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to the press.
    ‘Aye, do that. And remember to shave. Look, I’ve got to go. I’ve got to see the assistant commissioner. Remember, ten tomorrow.’ Bishop ended the call.
    McEvoy stared at the phone for a few seconds, shaking his head. Bishop could be a cold, calculating bastard when he wanted to be – which was just about all the time. He scrolled through his mobile’s phone book again and pressed connect.
    Three rings later a woman’s voice answered. ‘Hello?’
    ‘It’s me,’ McEvoy said matter-of-factly.
    ‘We heard the news bulletin,’ McEvoy’s sister said. ‘Don’t worry, I can look after her.’
    ‘Are you sure?’
    ‘Is there anyone else?’
    ‘I guess not,’ he conceded. Maggie’s family all lived down the country or abroad and her parents weren’t up to it in any case. His two brothers lived in London , one of his sisters in Cork and the other in Toronto . His parents were holed up in their cottage in Conemara. There was only Caroline in Dublin . Thankfully she was happy to help out. God knows what he would do otherwise.
    ‘Don’t worry. We’ll get a DVD if we get bored. You don’t mind if Jimmy comes over?’
    ‘No. No, that’s fine. Is she there?’
    ‘I’ll put you on now.’ He could hear her turn away from the phone. ‘Gemma, it’s your dad.’
    He heard her reply from upstairs. ‘Okay.’
    A few seconds later the extension phone was picked up.
    ‘Dad?’
    The other handset was switched off.
    ‘Hiya, pumpkin. You heard the news?’
    ‘Which one are you investigating,’ she said as if it were routine, ‘the burnt children or the woman in the Wicklow Mountains ?’
    ‘The woman in the mountains. I’m not going to get back until late tonight.’
    ‘Well, at least it’s not in Cork or somewhere. Have you had anything to eat?’ she asked, motherly.
    ‘I’ll get a Chinese on the way home.’
    ‘You need a proper meal,’ she warned. ‘We’ll put it in the fridge for you. You’ve got to look after yourself now that Mam’s gone.’
    ‘I know. I will,’ McEvoy promised, embarrassed that the roles had been reversed. ‘Look, I’ve got to go, the pathologist has arrived. I just wanted to check in. I’ll be back later on, okay? I love you.’
    ‘I love you too. And remember to drink something. You know how dehydrated you get when you’re working. You forget to drink.’
    He could hear Maggie in her voice. It was like she was speaking from beyond the grave.
    ‘I will, I will,’ he conceded, realising that all he’d had to drink since lunchtime was a cup of coffee.
    ‘And don’t smoke either,’ she chided him. ‘You’re giving up remember?’
    ‘All I’ve smoked all day is my plastic substitute.’ His hand curled round the packet of ten Silk Cut in his pocket and then let go. Maggie’s brand. ‘Look, Caroline’s going to stay with you until I get home,’ he said, trying to change the subject. ‘She said she might get a DVD . Nothing rated more than a 15, okay.’
    ‘Okay.’
    ‘And Jimmy might come over.’
    ‘She’s already asked.’
    ‘Right, well okay. Be good.’
    ‘As if I wouldn’t be.’ She ended the call.
    McEvoy stared down at his phone and then out the window. The sky was starting to darken. It was frightening how fast she’d grown up since Maggie’s death. Sometimes it was like she had become the ghost of her mother.
    He placed the plastic cigarette between his lips and sucked down a lungful of fresh air. He tried not to think about how much he wanted to open the packet nestled in his jacket pocket.
     
     
    Barney Plunkett looked up from the desk he was leaning over and ran a hand through his sandy hair as McEvoy approached. He scooped up the sheets on the table and held them out towards him. ‘Laura Schmidt, aged 19. Lived in Meols on the Wirral.’
    McEvoy took the sheets and looked down at the photo. The girl in the picture was wearing jeans and a pale pink blouse, pulling an ironic smile, pretending to be happy. Her face in