Mrs Carroll lifted the hem of her brown pleated skirt and used it to wipe her eyes. ‘I blame Roisin. It was all her fault, utterly. I don’t know how I could have given birth to such a slut of a girl. Well, Nolan gave her the punishment she deserved, did he not? And now he and I have both been well and truly punished for conceiving her.’

Katie raised her eyes to the large wooden crucifix hanging over the fireplace, with a plaster Jesus nailed on to it. Jesus looked back at her, and she thought that he looked bewildered, as if he had woken up from a hangover and couldn’t understand what he was doing up there. Dear Lord, she thought, is this what you gave your life for? Were you so offended by Roisin giving birth out of wedlock that she had to die, drowned by the very man who conceived her? And were you and your Holy Father really going to torture him for ever and ever for what he did, so that he preferred to burn himself to death?

The fire engines arrived outside, and their blue flashing lights made it look as if Jesus were jerking up and down, trying to tug himself off the cross. Katie heard the firefighters shouting and running down the side alleyway, unravelling their hoses.

‘You have my condolences, Mrs Carroll,’ she said, and then she left the living room and went back into the yard. There was nothing left of the shed except for a smoking black skeleton, and all the firefighters could do was spray water over it to extinguish any stray sparks.

44

While she was waiting for the technical experts to arrive, Katie rang Kieran.

‘I’m so sorry, Kieran. There’s been an incident. I won’t be able to meet you for lunch. Even if I could, I’m afraid I’d have no appetite.’

She explained how Nolan Carroll had committed suicide. As she spoke, she could even taste the smoke from his self-immolation in her saliva. She was glad that she had eaten so little for breakfast, or else she was sure she would have brought it all up again. As it was, she couldn’t stop herself from retching and spitting into her handkerchief.

Kieran said, ‘Take care of yourself, Katie. Could you ring me again when you’re safely back home? It’s your well-being, that’s all that matters. We can meet for lunch any time at all.’

It was growing dark by the time she was ready to leave Friary Gardens. The press had arrived, and she had given them an impromptu briefing in the street. There was no sign of Owen Dineen among them, although Stephen Ó Fallamhain turned up – a stringer who sometimes wrote for the Sun. The only question he asked her was what evidence the Garda had for arresting Nolan Carroll, but when she declined to tell him he didn’t persist.