‘What times of day are you talking about exactly? There’s no CCTV on Tivoli Park or Lover’s Walk, but we could check to see if a silver Range Rover drove past Silver Springs round about then, or maybe if it went in the other direction, through St Luke’s Cross. It would have had to go one way or the other.’

‘I’m not sure. I’d say it was there about elevenish on the Monday, and about half past three on Tuesday afternoon, maybe a little later.’

‘Thanks a million, Orla. That could be pure helpful, if only to eliminate somebody who wasn’t involved.’

They sat in silence again while Orla turned her attention back to the restaurant door and Katie unenthusiastically sipped at her coffee.

After a while, Orla said, ‘I suppose you’ll be wanting to come to Garrett’s funeral.’

‘I’d like to pay him my last respects, Orla. We were close, yes, but most of our relationship was strictly professional. It really depends if you want me there.’

‘I don’t see why not. Like you said, it’s all in the past now, and there’s no reason to go on picking at old sores.’

‘I’ll let you know, anyway, as soon as we can release him for burial.’

‘Strange, isn’t it? He started the week planning our holidays this year. Sicily, that’s where he wanted us to go, renting a villa. But he could have saved himself the trouble, couldn’t he, if he’d known that by Wednesday he’d be dead and gone.’

‘Orla…’ said Katie, and she reached across the table to take hold of her hand. At that moment, though, Orla stood up and waved.

‘There’s Davina, my daughter. Holy Mary, look at all the bags she’s carrying! She must have bought up the whole of Fran and Jane.’

Orla’s daughter appeared, struggling with five large carrier bags. She was wearing a pink beanie and a red overcoat, although she had a black armband around her left sleeve. Katie had last seen Davina when she had visited the courthouse in Washington Street, more than five years ago, when she was still at school, and she was shocked to see how much she had grown up to look like Garrett. She could almost have been his twin sister. She had inherited his shiny mahogany-brown hair, his blue, wide-apart eyes and his strongly defined cheekbones. Most of all she carried that knowing, slightly amused smile that Katie had first found so attractive about him, as if he had been privy to some intimate secret about her.

‘How are you going on, Davina?’ she asked her, standing up. ‘I’m so deeply sorry about your dad. I can’t tell you how much he’s going to be missed by everybody at Anglesea Street.’