‘Are you not going to caution me?’

‘If you want. You are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so, but anything you do say will be taken down in writing and may be given in evidence.’ That gets another vicious huff of laughter. ‘Where were you Saturday evening?’

‘None of your business.’

Which is smart: no alibi means nothing we can break. ‘“No comment,” ’ I say. ‘Is that what you’re telling us?’

‘No. I’m telling you it’s none of your bloody business.’

‘What’ll your wife say when we ask her whether you were home?’

‘Only one way to find out.’

Steve says, leaning forward, ‘We’re not trying to catch you out here, man. We’re asking. If you can prove where you were, we can stop this whole thing. We’ll find a way that none of this ever has to come out. But we can’t do that unless we know the story.’

McCann throws him a stare like he can’t believe Steve actually tried that one on him. ‘I’ve got nothing to say about Saturday night. Except I never hurt Aislinn. That’s it. We can stay here all year and that’s all I’ll have to say to you.’

‘It’s not gonna be that simple,’ I say. ‘Remember that witness who saw you hanging around Stoneybatter over the last few weeks?’

‘So?’

‘That same witness saw you leaving the laneway behind Viking Gardens just after half-eight on Saturday night.’

That gets a snort. ‘Rory Fallon. Was it?’

‘You recognised him, yeah? When we brought him in?’

Brief shake of his head, wry click of his tongue: he’s not falling for that. ‘Nah. Bres mentioned that Fallon’s been doing a bit of hanging around Stoneybatter himself, the last while. Bit of stalking. Right?’

Me and Steve don’t answer. McCann nods, satisfied. ‘That means he was possessive about Aislinn. More than that: obsessive. Probably he saw me going in or out of her gaff, one night, did he?’

We look back at him.

‘Yeah. That would’ve sent him wild with jealousy. Saturday evening, when he got in her door, the first thing he did was confront her, ask her if she was seeing someone else. Poor Aislinn didn’t deny it, or didn’t deny it well enough, and . . .’

One hand closes into a fist and lifts off the table, just an inch, twisting.

‘No wonder he’s saying he saw me Saturday night. He’d say anything to get you looking somewhere else. And you’d be a pair of fools to fall for it. God knows no jury would.’

Steve says, and all of us hear the defensive note weakening his voice, ‘No one’s said we’re falling for anything. We’re only talking here.’