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Liam shrugged. Maybe it was just his suspicious mind.
    “Mr Carragher, I have some potentially bad news.”
    Carragher’s eyes widened and he lurched forward in his seat. “What? Have you found Eileen? Is she hurt?”
    The questions and reactions of an innocent man. They felt real. Ian Carragher hadn’t killed his wife after all, but did he know who had?
    Liam restarted more slowly; certain now that he was dealing with a widower not a murderer.
    “We’ve found a body.”
    “Is it Eileen? Is it?”
    Carragher’s voice was reaching screeching pitch and Liam tried to calm him down. “We don’t have an identification yet, Mr Carragher. It wasn’t possible. So we’re going to have to use DNA. Could I have something of your wife’s to compare? Her toothbrush or perhaps a comb?”
    But there was no calming the man opposite. “What do you mean it wasn’t possible? Either it looks like my wife or it doesn’t.”
    Carragher stood up so quickly that Liam recoiled, immediately preparing for an attack. But he merely rushed past Liam to the mantelpiece and lifted a picture of a couple, thrusting it in his face. It was Carragher and his wife. It was the first time Liam had seen Eileen Carragher’s face, other than as a mutilated corpse. She looked pleasant. A plump-faced woman wearing a floral dress and a smile. Nothing like the cadaver he’d seen earlier that day.
    Liam shook his head, not wanting to tell the man the full horror of their discovery.
    “I’m sorry, Mr Carragher. It isn’t possible to say that the body we’ve found resembles this lady.”
    Carragher screamed in Liam’s face. “So what makes you think this body has anything to do with Eileen at all? It could be anyone, but you come in here randomly, scaring the life out of me and asking for samples of DNA. You ought to be ashamed…”
    Liam let him rant for a moment then stood and placed his hands gently on Carragher’s shoulders, pressing him to sit down.
    “It isn’t a random visit, Mr Carragher, and I’ll tell you why. The reason we feel this might have something to do with your wife is because of where and how the body was found.”
    Carragher went to ask where, but Liam stilled him with a look.
    “I can’t tell you any more, sir. I’m sorry. Please just give me the samples I’ve asked for and then let me get someone to come and stay with you until we find some answers. Is there anyone you can call?”
    Carragher stared at the ground for so long that Liam thought he’d been struck dumb. Finally he whispered “My son, Ryan. He lives off the Ormeau Road.”
    “Good, give me his number. I’ll call him and explain, while you get those items for me.”
    Carragher motioned Liam towards an address book then stood slowly, heading for the bedroom with his energy seeping visibly away. Liam compared him to the cheerful man who’d answered the door and made the tea thirty minutes before, and shook his head for the thousandth time at the power of grief.
    ***
    Craig hung up the phone and pulled open his office door, walking out onto the squad-room floor. He really wanted to gaze out his window at the river, but he avoided it these days. Since he’d split with Julia it made him maudlin, the Lagan’s water too dark a place to go. He strode across to Davy’s desk.
    “Do you have a minute, Davy?”
    Davy spun round from his computer so quickly that his long hair caught in his mouth. As he pulled it out Craig noticed that his nails were unpainted these days. He stared at him more closely; something else was different as well. It took him a while to work out what it was and then finally he did; he was wearing a shirt and tie! Davy’s usual office attire was a T-shirt and jeans and always dark, but today he was wearing a white shirt, a red tie and if Craig wasn’t mistaken his trousers were part of a suit. His heart sank. It could only mean one thing; Davy had an interview. He kept his tone light and asked.
    “Are you leaving us, Davy?”
    Davy shot