After numerous protestations, Boyd agreed to cover for her.

‘It’s only until tomorrow,’ Lottie said.

‘I shouldn’t—’

‘Thanks Boyd. I knew I could count on you.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘If asked, I’m searching the victims’ homes again. Following up clues. Talking to suspects.’

‘What suspects? What clues?’

‘Is there an echo in here?’ Lottie cupped her ear. ‘You’ll think of something.’

If Father Joe had found something worthwhile, she was in the clear, but Corrigan would probably suspend her anyway once he found out she had disobeyed his orders. Then again, he hadn’t categorically said no. Had he? Feck him.

Back at home, Lottie emptied Sean’s school rucksack, stacked his books on top of the drier and ran upstairs to find clean clothes. Dragging shirts and sweaters from hangers, she watched the pile grow into a leaning tower on the bed.

‘What are you doing?’ Chloe asked, standing in the doorway, still in her pyjamas.

‘I’m going to Rome. Work stuff. I rang your grandmother to stay the night.’

‘What? Ah no.’

‘I know, I know,’ Lottie said. ‘But I need to be sure you’re all safe.’ She held a red satin blouse up to her chest, looking for approval.

The sixteen year old scrunched up her nose and shook her head.

‘Let me have a look,’ she said. ‘What do you need?’

‘Something nice and clean.’

From the heap, Chloe extracted a cream silk blouse with tiny buttons, a strap top and a pair of dark brown jeans.

‘What do you think?’ Chloe asked. ‘They’ll go with your Uggs.’

‘Perfect,’ said Lottie. ‘Will you fold them into the bag? You know what I’m like.’

She searched through her clothes, found a navy long-sleeved T-shirt and changed into it. Checked her jeans were presentable and decided they’d have to do.

‘Some day, I’m going to burn those T-shirts,’ Chloe said.

‘They’re comfortable. I’m not so sure about that blouse though.’

‘It’s stunning. You should try harder. You might catch a nice man,’ Chloe said.

Lottie stared at her daughter, eyebrows raised.

‘Where did that come from?’

‘You need to go out to nice places and meet people. You’re too young to be single for the rest of your life. I know Dad would want you to be with someone.’ Chloe picked up a small tub of moisturiser from the dressing table. ‘I’ll get a clear freezer bag for this. For security, at the airport.’

Lottie watched her daughter leave the room. It had never occurred to her that her children might want her to meet someone new. After all they’d gone through with Adam’s illness, they continued to surprise her.

Sitting on the bed, she contemplated her desecrated wardrobe. Noticing a thick knitted sweater on the top shelf, she leapt up and tugged it down. Adam’s fishing sweater. Holding it to her nose, she craved a trace of him but she knew it’d been obliterated by the wash. His unique smell, clinging to his clothes, had been the only physical thing remaining before Rose Fitzpatrick had thrown everything into the washing machine last summer, complaining about moths. The rift that had been festering boiled over that day. Lottie had lost it with her mother, banished her from the house and cried into the basket of damp clothes. It wasn’t her mother’s fault, deep down she knew that, but she had felt violated. All she had been left with was an overwhelming sense of loss.

She clutched her little piece of Adam’s memory tightly to her chest before folding it and stuffing it back on the shelf. She would have to make up with her mother. Soon.

Chloe returned with a clear plastic bag, threw in the jar of moisturiser and placed it at the top of the rucksack.

‘Have you packed a change of underwear?’ Chloe asked.

Lottie rummaged in a drawer, pulled out a bra and knickers, shoved them into the bag.

‘What would I do without you, Chloe Parker?’

‘I really don’t know, Mother,’ Chloe said, shaking her head with a laugh.

‘Granny will be here soon.’

‘I suppose we can suffer her for one night.’

‘Just one thing. Keep an eye on Katie. She was upset last night. And, no fighting.’

Chloe rolled her eyes.

‘It’s always about Katie. What about me and Sean?’

‘I know I can count on you. Please?’

‘Sure,’ the girl said. ‘I promise not to kill Katie, at least not until you get back. You watch out for those Italian stallions.’

Lottie gave Chloe a tight squeeze and a kiss on the forehead and went to say goodbye to her other two children.

‘Any word from Jason?’ she asked Katie.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m going round our friends’ houses in a while, to see if I can find out anything.’

‘Don’t be fretting,’ Lottie said. ‘He probably smoked too much weed and conked out.’

‘Mam!’

‘And when I get back we’re going to talk horticulture,’ Lottie said.

‘What?’

‘How to get rid of weeds.’

Katie smiled. Lottie hugged her.

Sean was standing at the door.

‘When can I get that new PlayStation?’

Lottie closed her front door just after eleven a.m. Boyd was leaning against his car. He took the bag from her shoulder.

‘I’ll drive,’ he said, getting into his own car.

‘I don’t want any sermons,’ Lottie said, sitting in beside him.

‘And I don’t understand what’s got into you,’ he said, reversing the car. ‘Okay. I’ll say nothing about it. Have you eaten?’

She shook her head. He leaned over, took a bar of chocolate from the glove compartment and threw it on her lap.

Boyd concentrated on driving on the icy roads and they travelled in silence, reaching the airport in fifty minutes despite the weather. He parked in a set-down bay outside Departures. She hustled the rucksack to her knee.

‘If I’m wrong about this, so be it. But I owe it to the victims to find out anything I can.’

‘It’s career suicide, you know that. You shouldn’t go,’ he said.

‘Watch me,’ she said.

As straight as she could, Lottie walked through the glass doors, her stride carrying her with a sense of vague purpose – probably because she hadn’t a clue what she was doing.

Boyd drove back to Ragmullin without dispelling his anger. He sat down at Lottie’s desk wondering how she was going to get herself out of this mess. However much of a maverick she was, this was crossing the line.

The office seemed hollow without her. Like his heart. He picked up her coffee mug. Untidy Lottie. As he got up, he touched the old file on her desk. She guarded it like a state secret. He’d never been bothered with it before. Now, though, his interest piqued, he opened the cover.

The boy in the photograph had an impish twist to his lips, as if he was contemplating what mischief he could get up to next. Boyd read quickly. Incarcerated in St Angela’s. Reported missing by his mother when the authorities at the institution informed her that he had absconded. He looked at the boy’s name again. Immediately he knew why the file and the missing boy were so important to Lottie. Why hadn’t she trusted him enough to tell him? Did their friendship count for nothing?

He continued to read and, when he had finished, Boyd wondered if he really knew anything at all about Lottie Parker.