‘Just this guy from Colm’s. He’s called Graham, Graham Quinn. But we’re not exactly going out out – I mean, ohmyGod, don’t go to him and say he’s my boyfriend! Like, he sort of is, but—’

‘I get it,’ Conway said, final enough to get through even to Orla, who shut up. ‘Thanks.’

I said, ‘If you could pick just one thing to tell me about Chris Harper. What would it be?’

The stare. I was less and less in the humour for the stare. ‘Like what?’

‘Like anything. Whatever you think is most important.’

‘Um, he was gorgeous?’

Giggle.

I took the photo away from her. ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘That helps.’

I left a second. Orla said nothing. Conway said nothing. She was sitting back on the table, writing or doodling, I couldn’t tell which out of the corner of my eye. I wasn’t going to look at her, like I was looking for a hand.

Houlihan cleared her throat, a compromise between asking and keeping schtum. I’d forgotten her.

Conway shut her notebook.

I said, ‘Thanks, Orla. We might need to talk to you again. Meanwhile, if you think of anything that might help us, anything at all, here’s my card. Ring me any time. Yeah?’

Orla gave the card a look like I’d asked her to jump into my white van. Conway said, ‘Thanks. We’ll talk soon.’ To Houlihan, who jumped: ‘Gemma Harding next.’

I gave Orla more smiles. Got the two of them out of the door.

Conway said, ‘Like, totes OMG?’

I said, ‘Like, OMG, WTF?’

We almost looked at each other. Almost laughed.

Conway said, ‘Not our girl.’

‘Nah.’

I waited. Didn’t ask, wouldn’t give her the satisfaction, but I needed to know.

She said, ‘That went all right.’

I almost caught a huge breath, crushed it back in time. Stuck the photo away in my pocket, ready for the next go-round. ‘Anything you figure I should know about Gemma?’

Conway grinned. ‘Thinks she’s a sex bomb, kept leaning over to show Costello her cleavage. Poor bastard didn’t know where to look.’ The grin went. ‘But this one’s not thick. Not by a long way.’

Gemma was like looking at Orla stretched. Tall, slim – trying hard for thin, only she didn’t have the build for it. Pretty, top end of pretty, but that jaw was going to give her manface before she was thirty. Hard-work straight blond hair, fake tan, skinny eyebrows. No glance at the Secret Place, but then Conway had said she wasn’t stupid.

She took the walk to the chair like a catwalk. Sat down and crossed one long leg over the other, slow flourish. Arched her throat.