He’s right: maybe not the interviews. Maybe there’s something else Breslin has to do, or someone else he has to meet, along the way; something, or someone, that doesn’t need Gaffney. My adrenaline kicks.

‘You want to know what he did yesterday evening?’ I say. ‘He went schmoozing Sophie for the scene reports and Aislinn’s electronics.’

Steve’s eyebrows go up. I say, ‘It could mean nothing. I had a word with him: he says he was bored, went looking for something to do – and obviously he’s going to go after the thing that could turn him into the big hero here. But . . .’

‘But he wanted that stuff.’

‘Yeah. Badly enough to go behind our backs, even though he had to figure we’d find out.’

‘Did he get anything out of Sophie?’

‘Nah. There’s not a lot to get. Stains on Aislinn’s mattress, but even if we get DNA and it’s not hers, it could be years old; no way to know. It didn’t get there on Saturday night, anyway, or it’d be on the sheets as well, and they’re clean.’ The adrenaline is moving me at a clip that sends even the big-phone types dodging out of our way. ‘The only thing is, the places you asked Sophie to check, the bed frame and the jacks seat? They’re too clean. No prints, just smudges. Sophie says our guy could’ve wiped the place down—’

‘Ah, score!’ Steve does a fist-pump. ‘No reason why Rory would be wiping down the bed frame, when that was his first time in the house—’

‘Yeah yeah yeah, you’re a genius. Or Aislinn could’ve just been a clean freak. Sophie says it plays either way.’

Steve still looks pleased with himself. ‘Anything else?’

‘You mean that says Aislinn’s other fella was real?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Not so far. No sign of him on Facebook, not on her mobile, not on her e-mail.’ A junkie has cornered two lost-looking backpacker types and is hassling them for cash; I snap my fingers in his face and point off down the road, without bothering to break stride or find my ID, and he takes one look at us and bobbles off obediently. ‘If he exists, they must’ve made their appointments by ESP.’

‘Or Aislinn deleted all their messages,’ Steve points out. ‘Or he did. I’ve only started cross-checking the phone records, and I’m still waiting on the e-mails.’

‘Couple of interesting things on the laptop, though,’ I say. ‘Don’t get too overexcited, but Aislinn read up on a couple of gang cases. Francie Hannon and the guy with the tongue.’