They looked at each other, caught in that moment, for what felt like a long time. Carrie didn’t know if she’d learned enough, but she knew it was all she was going to get. She stood up slowly.

“Thanks, Mary, for your time,” she said. “And I’m sorry if . . .” Carrie shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

Mary nodded. She made no move to stand, just looked down into her nearly empty teacup. Carrie was almost at the door before Mary spoke again.

“Do you know why she stopped it, in the end? Why she withdrew the charges?”

Carrie turned. “Why?”

Mary kept her gaze averted. “One day, she came to me and asked if it was true that victims of assault have to be anonymous in the courts. That nobody takes their picture, and nobody knows their name. I said yes. And that was all it took, really. She was quite keen to drop it after that.”

Chapter Sixteen

Carrie

Carrie’s shift was due to start at seven. The bus got her back into the city at six, which gave her just enough time to run home for a quick sandwich, then shower and change into her uniform. By the time she pulled the door to the flat closed behind her and set off for the station, she was feeling more upbeat. Nervous, but optimistic. Charlie Sweeney wouldn’t be happy that she had stepped all over his case, she knew that. But he was a good detective. He cared about his work, and more than anyone, he wouldn’t want to send a man to prison for something he hadn’t done. Charlie would reopen the investigation. And maybe, just maybe, he would be impressed enough to offer her a second chance. Carrie squashed the thought, pushed it down deep inside her. This wasn’t about her.

Carrie reached the station at a quarter to six. She went looking for Charlie straightaway and was directed to the canteen. She took the lift up two more floors. The place was very quiet: only one person behind the counter, cleaning up after the dinner shift, and a couple of senior gardaí sitting alone at tables with coffee and paperwork. In the far corner, seated at a table beside the window, were Charlie Sweeney and Martin Talbot.

Shit.

Martin saw her coming. He raised an eyebrow and muttered something to Charlie as she approached, too quietly for her to hear.

“Carrie,” he said. “How are you?” There was wariness in his eyes, caution in his tone.

“I’m fine, thanks, Martin. I’m sorry to interrupt. Charlie, would you have a moment?”

“You want to speak to Charlie?”

“Yes. Sorry, Charlie. If you don’t mind?”

Martin exchanged glances with the other man, then stood. “Well then, I’ll leave you to it.”

Carrie stood back to let him leave, and he gave her a wide berth.

Charlie pointed to the chair that Martin had just vacated, and she sat down. He looked at her dispassionately.

“What can I do for you?” he said. There was a half-empty coffee cup in front of him, and he took a sip, his eyes holding hers.