When she arrived at Anglesea Street she went first to see Sergeant O’Farrell, who told her that gardaí were still taking names at the Zombie Lounge and that Bill Phinner had already sent a team of five forensic technicians to examine the toilet and the dance floor. While she was talking to Sergeant O’Farrell, Detective Inspector Robert Fitzpatrick came in. He looked tired. His chin was prickly with grey stubble and the shoulders of his coat were sparkling with raindrops.

‘How’s it going, ma’am? You didn’t have to show up, like. It’s fierce messy, the crime scene, I can tell you, and most of the kids we’ve been talking to are so high that they don’t know whether it’s Christmas or Wednesday, but we have it all under control.’

‘I could have left it until later to come in, but we really need to talk now,’ Katie told him. ‘I’ll go up and organize us a couple of cups of coffee and then I’ll meet you in my office. You take yours white, don’t you?’

‘Don’t bother about the coffee, ma’am,’ said Sergeant O’Farrell. ‘Garda Caitlin Brady’s here on duty tonight. She can fetch them for you.’

‘She’s not my servant, Ryan. I’m quite capable of fetching my own.’

‘Okay. Fair play to you, ma’am.’

By the time Katie had been to the canteen and carried two mugs of coffee up to her office, Robert was already there waiting for her.

‘Bill Phinner just texted me to say that they’ve identified the victim. Guess what from – his student card, found in his back pants pocket. His name’s Tadhg Kimmons, and he’s taking an elective course in advanced pharmaceutical chemistry at UCC.’

‘That makes sense, from what I’ve heard. But go on.’

‘They found more than his student card. They’ve found nine bags of ketamine shards in his satchel, as well as more than a hundred Blue Ghost PMMA tablets.’

‘So it looks likely that he was trying to peddle drugs in the Zombie Lounge – even though we all know that it’s strictly O’Flynn territory when it comes to narcotics. That was foolhardy, to say the least, but it makes sense, too. Muireann Nic Riada rang me to tell me what had happened. She said that as soon as Thomas O’Flynn heard that your man was selling ketamine down in the toilets, he sent Breaslain Hoobin after him to kick him out. Only he didn’t kick him out, he cut the tripes out of him.’

‘Then we actually know who killed him? Breaslain Hoobin? Holy Mary, that makes our life a whole lot simpler. I can have Walsh and Cullen lift him before he has time to eat his morning porridge. We even know where he lives… with his old widowed ma, in Farranree.’