The rain fell harder and harder, so that Katie had to switch the windscreen wipers to beat backwards and forwards as fast as they would go. There was hardly any other traffic on the road, and they drove for several kilometres without seeing any other cars at all, which increased Katie’s feeling of desolation. Kyna must have sensed how she was feeling, because she reached across and gave her thigh a gentle squeeze.

Katie’s phone played Mo Ghille Mear, my gallant hero, which she had first used as her ringtone when she and Conor had started living together. She saw that it was a call from Detective Patrick O’Donovan, so she passed her phone over to Kyna.

‘Patrick? This is DS Ní Nuallán. Herself is driving at the moment.’

She listened, and then she said to Katie, ‘He’s apologizing for ringing you, because he knows you’ve been to Conor’s funeral. But he says there’s something you need to know urgent-like. Like, pure urgent-like.’

‘Go on, then, if it’s that urgent. What is it?’

Kyna listened again, frowning, and then she said, ‘Holy Saint Rita.’

‘Come on, tell me,’ said Katie. ‘Don’t keep me in suspense.’

Kyna raised her hand to indicate that she was still listening. ‘Where? Okay. And the two of them are still there, O’Connor and Phelan? All right, Patrick. I have you. We’ll see you there so. Well, yes – I’ll have to ask her, of course.’

‘Ask her what?’ said Katie, as Kyna handed her phone back.

‘Gardaí O’Connor and Phelan have just attended a car that was on fire on the road between White’s Cross and Dublin Pike. The fire brigade have put it out, but the driver’s still inside it. He was burned to death.’

‘Was there anybody else in the car, apart from him?’

‘Not so far as we know. There’s a witness, apparently, and if anybody else had escaped from the car before it blew up he would have seen them. He saw another vehicle, though, an SUV, which drove off quick as soon as the car caught fire.’

‘Is Patrick going up to White’s Cross himself?’

‘Yes, with Sean Begley and Padragain Scanlan. And of course Bill Phinner’s sending up a forensic team, too.’

‘So what’s so desperately urgent?’

‘Well, it depends on who the driver is. He’s too badly burned to make an identification on the spot, like. But the car’s an old Jaguar that’s registered to Mr Justice Garrett Quinn.’

‘What?’

‘That’s what he said. Mr Justice Garrett Quinn.’

‘How can that be? Justice Quinn’s supposed to be in court this afternoon. He’s due to be handing down the sentence to Donal Hagerty.’

‘If that’s him in the car there’s no chance of that.’

‘Mother of God,’ said Katie. ‘Where did you say this car was? White’s Cross?’