Liam rubbed his hands guiltily, as if he was implicated in his sisters' duplicity.

"No," he said, "they don't."

"Do you?"

"Yes, totally, completely."

"Why?"

"Because Una told you, because it's all too much of a coincidence and I know you've questioned it so often and arrived at the same conclusion every time."

"Do you believe me when I say I didn't kill Douglas?"

"Yeah, well, I know you're really hard, Maureen."

They grinned melancholically at one another. "And for fucksake," he said, "if you had done it you'd've told everyone by now."

Maureen stepped closer to him, until she could feel the warmth of his skin, and looked over his shoulder. "Liam?" she breathed, desperate for the right answer. "You don't think I could have done it and forgotten?"

Liam held her face in his hands and looked her in the eye. "You listen to me. There's nothing wrong with you."

"But maybe-"

"There's nothing wrong with you."

"Maybe… my memory…"

"Shut the fuck up. Listen, this isn't about Douglas at all, it's about them not wanting to believe you about Dad. I want you to stay the fuck away from them all."

"You want me to let this go?"

"Keep away from them," he said, strangely emphatic, and let go of her face. "Please. For awhile, anyway."

He walked round the car and slipped into the driver's seat. Maureen climbed into the passenger's side and shut the door behind her.

"I think they're all mental," said Liam.

"You're not just saying that to comfort me?"

"I am, a bit." He smiled, caught in fib. "But I know it happened."

"Which is more than I do," she said, heartsore with self-pity.

Liam put the keys in the ignition, pulled the choke and started the engine. "Thing is," he said, "you have to ask yourself what kind of arsehole would even question a memory like that."

Liam parked the car around the corner, out of view of the police station. They walked through the front doors, telling the policeman on the desk their names and who they were there to see.

Almost immediately a gang of four appeared at the top of the stairs. McEwan, Inness, Hugh McAskill and the Seedy Man. They seemed purposeful, certain, as though the outcome of the meeting was already set.

"We were just about to come and find you," said McEwan, letting them know who was in charge.

The Seedy Man said he was going to caution both of them at the same time. He recited it in a British Rail announcer's monotone. McEwan looked smug. He kept looking at Maureen, smiling inadvertently and looking away quickly, as if she would know what was making him smile if she saw it flourish. McAskill was standing three steps back from Inness and the Seedy Man, his hands in his pockets, his eyes darting around the lobby, avoiding Maureen. Liam looked at Maureen, he seemed worried. She meant to make an encouraging face but she couldn't stop thinking about Winnie and Marie and Una. She crumpled her chin and raised her eyebrows, looking blaming and distant.

The Seedy Man finished his recital and Liam shot Maureen an abortive smile. Inness took his arm, leading him away through the double doors on the ground floor. The Seedy Man followed them. Liam didn't look back at her: he walked off with his head bent to his chest like a man about to be taken to a place, there to be hanged by the neck until he was dead.

McEwan watched the door swing after them. "You want to watch the company you keep," he said.

"How do you mean?" she said innocently.

"Your brother and that Benny pal of yours."

"Benny?"

"He's got a record, didn't you know?" He pointed upstairs. "You know the way by now."

They walked up the first flight of stairs. "Naw," she said. "Benny's studying law, he couldn't get into uni if he had a record. You're mixing him up with someone else."

"It was a no pro," said McEwan.

"A what?"

"That means they didn't prosecute."

That made sense of it: he'd have been arrested for pissing up a close or something. "Not worth the hassle?"

"He was diverted."

"I don't know what that means either," she said, tired of his smug jargonizing manner.

"He got a psychiatric referral for alcoholism instead."

"Oh, right, I didn't know about that. We must look like a right bunch of nutters to you."

McEwan smiled enigmatically and opened the door to the interview room. Maureen sat down at the far side of the table and crossed her legs, swinging her foot in manic rhythmic kicks. Something important was about to happen and she couldn't concentrate for thinking about Winnie. They had been in such a hurry to caution both of them.

McAskill slipped into the seat next to the wall and started the tape recorder. McEwan took the outside chair.

"How are you, Maureen?" said McEwan, as if for the benefit of the tape.

"I'm fine, Joe," said Maureen, wishing he'd get to the fucking point. "How are you?" fine.

They paused and looked at each other. Joe McEwan was savoring the moment. Maureen shifted in her chair, sitting sideways and re-crossing her legs. "Are you going to ask me questions or are we going to sit here and look at each other all day?" she said.

"Yes," he said serenely. "I do have some questions to ask you. First, I want you to tell me, in as much detail as you can, what you did from nine in the morning until ten p.m. the day before Mr. Brady was found dead."

She repeated the story, telling him the details about the Pizza Pie Palace and Leslie again, wondering why they were asking about the evening. McEwan asked her if she was sure about a couple of the times she had given them and then sat back confidently, looking her up and down.

"Anything else?" she said rudely.

"Yes," he said. "A number of things. I want to talk to you about your harassment of Mrs. Carol Brady."

"My what?" Her voice was straining high. She made a mental note to calm down.

"Mrs. Brady told me that you'd contacted her and insisted that she meet you. She wouldn't be specific about the nature of the meeting-"

"It was lunch."

"I meant what was said."

"I'll tell you what was said." She sat forward. "Same thing as Elsbeth said-"

"And that's another thing," he interrupted, "stay away from her too."

"Look, they both approached me, I didn't go looking for either of them. You were there when Elsbeth asked me to wait and you gave bloody Carol Brady the address I was staying at."

"I most certainly did not."

"Well, she told me she got it from the police. Her assistant turned up at the door and nearly scared the living shit out of me." She was talking very fast, very angry.

McEwan looked at McAskill. McAskill looked confused and shook his head.

"We'll look into that," said McEwan.

"And you told her that my family were unsavory." She was glad to be on the offensive, glad she had something to pull him up about. "We're as savory as any other family in this city…" She sounded ridiculous.

"As I said," McEwan reiterated, "we'll look into it. If someone did give her the address it was against my express orders. Anyway, I made it perfectly clear I didn't want you to wait for Elsbeth. Why did you talk to either of them?"

"Look," she said, "I'm a failed Catholic woman, I feel guilty all the time anyway. I was shagging her husband and Carol Brady's son died in my living room. What the fuck am I going to do when they ask me to speak to them? Spit?"

McEwan warmed at the mention of Catholicism. McAskill didn't look up. He might be a Protestant. He might not give a shit. Maureen hoped it was the latter.

"When did Carol Brady approach you?" asked McEwan.

"Urn, Saturday night. She sent her assistant to Benny's to tell me I was having lunch with her the next day. I was freaked enough as it was. Those bloody journalists had been at my work-"