The terrace of houses was surrounded by a stone wall with a door cut into the brickwork. Behind it, a path led to a set of steps up to the front door.

Pushing the creaking wooden door inwards, Lottie studied the two-storey house. Most of the pebble-dash had eroded over time, leaving bare cracked concrete to face the elements. A bush, branches bare, peeked out at the side of the chimney, while a satellite dish hung lopsided from a trail of wires on the other side.

‘Bit dilapidated for habitation, don’t you think?’ she said.

‘Donal O’Donnell lives alone. Maybe he hasn’t the money to relocate to somewhere, let’s say, more upmarket.’ Boyd quenched his cigarette and doubled up in a fit of coughing.

‘You okay?’ she said.

‘Think I’ve a bit of a cold.’

‘Keep it to yourself. It sounds more than a bit. My mother swears by honey and lemon.’

‘Your mother doesn’t swear.’

‘Piss off, Boyd.’

She pressed the doorbell and waited, blowing hot breath into her cupped hands. The door opened.

‘Donal O’Donnell?’ she said.

‘Yes. You must be Detective Inspector Parker. Come to the kitchen.’

He turned and made his way down the dark, narrow hall. Lottie raised an eyebrow at Boyd. He shook his head as if to say, what? But she’d recognised the man. From the nursing home. He’d been waiting to see Kane and then, up at the glass window, he’d placed a hand on her injured shoulder. She shivered.

‘You must be getting a cold now,’ Boyd whispered in her ear. She pulled away from him.

The O’Donnell brothers were seated at a table. The kitchen was dull and dusty and Lottie tried to pinpoint the sour smell. The floor had either been washed with a dirty mop or it hadn’t been washed in months.

‘Thanks for agreeing to speak with us,’ she said, and introduced Boyd. With the five of them in the small room, she began to feel claustrophobic. They all shook hands and sat down.

‘Is this about our sister?’ Cillian O’Donnell was tall and sleek. His black hair was brushed back behind his ears and his leather jacket covered what looked like a blue lambswool sweater, with the collar of a white shirt tight to his neck. When he’d stood to shake her hand, she noticed he was wearing jeans with the requisite tattered designer cuts at the knees.

His brother, on the other hand, had an unkempt appearance, more in line with the look of their father. His sweater sported holes in the sleeves and she was sure they were not there by design. His face was unshaven and his hair unwashed and scraggy.

She struggled to remember the question.

O’Donnell senior said, ‘My daughter. Are you here to tell us something about her?’

‘No, I’m sorry, I’ve no news on Lynn’s disappearance. We’re investigating the murder of a young woman. Her body was found on Tuesday morning in Ragmullin cemetery.’

Cillian shot out of his chair. ‘You got us here on false pretences. We thought you had word about Lynn.’

Finn said, ‘We know nothing about any murder.’

Lottie thought he’d had his nose broken at some stage in his life; the bone was crooked. His eyes were dark spots of intensity.

‘Please sit down and I’ll explain,’ she said.

‘Yes, explain yourself or I’m going to ask you both to leave,’ Donal said, nodding his head, agreeing with his own statement.

He appeared to have sunk into himself. He was probably once tall and striking, but a sense of loss pressed on his shoulders like a boulder, weighing him down. A striped shirt hung loose about his skeletal body, and his jaw bones almost jutted out through paper-thin skin. She noticed he continuously screwed his hands into each other, as if the motion could lessen the pain chewing up his heart.

‘First of all, I want to thank you, Cillian and Finn, for agreeing to meet us here with your father. It speeds things up greatly,’ she said. ‘The reason we wish to speak with you is that your names turned up on a list of people who jog around Rochfort Gardens at weekends.’

‘But I thought you said the girl was found dead in the graveyard?’ Cillian said. Was he taking on the role of spokesperson?

‘That’s true,’ Lottie said. ‘But we’re talking to anyone who might have known her. One line of inquiry is that she was stalked, perhaps while jogging.’

