“Did they fight?” Aifric asked.

“I don’t know, but it wouldn’t surprise me. I’m just saying I think you might have a point. I don’t think Evelyn Ross’s statement is worth the paper it’s written on.”

Aifric shook her head. “You shouldn’t have done it. You should never have spoken to her.”

“You left the file here. You wanted me to read it.”

“Yes. But I never meant for you to go off half-cocked, interviewing witnesses when it isn’t even your case. Jesus, Carrie. You could screw up the whole thing. And what about your precious Charlie Sweeney? He’s hardly going to welcome you sticking your oar in.”

Carrie shook her head. “I know,” she said quietly. The admission seemed to take some of the wind out of Aifric’s sails. The toast popped. Aifric was still for a moment, then she stood to retrieve the toast. She buttered it and pushed it across to Carrie.

“Eat that and tell me what’s going on with you.”

Carrie shook her head again. She took a bite of her toast, chewed, and swallowed. Another bite.

“What happened to making friends?” Aifric said. “What happened to playing the game?”

“What happened is you were right, and I was wrong.”

“What?”

“I didn’t make it,” Carrie said. She felt the tears well up, and fury at her own weakness made her raise her voice. “My transfer request was refused. I won’t be a detective. They want Niall instead. Him, and a few others.” In her frustration, she managed to spit some toast crumbs halfway across the table. “Sorry,” she said, and she wiped her mouth.

“Oh, Carrie.”

Carrie shrugged. “What can you do?”

“You worked so hard. I don’t understand it.”

“I do. They want Niall. They want Niall, and they want people like him. They want people who fit.”

“Fit how, exactly?” Aifric asked.

“I don’t know. They want someone bigger and stronger than me, firstly. Someone tough, someone they can rely on when things get messy.” Carrie swiped a tear away with the back of an impatient hand. “Or maybe they just want someone with a sense of humor. I’m too dry, not enough fun.”

“You’re tough,” Aifric said. “You’re reliable.”

Carrie shook her head. “I try,” she said. “But how can I compete with Niall? He’s just . . . he’s one of the gang. Everyone likes him.”

“And that’s the key to being a good detective, is it?” Aifric asked. “A popularity contest—that’s what it’s all about?”

Carrie waved a hand at her. “You know that’s not it, but it’s part of it, maybe. Martin said . . . It’s not just about the work. They want someone who’ll fit in, and maybe that’s just not me.”

Aifric leaned forward, eyes blazing. “You mean they want someone just like them. Is that it? They’re looking for a carbon copy of Charlie Sweeney, another member of the boys’ club, just because that’s what they’re used to . . . So the question is, do you agree with them?”