“Right. We were both watching the same thing,” Sinéad said. “All three of the Lord of the Rings movies. That’s why we were texting. To sort of compare opinions. Chat. You know the way.”

“Yeah,” said Aifric. “I do it with my sister all the time.” She made a small note. Then, in an offhand way, said, “Can I have a quick look at the texts?”

Sinéad hesitated. “Sure. I mean, of course.” She reached into her back pocket and pulled out her phone. “You’ve seen Dermot’s texts, though?”

“It’s always good to confirm everything,” Aifric said. She hadn’t seen them, of course. The full, detailed breakdown of incoming and outgoing messages had not been included in the book of evidence. Between now and the full trial, it was likely that the gardaí would serve a warrant on the phone company, asking for all the messages, but it might take weeks for the warrant to be requested, granted, and served. A few days more before the resulting report made its way to her desk. In the meantime, she was stuck relying on whatever the police considered relevant from Dermot’s phone. And she couldn’t speak to Dermot Mulvaney herself—he was a witness for the prosecution. But Sinéad had almost certainly assumed that Aifric was with the prosecution, and Aifric wasn’t in a hurry to correct that assumption.

She took the phone Sinéad offered and looked through the messages, taking notes. The messages were very movie focused, a lot of commentary on particular actors or how faithful the films were to the books.

“Do you do this often?” Aifric asked. “Watch a movie together and chat about it over the phone?”

Sinéad shrugged. “Sometimes. It’s a good way to unwind on a Friday night. You know, it feels a bit sad, eating pizza and drinking beer by yourself, then falling asleep on the couch in front of the TV. But if you’re watching something together—well, kind of together—and chatting, it’s just a bit more social.”

Aifric was nodding and half-listening, but her attention was caught by something in the messages.

“What’s this?” She turned the phone to Sinéad, who leaned forward, squinting a little.

“What?”

“The messages stop here, for about forty-five minutes. Or at least, there are two from you to Dermot, but no reply.”

“Oh, right. Yes. I suppose he was caught up in the film or something.”

“Or he might have nodded off,” Aifric said agreeably.

“I don’t think . . .” Sinéad began.

“Dermot never falls asleep in front of the TV? Even if he’s had a few beers?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that. I mean, I don’t know either way, really.”

“Sure,” Aifric said. Inside, she was crowing. This was exactly what she had come for. If Robert Collins was telling the truth, then this gap in the text messages would have had to have been there. It wasn’t a real confirmation of anything he’d said, but it was a detail that could be exploited, and the fact that she could bring this little morsel of information to her meeting with Colin Leonard the following day could only help her.