Sophie’s team didn’t find any dating sites on Aislinn’s laptop, but they haven’t reported back on her work computer yet. I take a look at Random Google Blonde’s accounts. She’s doing well for herself: dozens of messages. About a quarter of them are dick pics, which are presumably meant to send her running for her smelling salts rather than to start off meaningful relationships, although you never know. Most of the rest are one-line nothing, guys shotgunning all the pretty girls who join up, hoping one will bite. Two of them are worth a closer look. No photos, careful wording about no strings and discretion: married guys looking for fun on the side, and looking for a girl who matches Aislinn’s specs to join them.

I’m working on my reply when something moves, in the corner of my eye. I whip around, not fast enough. A big dark shape skims away from my window before I can get a decent look.

I grab my keys and dive for the door. By the time I get it open, the road is empty.

I head for my car, forcing myself to keep the pace casual: just getting something I forgot, no biggie. My breath puffs clouds into the air, but the cold doesn’t touch me. I smell turf smoke and hear cars zipping past the top of the road and feel my leg muscles throbbing to go.

I’m pulling open the car door when the light twitches. There’s someone under the streetlamp at the top of the road: a tall guy, hovering. I slam the car door and take one step in that direction and he vanishes, into the dark around the corner, going at a fair old clip.

I’m pretty sure I’m faster than him, but Stoneybatter is good for twists and laneways, and if he knows his way around, he’s gone. Even if he doesn’t, he can just nip into a pub, turn and stare with the rest if I come bursting in; what am I gonna do about it? I need to nab him on my own turf.

I go back inside, pull the sitting-room curtains almost closed and watch the road through the crack at one side.

If I get another shot, it’ll be my last. One more close call and the guy’s gonna know for sure he’s been burned.

There isn’t a way for me to do this on my own. I run through every backup option I can think of – Fleas, Sophie, Gary, my mate Lisa, all my other mates, the neighbours. I even consider my ma. I swear to God, for a quarter of a second I consider Breslin.