I look like I’ve seen a ghost.’

She went into her toilet, switched on the light over the washbasin, and stared at herself. She was wearing no make-up apart from her blotchy mascara, and so she did look pale and freckly and vulnerable. All the same, she recognized that hard, determined stare in her sea-green eyes – the stare that she always gave to the world when she was stressed. Her late husband, Paul, had called it ‘that fecking ice-pick look’.