‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Just so you know: Don Breslin’s gonna show up any minute.’

‘Oh, great. Be still, my beating heart.’ Sophie drops a swab into a test tube. ‘What do you want him for?’

‘The gaffer thinks we could use someone who’s good with witnesses.’ That brings Sophie’s head up to look at me. I shrug. ‘Or some shit like that, I don’t know. So Breslin’s coming in with us on this one.’

‘Well, isn’t that special,’ Sophie says. She caps the test tube and starts labelling it.

I say, ‘He’s just backup. Anything you find comes straight to me or Moran. If you can’t get hold of us, keep trying till you do. Yeah?’

One of the reasons it took me and Steve so long to close the Romanian domestic, the reason we’re not about to tell O’Kelly, is that when a witness finally got up the guts to ring in, we never heard about the call. It was another two weeks before the witness tried again – fair play to him; a lot of people would have figured forget it – and got me. He said his first call had been put through to a guy, Irish accent – which narrows it down to anyone on the squad except me – who had promised to pass on the message. I don’t think it was Breslin, but I’m nowhere near sure enough to bet my case on it.

‘Not a problem.’ Sophie glances back and forth between her techs. ‘Conway, Moran or no one. Everyone clear on that?’

The techs nod. Techs don’t give a damn about Ds and our relationship problems – most of them think we’re a bunch of prima donnas who should try doing some real solid work for a change – but they’re loyal as hell to Sophie. Breslin will get nothing out of them.

‘The same for her phone and her laptop,’ I say. ‘When they get into her e-mail, Facebook, whatever, I want it coming straight to us.’

‘Sure. There’s this one computer guy who actually listens when people talk; I’ll make sure it goes to him.’ She drops the test tube into an evidence bag. ‘We’ll keep you updated.’

I take one last look at Aislinn, on my way out. Sophie’s hooked back her hair to take swabs, hoping for DNA from that punch. Death is starting to take over her face, starting to pull her lips back from her teeth, sink hollows under her eyes. Even through that, she hits me with that pulse of memory. Please I just need please— And me, barely bothering to hide the satisfaction: Sorry. Can’t help you there.

‘She pissed me off,’ I say. ‘When I met her before.’

‘Something she did?’ Steve asks. ‘Something she said?’

‘Don’t remember. Something.’

‘Or nothing. Doesn’t take a lot to piss you off, when you’re in the humour.’

‘Fuck off, you.’

‘I like him,’ Sophie tells me. ‘You can keep him.’

Half my head is on where I’ve seen the vic before. My guard is down.