The first orange rays of dawn crested through a snowy horizon beyond the hospital walls while the nurse monitored Sean’s vital signs, as she’d done every twenty minutes for the last five hours. Contented that her patient was stable, she nodded to Lottie.

‘The doctor will be here in a minute, but Sean is doing fine.’ The nurse left.

Lottie kissed her son’s hand and forehead, and gently traced her finger over his eyes, telling him over and over she was sorry.

Watching the IV tube bleeding life into him, she counted each drop as it dripped downwards. One, two, three . . .

Sean’s eyelids fluttered. Lottie’s internal anger had caused her fingers to linger on his eyes. Removing her hand, as if it were scalded, she wondered how much longer could she go on causing her children pain.

The door opened. Boyd stood there wearing a navy cotton dressing gown, neatly tied around his narrow waist. His face, still bruised and pale, was grave. Lottie dipped her head and he was at her side.

‘You shouldn’t be in here. They’ll throw you out,’ she said.

‘Let them,’ he said, and gently kissed the top of her head. ‘Ugh, smoke.’

‘Feck off, Boyd,’ she sobbed.

‘It’s okay to cry.’ He rubbed her shoulder.

‘No, it’s not. I’ve failed him. Failed my son, my family. Jason too.’

‘You saved Sean.’

‘Yeah,’ she said, unable to screen the scorn from her voice, ‘but what about Jason? I should’ve figured it out sooner.’

He didn’t answer. She pushed him away.

‘You look terrible,’ she said.

‘So do you,’ he said, pointing to the wound on her arm. ‘The murderer, did he have a bruise and a limp?’

‘He does now. You better go.’

‘I’m getting out of here, anyway.’

‘What?’

‘You’ve too much to handle and I’m here like a spare prick watching soaps on the television. You need me.’

She didn’t object. She needed Boyd, even if he was like something out of The Walking Dead.

As the door closed behind Boyd, Lottie let her fingers linger for a moment on her son’s face before the nurse returned with the doctor and hustled her out.

Superintendent Corrigan paced the corridor, Lynch and Kirby behind him. No sign of Boyd.

‘Inspector Parker,’ Corrigan said, clamping a hand on her shoulder.

Lottie didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.

‘The bastard is barely alive and needs to go to the specialist burns unit in Dublin. He’ll have to wait until this snowstorm abates. Air ambulances are grounded,’ he said.

‘He’s still alive? Lottie asked, incredulously.

‘Prognosis is not good. Eighty per cent burns.’

‘Good,’ Lottie said. ‘And St Angela’s?’ She was avoiding the question she knew she must ask.

‘The fire was contained to the chapel. We’ll seal it off as a crime scene when the fire crew are done.’

‘Jason?’ she asked, eventually.

‘You know you were too late.’ Corrigan shook his head. ‘Feckin’ shit luck.’

Lottie swayed. She’d already known Jason was dead. Just needed it confirmed.

‘At least we have our murderer,’ Corrigan said.

‘I’m not so sure,’ she said, hesitantly. Hadn’t O’Brien told her he didn’t kill Susan or James or indeed Angelotti? He had no reason to lie. Especially as he had admitted to killing Father Cornelius Mohan.

Kirby steadied her as the Rickards appeared at the other end of the corridor. Corrigan moved toward them. Tom Rickard stared straight through her before taking Corrigan’s sympathetic handshake. Lottie allowed Kirby to steer her in the opposite direction.

‘Can I have a word, boss?’ Kirby said.

Leaning against the wall, Lottie nodded.

‘I know this isn’t a great time, but I have to tell you . . .’ he began.

‘Spit it out, Kirby.’

‘Moroney, the journalist . . .’

‘Go on.’ Somehow, she knew what he was going to say.

‘That stuff he reported about James Brown being a paedophile, well, I might have said something I shouldn’t have.’

‘Ah, Jesus, Kirby. What did you say?’

‘Moroney overheard a conversation about what we found in Brown’s house. He rang me for confirmation. We were up to our necks in reports and stuff, so I might have agreed with what he said, to get him off the phone.’

Lottie shook her head. At least now she knew the source of Moroney’s information. She had been wrong to suspect it might have been Lynch. Probably a genuine mistake on Kirby’s part. At least she hoped so. Deciding to let it go, she said, ‘Don’t let it happen again.’

Kirby exhaled and tapped his pocket for a cigar. ‘Thanks boss.’

‘And you did well with O’Brien.’ It was the closest she could come to a compliment in the circumstances. She watched Kirby stroll off down the corridor as Lynch joined her.

‘Sean? How’s he doing?’ she asked as they walked.

‘He’ll recover. In time,’ Lottie said.

Tom Rickard’s eyes. She didn’t want to see that look again any time soon. She’d found his son, like she’d said she would; but she’d failed him in the worst possible way.

Lynch said, ‘Kids always turn out fine.’

‘And what the hell does any of us know about it?’ Lottie muttered.

She kept on walking.