‘Thanks, Conall,’ said Katie. ‘We’ll head up there straight away. Let me know if there’s any change, won’t you?’

‘I will of course.’

Katie and Robert and Detectives Caffrey and O’Sullivan hurried downstairs and out to the car park. They climbed into their unmarked Toyota, with Detective Caffrey driving, and sped out on to Old Station Road with their tyres squealing. Katie called Inspector O’Rourke as they crossed over the river and asked him to send at least two squad cars to back them up, but not to switch on their sirens and to stay well out of sight of the Clery building until she gave them the signal to move in.

Traffic up to the Old Mallow Road was slow, but Detective Caffrey weaved in and out of it, and ran through two red lights, and it took them less than ten minutes to reach the Clery building. It was set back from the road behind unkempt hedges, a five-storey concrete building streaked by years of rain and pollution. They parked outside and made their way cautiously towards the entrance. Four cars were lined up in the yard at the back of the building, a Toyota Land Cruiser, a Range Rover, an Audi and a large black Mercedes saloon.

Through the grimy windows of the reception area, Katie could dimly see at least five men standing around smoking. They must be Thomas O’Flynn’s and Barry Riordan’s bodyguards, hard chaws who usually spat at each other and shouted obscene insults and gave each other V-signs. Now they were so engaged in conversation that they failed to notice Katie and her three detectives until they ran quickly and quietly up each side of the front steps and swung open the wide glass door.

All four detectives were armed, and they fanned out and levelled their pistols at the bodyguards while Robert shouted, ‘Hands on your heads! All of you! Now!’

The five men slowly raised their hands, looking bewildered rather than aggressive. One of them started to lower his right hand so that he could take a drag at his cigarette, but Robert said, ‘Drop that fag! Don’t even think about it!’

Katie went up to the tallest of the five men. He had a shaved head and white scars on either side of his mouth where he had obviously been given a Croppy Boy smile with a razor. She recognized him as one of Barry Riordan’s gang who had occasionally sat beside him in court during the trial of Donal Hagerty.

‘Where are they?’ she asked him.

He didn’t answer, so she looked away for a moment and then looked back at him.

‘What if I arrest you for obstructing a Garda inquiry? You know the penalty for that, do you? A three thousand euro fine or six months in prison. Or both.’