He’s edgy as hell, but the answers are coming easily, no stumbling or backtracking. That doesn’t mean much, though; not with this guy. He’s already told us he’s the type who thinks ahead, goes through every hypothetical, makes sure he’s got everything in place so his plans will run smoothly. If he planned a murder, he’d have his alibi story down pat; probably he’d do a walk-through a couple of days in advance. And if he didn’t plan it, he would be well able to spend the night coming up with a good story and running through it a few hundred times. This guy’s real comfort zone is inside his head.

‘Plus she would have thought you were some obsessive freak who spent his spare time staring at her windows,’ Breslin points out. Rory flinches. ‘That’s never a good look. What’d you do instead?’

‘I was going to just wander around till eight o’clock. But then I realised I hadn’t brought anything with me.’

‘What, you mean condoms?’ Breslin breaks into a big grin. ‘Now there’s self-confidence.’

Rory’s head shoots down and he starts jabbing at his glasses again. ‘No! I mean flowers. I didn’t want to show up empty-handed. Aislinn had said not to bother bringing wine, but I’d been planning to buy her flowers in Ranelagh, except I forgot – I was concentrating so hard on what to wear and getting it ironed right and what time to leave . . . I only realised when I got to her road.’

‘Awk-ward,’ Breslin says, singsong. He’s tilting his chair back again and playing with his pen.

‘Well, yes. For a second there I was panicking. But there’s a Tesco up on Prussia Street, so—’

‘Hang on,’ I say, confused. ‘I thought you didn’t know the area.’

‘I don’t. I— What?’

‘How’d you know where the Tesco is?’

Rory blinks at me. ‘I looked it up on my phone. So I headed up there—’

I know before Breslin opens his mouth that he’s gonna come in. We’re working well together: me keeping things chilled so we can get the basic info, him leaning in whenever he gets an opening to poke Rory with sticks, me standing under the piñata ready to catch whatever sweeties come tumbling out. I don’t like working well with Breslin. It feels like he’s suckering me all over again, in ways I can’t pin down.

‘Tesco flowers?’ he asks. His face is halfway between a grin and a cringe. ‘I thought you said this Aislinn’s the fancy type.’

Rory shifts his arse on the chair. ‘I did. She is. But at that hour—’

‘She’s the fancy type, she’s been slaving over a hot cooker all day for you, and you’re going to show up with a bunch of half-dead shocking-pink daisies? Come on.’