‘Well, you’re not pinning anything on my boys,’ Donal said, unfurling his hands to slap the table. ‘We have enough grief in this family without you dropping more like dog shit on our doorstep.’

‘I understand, Mr O’Donnell. We’re merely trying to build up a picture of the deceased.’

‘You’d do better to find out what happened to my daughter. Her mother went to her grave without any answers and I fear the same will happen to me.’

‘Now, Dad, don’t go all melancholic,’ Cillian said. He twisted in his chair and faced Lottie. ‘You’re right, Inspector. Finn and I run most weekends. Not together. We just happen to be there at the same time.’

Placing a photograph of Elizabeth on the table, Lottie watched for their reactions. Finn folded his arms after a quick glance, but Cillian pulled it towards him and studied it.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know her.’ He pushed the photo back across the table.

‘You sure? Take a closer look.’ Boyd leaned in and shoved the photo back again.

‘I told you, I’ve no idea who she is. There must be fifty or sixty people out there on a weekend. I go to run, not to admire the women. I’m a happily married man.’

‘Me too,’ Finn piped up. Was he destined to always be in his older brother’s shadow?

Lottie took out another photo. ‘Mollie Hunter. She is missing. Also took part in the weekend runs. Recognise her?’

Both men shook their heads. Remained silent. No other discernible reaction.

‘If that’s all?’ Donal rose from his chair, gingerly. He looked so wan, Lottie thought the man might be sick at any minute.

‘I’d love a cup of coffee, if you have it?’ she said. Why on earth had she said that?

Donal mumbled, ‘I’ve no groceries in. I was writing a list for Keelan. My daughter-in-law.’ He remained standing.

Lottie knew when she was being dismissed. She’d have to talk to the brothers individually. Not give them an opportunity to band together. But they had nothing to hide, had they? As she stood, she caught sight of the photograph on the dresser, a candle burning in front of it.

‘It’s a decade now, isn’t it?’ she said.

‘Ten years tomorrow.’ Donal picked up the frame and ran a finger down the face in the picture. ‘My pet never came home.’

‘She wasn’t in any kind of trouble at the time, was she? Any rows at home?’

‘What are you accusing me of?’ Donal slammed the photo down. The candle flickered and extinguished itself.

‘Nothing at all. I read the file and wondered if Lynn had maybe wanted to disappear. Make a new life for herself away from Ragmullin.’

‘Why would you even think that?’ Cillian now, standing beside his father. ‘What brings you to that conclusion?

‘It’s not a conclusion, just an observation.’ Lottie eyed Boyd for support, but of course he hadn’t read the file. ‘Had she a boyfriend?’

‘Boyfriend?’ Finn said, still seated at the table, his eyes dancing balls of intensity. ‘Did someone say something? Did you find out something that you didn’t tell us?’

‘No, no. There is no mention of it in the file. I just thought a beautiful young woman like Lynn might have been in a relationship.’

The temperature in the room appeared to have dropped at least ten degrees, and Lottie had an immediate urge to look through the rest of the house. Not just to escape the closeness of the three men, but to see if some clue had been overlooked ten years ago.

Back then, five adults had lived in this small house. Three men and two women. What had it been like? Cramped and full of hormones. Had they sat around this very table to eat meals as a close, happy family? Or was the tension she felt now even worse back then. Strings pulled so taut that eventually one snapped?

Donal said, ‘My daughter could have had any man in the world. Lads were knocking down my front door wanting to bring her out. But no. Lynn was a career woman. She wanted to work her way up the ladder, to the very top. And she wasn’t going to be held back by some snot-nosed Ragmullin tosser.’

‘Someone from Dublin, maybe? A lad at her office?’

‘My girl’s life was dissected by you lot. The only thing left unknown by the end of the investigation was her whereabouts.’

Lottie gazed over Donal’s shoulder at his two sons. They were standing on opposite sides of the table, glaring.

‘And neither of you ever saw Elizabeth Byrne or Mollie Hunter out running?’

‘Can’t remember everyone we see,’ Cillian said.

‘Is that a no?’

‘It’s all you’re getting. I’ll see you out, Inspector.’