‘Aislinn’s e-mail records,’ I say.

‘Huh,’ Breslin says. ‘And?’

‘And if you want seventy per cent off a fabulous goddess gown, I can tell you where to go.’

‘Sounds like you’re having a blast.’ Breslin gives me his best movie-star grin, picks up Aislinn’s sent e-mails and has a flick through them. ‘Jesus, I see what you mean. This could get old. You want me to take over? You can have Rory’s exes.’

‘Nah.’ I’m not even gonna pretend to get all suspicious. He’s working hard for it, but I’m done playing Breslin’s game. ‘I’ve started; I’ll finish.’

‘Conway.’ Breslin switches the grin to mildly rueful. ‘This is me trying to show you that I do know who’s the boss of this investigation. If you need scut work done, I’m offering to do it.’

‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I’m grand.’

After a moment Breslin shrugs. ‘Suit yourself.’ He has another skim through the e-mails, taking his time, and drops them back on my desk. ‘Moran? You need to get out of the office for a while?’ He turns Steve’s paperwork round to face him and has a good look. As far as I can tell, it’s Aislinn’s e-mail records, even though I would’ve sworn Steve was ignoring them up until Breslin came in.

‘Ah, no,’ Steve says. ‘I’m nearly done, sure. If I haven’t died of boredom by now . . .’

Breslin shrugs and shoves Steve’s stuff back to him. ‘Remember,’ he says, aiming a finger at me. ‘I made the offer.’

‘I will,’ I say. ‘Enjoy the exes.’

‘Yeah, I’m not getting my hopes up. You should see the first two.’ Breslin swings into his chair, makes oily phone calls setting up appointments, and sweeps out again. ‘And I don’t need backup today, either,’ he says, tossing me and Steve a wink on his way past. ‘If you catch my drift.’ We both pull out automated smiles.

‘What did he even come in for?’ Steve wants to know, when he’s gone. ‘He could’ve made those calls from anywhere.’

His voice still has some of that flat note to it, but he’s talking, which presumably should make me feel all warm inside. I say, ‘He couldn’t stay away from your pretty face.’

‘Seriously. He just wanted to check out what we’re doing. And try to take over the electronics. Again. What’s he scared we might find in there?’

I say, ‘I don’t care.’ And, when he opens his mouth again: ‘I don’t care.’

Steve rolls his eyes to the ceiling, shoves the e-mail records out of his way and goes back to whatever he’s really doing. I try to pick up where I left off, but my focus is shot; all the spam is blurring into one endless Viagra ad. My legs are twitching to get up and move.