Katie let the dogs out into the back garden and then she poured Kyna a Redbreast whiskey and a Smirnoff vodka for herself. They sat on the couch together, not saying much, but sharing that look that they had shared together almost from the moment that Kyna had first arrived at Anglesea Street. Katie had learned long ago that some people love each other just because they do, no explanations or analysis necessary.

‘That Lee Pusher, though,’ said Kyna. ‘I’d be fascinated to find out what’s been motivating him.’

‘Maybe he’s lost somebody himself through drowning in the river, and he doesn’t see why anybody else should be lucky enough not to drown, too. You remember that farm worker in Coolatubrid who pushed two of his fellow workers under a combine harvester because his own son had been killed that way.’

‘God, yes I do,’ said Kyna, and gave an exaggerated shiver.

It was still raining softly outside, and so it wasn’t long before Barney and Foltchain were scratching at the kitchen door to be let back in again. Katie and Kyna finished their drinks and went into Katie’s bedroom. Katie took a short lemon-coloured nightdress out of her wardrobe for Kyna and laid it on the bed, and then she said, ‘You have your shower first. I have a few emails to catch up with.’

She sat on the side of the bed with her laptop. She had messages from Bill Phinner about the tests that his forensic experts would be carrying out tomorrow on Justice Quinn. They would be using computer tomography to see if there were any bodily fluids still in liquid form that they could use to test for toxins. Most importantly, they would be trying to determine if there was another obvious cause of death than heat-related lesions, especially ‘metallic foreign bodies of ballistic origin’, which is what Bill always called bullets.

She also had texts from Mary Kelley, the pathologist, telling her that she might be an hour or two late starting her post-mortems in the morning because one of her fillings had fallen out; and an email from Mathew McElvey, the Garda press officer. He had sent her a JPEG of the front page of an early edition of the Irish Sun, with the comment, ‘Let me know how you want to respond to this – MM.’