He’s seen the Sun, thought Katie. Well, there’s nothing I can do about that now. If I could go back in time to yesterday and persuade the Lee Pusher to shove Owen Dineen off Patrick’s Bridge, I would, but I can’t.

‘Can you tell him I’m up the walls at the moment, Bridie? I can come to see him in a half-hour or so.’

She had memos on her desk from Assistant Chief Fire Officer Matthew Whalen and from the head of the Technical Bureau, Bill Phinner, as well as a thick report on opioid smuggling, which she had been expecting from the Customs National Drugs Team. Not only did she have those to attend to, but Moirin was coming in with a mug of latte and a plateful of shamrock shortbread biscuits. Katie and Kyna had woken up later than they had intended and there had been no time at home for a cup of coffee or any breakfast.

But Bridie said, ‘I think he wants to see you now, ma’am. And Assistant Commissioner Magorian is here, too.’

‘Frank Magorian? Very well, then, tell them I’ll be there directly. Moirin – if anybody wants me, I’ll be tied up for a while with Chief Superintendent O’Kane.’

‘Aren’t you taking your coffee with you?’

‘I think not. I have a feeling that this is going to be a bit too serious for sipping coffee.’

Moirin couldn’t pretend that she knew nothing about the story in the Irish Sun. From the looks that Katie had been given that morning when she walked into the station, she’d been able to tell that the paper had been seen by almost everybody.

She walked along the corridor to Brendan’s office. After she had knocked, she saw Kyna coming out of the lift. She pointed at Brendan’s door to indicate that she had to go in, and Kyna pressed her fingers to her lips as if to say, Oh Jesus. Brendan called out, ‘Come!’ and in she went.

Brendan was sitting at his desk, while Assistant Commissioner Frank Magorian was standing by the window. He was tall, Frank Magorian, at least six foot three, with grey wings to his slicked-back hair and a large face that was still yellowy-suntanned from his last holiday in Gran Canaria. Katie always thought that he looked exactly his age, which was fifty-three, but that he must have always looked fifty-three, even when he was a schoolboy, and he would probably go on looking fifty-three until he took his last breath,

A copy of the Irish Sun was lying on Brendan’s desk. TOP CORK COP FLOPS, and that picture of Katie with her arms raised, as if in surrender.

Frank Magorian cleared his throat. ‘How are you going on, Kathleen?’ he asked her. He sounded as if he had a cold.