‘No,’ I say. The adrenaline buzz is ebbing fast; I can feel the post-interrogation crash getting ready to hit. It leaves a sucking empty spot that, if you’re not careful, can feel like loss. I need caffeine, sugar, a dirty great burger. ‘He’s our man, all right.’

‘He is. And I hope you know that cooker doesn’t actually turn it into manslaughter, either. There’s no chance that little pussy-boy was thinking straight enough, after killing someone, to worry about burning the house down. His brain was juice. He probably turned the cooker off because the food was starting to burn and the smell bothered him. Cooper’s report still stands: could be manslaughter, if Rory managed to get up the strength for a serious punch, or he could’ve deliberately smashed her skull in when she was down. And the more I look at those pathetic excuses for muscles . . .’

‘Not my problem,’ I say. ‘The lawyers and the jury can figure that one out. All I want is a watertight case that he killed her.’

‘Well,’ Breslin says, heartily enough that for a second there I think he’s going to clap me on the back, ‘that shouldn’t be a problem to us. We’ll get every warm body out there looking for backup evidence, we’ll throw the lot at Rory, and he’ll fold like a cheap lawn chair. And if he doesn’t, hey, we’ll have enough circumstantial stuff to make our case watertight anyway. Right?’

‘Right,’ I say. Rory is gone, around the corner towards the gate. The splatter of yellow light on the empty cobblestones makes them look slick from hard rain, dangerous.

Wheels turning in Breslin’s mind, so heavy I can practically hear them. I keep my eyes on the place where Rory was until, finally, I feel Breslin move away and hear the door close behind him.

I ring Lucy from the women’s jacks. This time she answers, but her voice is barely above a whisper and she sounds hassled; someone in the background is calling orders and there’s a sudden blast of country music, cut off by an annoyed shout. The theatre has a new show opening that evening, they’re having technical problems and Lucy really has to go (in the background: ‘Luce! Any word on those parcans?’). She swears she’ll be home all tomorrow, but I can’t tell whether it’s true or whether she’s just saying whatever will get rid of me.