‘Listen to that,’ Breslin says, to me. ‘He’s all about how much he cared about Aislinn and her great personality, right up until we tell him the poor girl’s dead. And just like that, it’s all about him. Forget her.’

‘I do care about her! I just – this wasn’t—’ Rory grabs for air. He looks like shit: white and ragged, staring wildly back and forth between us. I hope he brought his inhaler. ‘I thought a burglary, maybe. Or a, an assault. I never—’

His hands go to his head, and he rubs the heels back and forth on his temples. He’s breathing hard.

It all looks right. Shock and grief are clumsy, they’re ugly, they’re not pretty tears and a dabbing hanky. But Rory’s had all night to build himself an armour suit of what-if and dress up in it. And, because he’s used to focusing on what could have happened just as much as on what actually did, he could walk around in his made-up story like it’s the true one.

The one place where his story cracked and peeled: around that half-hour between him getting off the bus and him knocking on Aislinn’s door. There’s something there. Everything else could play either way, innocent or guilty. That half-hour, the half-hour that matters, wasn’t innocent.

The shock could be real and he could still be our guy. There’s one obvious reason why he might have been expecting to hear about an assault instead of a murder.

I say, ‘Why did you think there might have been a burglary or an assault?’

‘Can I—’ Rory’s voice has gone thick. He swallows hard, but his chin is shaking. ‘Can I please have a minute by myself?’

Breslin says, ‘What for?’

‘Because I just found out—’ He jerks his head like there are small things flying in his face. ‘I just need a minute.’

‘You’re doing grand,’ I say. ‘We’ll only be a little longer. Hang in there.’

‘No. I can’t. I need—’

‘We’re asking you to help us out here,’ Breslin says. ‘Any reason why you have a problem with that?’

‘I just need to clear my head. I just— Do I have to stay? Am I allowed to leave?’ Rory’s voice is spinning higher and louder.

Breslin’s leaning back in his chair, watching, with a curl to his lip. ‘Rory. Pull yourself together.’ But Rory is beyond reach of the snap of disgust. ‘This is just routine. It’s not personal. We’ll be having this same conversation with every single person who had anything to do with Aislinn. And I can guarantee you, the people who cared about her will want to do anything they can to help us. You don’t?’

‘I do. I just— I’m not under arrest, right? I can just go for a walk? And then come back?’

Not a total pushover, after all. Fluffy little Rory is well able to push back, when he really wants to.