McNab said his goodbyes, then called the barman over. There was someone else he needed to speak to. As he was served his order, he asked if Sean Maguire was about.

The Irishman doesn’t look so good, McNab thought as Maguire slid onto the stool beside him. They exchanged greetings. Always guarded, even more so now, since the sin-eater affair.

Maguire had acknowledged McNab’s role in helping Rhona in her darkest hour, but hadn’t forgiven him for his other transgressions.

God, we Catholics don’t half do guilt well.

Maguire nodded to the barman and two measures of whisky slid along the bar to them.

‘Sláinte,’ Maguire offered.

McNab took him at his word, and chinking glasses returned his offer of good health.

‘I assume you’ve heard from Rhona?’ Maguire was saying.

‘We keep in touch regularly via Skype. The boss insists on it,’ McNab added as though it had nothing to do with him. He waited, wanting to ask if Maguire had heard from her, but not sure whether the enquiry would be welcomed or answered in the affirmative.

‘I haven’t heard from her,’ Maguire said, after swallowing the whisky. ‘Not yet anyway.’

McNab nodded, aware that showing sympathy would not be welcome.

‘Have you tried calling?’ McNab tried.

‘She asked me not to,’ Maguire shot back at him. ‘When she left for Skye. I’m respecting her wishes.’ A sharp edge of pain crossed his face as he gestured to the barman that they would have a refill.

‘She attended the counselling session the boss set up for her.’ McNab offered what might be a crumb of comfort, although he already knew that Rhona hadn’t stayed long enough with the doc for a meaningful interchange.

He thought back to his own experience with trauma counselling after the shooting. How unwilling he had been. The only reason he’d gone through with it was because he had to, seeing that he was holed up in a police safe house and couldn’t avoid the psych visits.

Who could blame Rhona for not wanting to relive her own experience?

‘There’s something Rhona isn’t telling me.’ Maguire eyed McNab. ‘About what happened to her that night. I know that much.’ He said this as though he suspected McNab was aware what that might be.

‘You know what I know,’ McNab declared, hoping that was true, but suspecting it might not be.

Maguire was sampling his refill. McNab had a sudden and overwhelming desire to tell him not to drown himself in drink, but that would be way too ironic, even for him.

Noting McNab hadn’t yet touched his whisky, Maguire said with a wry smile, ‘I see you’re on the wagon?’

‘Trying.’

Maguire drew McNab’s glass towards himself. ‘Better not tempt you then. How’s Ellie?’

‘Fine,’ McNab said.

Maguire finished both McNab’s whisky and his own. ‘I’m on shortly, so we’ll say goodbye, Detective Sergeant.’