‘It’s not like that. It’s not a trust thing. She’s worried about you. She thought you might need a friend and she wasn’t up to making the journey herself so…’

‘No,’ said Will. ‘No, I don’t need a friend. I need to be left alone and—’

Finn held up his hands in submission. ‘Look, buddy, I’m not here to cause any trouble. I came because she asked me. I’m going to have a look round and then I’ll go. I’ll tell her I saw you and that you’re doing fine. I’ll tell her whatever you want me to tell her. It’s all good.’

He patted Will’s shoulder. ‘Make the most of me being here. Use me. I could take some pictures for your book. There must be something you need.’

They walked on together, Finn dressed in an old combat jacket and canvas trousers with a camera attached to an enormous lens slung over his shoulder. Will couldn’t put his finger on what it was, exactly, but everything about Finn wound him up the wrong way.

After a while Finn started to whistle. To shut him up, Will nodded towards Finn’s camera and asked: ‘That’s a zoom lens, right?’

‘Telephoto, yes.’

‘So, it could take a picture, for example, through a window?’

‘What are you thinking?’

‘There’s a photograph I need to copy. It’s in a private house. I can’t exactly go and knock on the door and ask for it.’

‘Well, we could try,’ said Finn, ‘if we can get close to the window and we’re not trespassing on private property and if the sun’s right and the photograph is facing the window and there’s no glare on the frame and nothing in front of it.’

Will didn’t think any of those things was possible.

‘Or, you could just think of a reason to go into said house and take a photo of the photo with your phone.’

Shit! Will could have done that himself on Thursday evening!

Finn hitched his camera strap higher.

‘Saoirse said you knew the girl who was murdered,’ he said, after a while.

Will didn’t answer.

‘Then all this,’ Finn indicated broadly the media pack, the police cars, the tent, ‘this must be tough on you.’

In one heartbeat Will was irritated that Finn Jackson was even talking about Alice Lang, a girl about whom he knew next to nothing and whose life and death were none of his business; doubly irritated because he knew Finn was fishing for information to take back to the sisters. In the next he was overwhelmed by a compulsion to tell Finn everything. It took a huge effort to hold back the flood of memories that rose, like nausea, in his throat.

He couldn’t hold it back.