‘Yes and no.’ Tom paused before continuing. ‘This is hard to explain, but the more time passed, the more I believed that breaking my silence would make everything worse. Not only would someone my parents admired be in the frame for Father Galvin’s death, but they’d also be upset that I hadn’t spoken earlier. And then, after the TV documentary was shown and the O’Grady theory caught fire, everything changed. Even though I was thousands of miles away, I could tell they were … not happy – happy would be going too far – but they were relieved. They were able to move on.’

He was crying hard now, his face twisted with misery, his body slumped forward. Conor got up to look for tissues. Unable to find any, he went to the bathroom and removed a roll of toilet paper. He placed it beside Tom, who wrapped a substantial wad around one hand and made an attempt to clean himself up. Conor returned to his chair.

‘What now?’ asked Tom.

‘I don’t know.’ So much of what Conor had said earlier had been bluster. When he’d arrived at the apartment, he hadn’t yet made up his mind about where to take this. He still hadn’t. What would he advise anyone else to do? Go to the guards. He was the guards. And yet …

‘We can’t just sleep on it,’ said Tom. ‘I’m meeting the taoiseach at nine in the morning.’

‘Can you delay the meeting?’

‘By half an hour maybe, but that’s all. Won’t you have to work in the morning?’

‘I’m sick.’

Tom tore off another hank of toilet paper and gave him a sceptical look.

‘It’s a long story,’ said Conor, rubbing his shoulder. It always hurt when he got tired. ‘Listen, I want you to understand: now that I know what happened, I can’t unknow it. I almost wish I could, but I can’t.’

Thoughts flew around his head. He pictured Hannah Galvin, waiting for news. He pictured his dad and Ginny. He wondered why Helen had attacked Father Galvin. What had happened to give rise to such fury? He thought of the ways in which they were all bound together. It reminded him of those graphics you saw in the Sunday supplements, the curved lines connecting Europe’s royal families or Hollywood’s power players. In their small world, everybody was connected.

‘Don’t think I’m crackers here,’ he said. ‘Actually, there’s every danger that I am, but my head’s a mess and yours is worse. I think we need someone else to help us think this through.’

‘You’re not serious,’ said Tom. ‘You want to bring in an outsider – and at this hour of the night? What are you going to do – ring one of your garda buddies? Fuck it, why not call a press conference and be done with it?’