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took cups and saucers from the cupboard.
    “I’ll do that,” said Byrne, gently taking the cups from her, and leading her back to the table. “You should sit down.”
    “Thank you.” Mary smiled gratefully.
    Faith leaned across the table and squeezed the older woman’s hand. “I want you to know that we’ll find who did this, no matter what it takes.”

10

“I’m exhausted,” said Byrne as they pulled into the Station.
    “I could do with an ice cold beer,” agreed Plunkett, loosening his tie.
    “The day’s not over yet.” Faith slammed the car door behind her. They headed straight for the incident room where the rest of the team waited for the debriefing on the day’s events.
    “Good evening, everyone.” Faith stood at the top of the room beside the whiteboard, eager to find out what her team had uncovered so far. “I know it’s late; traffic leaving Dublin was a nightmare. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can all go home, so let’s see what you’ve found.”
    “How did you get on with the Gleesons?” asked Kelly, trying to take control of the situation.
    Faith knew what he was doing. “We’ll get to that.” She swallowed her irritation as she turned to the whiteboard.
    Photos of Conor and Mary Gleeson had been pinned beside the photos of Amira, Daniel, and the girls. A photo of a woman had been pinned beside Amira. She had the same dark hair, sallow skin and brown eyes as Amira; the resemblance between the two was so striking that they could have been twins. “Who’s this?” Faith asked, noting the name under the photo: Layla al-Nin.
    “She’s Amira Gleeson’s sister,” said Nora. “We’re still trying to contact her; she’s at a medical conference in New York, so with the time difference it’s proving difficult to get in touch. Meanwhile, we’ve requested full access to the Gleesons’ social media accounts. Two mobile phones were retrieved from the car which should help us build a picture of who Amira and Daniel were talking to in the days leading up to their deaths.”
    “Are we boring you, Kelly?” Faith noticed his yawn.
    “No, not at all, boss,” he smirked. “I had a late night last night.”
    “Have you heard anything back from forensics?” she asked, not rising to the bait.
    “No fingerprints, other than those of the victims, have been found at the scene,” said Kelly. “There’s no CCTV in the forest, or in the roads leading up to it. Nearest CCTV footage is nine miles away in Killarney, which shows the Gleesons leaving the caravan park and taking the Ring of Kerry road out of town. We have no eyewitnesses, other than Lucy, who remains in a critical condition in hospital. She still hasn’t woken up from her medically induced coma. Officers are going door-to-door to see if anyone heard the shots. According to forensics, the killer is forensically aware; he left nothing behind that could be taken for a DNA sample.”
    “There has to be something,” insisted Faith. “There’s always something left behind.”
    “There was something,” said Kelly reluctantly, “R.I.P. was written in the mud.”
    Faith shivered. She could feel the blood drain from her face as she remembered the last time she had heard those words. “And you didn’t think to mention it?” she snapped.
    “I didn’t think it was particularly relevant.”
    “Particularly relevant?” Faith was incredulous. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “A reporter, forensics, or one of our officers could have written it.”
    “Or the killer?” Faith interrupted.
    “I doubt he hung around long enough to write R.I.P. in the mud,” said Kelly, his temper rising at her sharp tone. No one spoke to him like that and got away with it.
    “Who says the killer was male?” Faith couldn’t help herself. Kelly’s audacity made her blood boil.
    “Final reports from the scene aren’t back yet,” said Kelly, ignoring her question. “I’ll follow up with them in the morning. I’m sure