‘And two possibilities. Either a great big bodybuilder gave her a hell of a punch, she went over backwards and smashed her head on the fireplace. Or else someone – wouldn’t need to be a bodybuilder – gave her a push, she fell on the fireplace with no serious damage done, and he went after her and punched her while she was down.’

That stops Breslin moving, and for a second his face goes blank. Behind the blank, his mind is going ninety. Same as me and Steve, he has trouble picturing Rory getting that hardcore, and he’s not happy about it.

He covers it fast, though. ‘Bodybuilder,’ he says, with a wry snort. ‘No harm to Cooper, but what a typical lab-jockey thing to say. If he’d spent any time in the trenches, he’d know that even a wimp like Rory can come up with one good punch, if he’s pissed off enough.’

Which is what I thought, but coming out of him it sounds like something I shouldn’t fall for. ‘Maybe,’ I say.

Breslin threads his way between the desks to us, giving Stanton a clap on the shoulder along the way. ‘We’ll have to ask Rory, won’t we? We’ll have fun with that, next time we get him in.’

‘He won’t know what’s hit him,’ Steve says helpfully. The blue folder has vanished into the paper on his desk.

‘Any more than she did,’ Breslin says, inevitably, but his heart isn’t in it. ‘I hear you’ve been getting deliveries. Anything nice to share with the group?’

Me and Steve look at each other, all puzzled. Steve says, ‘The vic’s phone records, yeah?’

‘Not unless she made an awful lot of calls. McCann said you had a big box of something so special, the delivery boy wouldn’t let it out of his hot little hands.’ He nudges the corner of the box, sticking out from under our desk, with the toe of his shiny shoe. ‘Would this be it?’

His eyes are hooded and watching me, just on the edge of too casual. There’s no point trying to dodge, not unless I’m prepared to rugby-tackle him off the box; and anyway, all of a sudden I’ve had enough of tiptoeing around Big Bad Breslin, hiding my own investigation behind my back like a kid with a smoke when a teacher walks past. ‘That? Aislinn’s da went missing when she was a kid,’ I say, and watch his face. ‘Moran thought there might be a link. Like maybe a gang thing, or a reunion gone wrong.’

Breslin’s eyes pop. ‘A gang thing? Moran. Conway. Are you serious? You think gangs kidnapped Aislinn’s dad, and then came back for her twenty years later? I’m loving this. Tell me more.’