It plays; of course it plays. Just like McCann’s story does, and Rory’s, and Lucy’s. All these stories. They hum like fist-sized hornets in the corners of the ceiling, circling idly, saving their strength. I want to pull out my gun and blow them away, neatly, one by one, vaporise them into swirls of black grit drifting downwards and gone.

I ask, ‘When did he tell you all this?’

‘He phoned me as soon as his wife went to sleep. In fairness, Conway, it’s not exactly like he could have that conversation while he was walking through town on a Saturday night. Or on the sofa with his missus watching telly beside him. He took the first chance he got.’

I say, ‘And you believed him.’

That whips Breslin around to face me full-on. ‘Yes, Conway. Yes. I do believe him. Partly it’s because of a little thing called loyalty, which you apparently haven’t got the first clue about. He’s my partner; if I catch him with a dead body at his feet and a smoking gun in his hand, it’s my job to believe he’s been framed. But mostly it’s because I know Mac. I’ve known him for a long, long time. You’ll be lucky if you ever have a partner you know like I know Mac. And there’s no fucking way he did this.’

My eyes meet Steve’s for a second. I can’t tell whether Breslin believes that load, or whether he’s convinced himself he does because he needs to be that guy, the noble knight standing by his partner through thick and thin. Probably it’s the second one, which means it’s here to stay. You can knock down a genuine belief, if you load up with enough facts that contradict it; but a belief that’s built on nothing except who the person wants to be, nothing can crumble that. We could show Breslin video of McCann bashing Aislinn’s face in, and the noble knight would find a way around it.

‘Do you two get that? Is that going into your heads?’

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘And you called it in to Stoneybatter.’

‘I did, yeah. And just by the way, McCann knew I was doing it, and he agreed. As soon as the initial shock wore off, he started thinking like a cop again. Because that’s who he is. Not a killer. A cop.’

‘Uh-huh. So why’d you wait till five in the morning? If McCann called you as soon as his wife went asleep, we’re talking what, midnight? Why wait five hours?’

Breslin sighs and holds up his hands. ‘OK. You got me. Good for you. I wanted to be sure I’d be there when the case came in to the squad. Obviously McCann wasn’t going to come within a mile of the investigation, or the whole thing could collapse—’