He’s not going to let slip that he knows how she died. No big deal; it was a long shot. ‘Wow,’ I say. I lean back in my chair, blow out a long sigh and run my hands through my hair. ‘Man. That’s some powerful stuff.’

‘Is it . . .’ Rory catches a deep breath. He pushes his glasses back on and blinks at me, trying to refocus. ‘Could it be useful? Do you think?’

‘It could,’ I say. ‘It could well be. I’m obviously not going to go into the details of what I’m thinking, but there’s a chance you could actually have given us something really valuable there. Thanks for doing that, man. Thanks a lot.’

‘No problem. Do you think—’

‘Hello-ello-ello,’ Breslin booms cheerfully, bursting the door open with his backside and swinging in with his hands full of mugs. ‘Sorry I took so long; that shower of uncivilised gits can never be arsed bringing their mugs back to the canteen, never mind washing them out. I had to chase these down. On the plus side—’ He hands out the mugs and sweeps a packet of biscuits out of his jacket pocket with a flourish. ‘O’Gorman’s stash didn’t let me down. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you chocolate-covered Oreos. Who’s your daddy?’

‘Ah, you star,’ I say. ‘I’m only starving.’

‘At your service.’ Breslin tosses an Oreo to me and one to Rory, who of course fumbles it, drops it on the carpet and has to go after it. He stares at it like he’s not sure what it’s for. ‘Get that into you,’ Breslin tells him. ‘Before O’Gorman comes looking.’

‘Come here,’ I say, dipping my Oreo in my coffee. ‘Rory’s got a theory.’

‘Thank Jesus,’ Breslin says. ‘At least someone has. Any good?’

‘Could be,’ I say, through most of my biscuit. ‘Long story short, he figures Aislinn was the type who could get a guy fantasising about happy-ever-afters a lot faster than normal. So there was some guy who Aislinn was seeing, so briefly that he hasn’t made it onto our radar; and once she dumped him, this guy got in over his head thinking about her. Started watching her. When he saw her getting ready for her dinner with Rory, he convinced himself she was waiting for him. Knocked on her door, got a nasty shock when she wasn’t happy to see him, and snapped.’

‘Interesting,’ Breslin says. He throws his biscuit into his mouth and chews meditatively, considering. ‘I like it. It could work with a lot of what we know.’

Rory doesn’t look encouraged. He’s huddled in his chair, picking carpet fluff off his Oreo. The second Breslin walked in, he faded and shrank and twisted like a boil-washed jumper.

‘Exactly,’ I say. ‘It’s got that feel, you know? In this job, you learn to recognise when something feels right. Practically and psychologically.’