28

Mary pushed to the front of the queue at the court. ‘Sorry, sorry, it’s urgent.’

She grabbed her bag and ID from the scanner and ran downstairs to the cells. A dungeon, it was, guarded by the World’s Unhappiest Officer. ‘I need to see John Paul O’Donnell,’ Mary said.

He would not be distracted from the Daily Mail. Mary knew there was only one way to get what she wanted. She put her ID on his desk and waited for him to pretend to finish reading his article. Eventually, he folded his paper and walked nonchalantly towards the cells.

‘Booth one,’ he called back.

John Paul’s eyes were red, his face grey. He took his seat on the opposite side of the glass and stared at the floor. He was expecting help, no doubt, as he had all his life. He was sitting there expecting her to fix things for him.

Mary waited till the officer was back at his desk. ‘What computer did you put it on?’

‘The silver one,’ said John Paul.

‘Where was it?’

‘On the table in the living room.’

‘Was there another computer in the house?’

‘Didn’t look.’

Palpitations; holy shit, she could hear them. She had no time for palpitations now. ‘Jesus Christ, John Paul, do you ever do anything right? Your poor grandpa must be turning in his grave. Fuck, you idiot; you pea-brained useless fucking ned.’

He was crying when she stood, and for all of two seconds she didn’t give a toss.

‘I’m so, so sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean any of that.’

Did she though?

‘I really didn’t mean any of it. And whatever happens, I’ll keep you out of it, I promise.’

She ran right past Roddie and Adeela, who’d been waiting for her outside the court.

‘Gotta go, Adeela, thanks for everything. Roddie, come with me – quick – I’ll explain in the car.’

But she didn’t explain in the car. There was still a chance she might not need to. So she lied instead. ‘I was having a panic about Jack,’ she said. ‘I just need to check he’s okay.’

The service buzzer let them in, and Mary prayed as she took two steps at a time: Please God. Please God. Please God. She knew her prayers were no good – they never had been – when she saw the open door and heard a man talking. She ran inside Liam Macdowall’s flat and stopped dead in the hall. Jack was sitting at the dining table opposite Detective Sergeant Minnie Johnstone and a colleague Mary had never met. Her baby boy was sobbing.

He was under arrest, Minnie explained, for downloading abusive images. They were taking him into custody, and he’d appear in court tomorrow.

But Mary could explain. ‘Listen, Minnie, please. The images are Jimmy McKinley’s.’

‘What?’