"No, I didn't-"

"You invited Douglas to the house and let him in. Your brother came to the house. Maybe he just meant to threaten Douglas, make him think seriously about leaving his wife, and it just went too far."

"Oh, fuck. You're so wrong. You've no idea."

"We'll call you in if we need to speak to you again," he said. "Thank you, Miss O'Donnell."

Maureen was surprised. She looked at McAskill but he was looking at the tape recorder, away from her. "What are you going to do to Liam?" she asked.

"We're not going to do anything to him, we're going to talk to him. Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

McEwan looked at her as if he knew something. He was bluffing.

"I can't think of anything," she said innocently. "Who's questioning Liam?"

"We'll go and speak to him now," said McEwan.

"Is it worth me waiting?"

"No." He stood, leaned across McAskill and pressed the Off button on the recorder.

As soon as the tape was off McEwan's face turned a livid shade of purple, swollen, throbbing veins suddenly visible on his temples.

He leaned close to her, so close she could smell the lemon tang of his aftershave. "Don't you ever speak to me like that again," he whispered.

McAskill stood up, keeping his eyes down, and put his hand on McEwan's chest as if moving him back so that he could get up from the table. But there was plenty of room behind his chair – he could have pushed it backward. He was holding McEwan back, he was reminding him not to.

Joe McEwan wouldn't be the best man to cross, she thought, not the best at all.

Maureen walked across town. She didn't notice the tall man walking a hundred yards behind, following, carefully keeping himself out of sight, varying the speed of his walk. He followed her along Bath Street and up Cathedral Street. He held back when she got to the well-lit cathedral forecourt, staying in the shadows and watching as she took the side entrance into the Albert Hospital. He waited for a few moments and skirted the bright forecourt, creeping into the lobby. The lift stopped at eight. He read the board. "Level eight – Dr. Louisa Wishart." He wrote it down in his notebook, checked the time and jotted that down too. He left the building and waited across the road for her to come out.

She locked herself into a toilet cubicle and smoked a furtive fag before going into reception and checking in with Mrs. Hardy. She was worried about setting off the smoke alarm and had to keep waving her fag about to dissipate the smoke. Fifteen thousand pounds. Siobhain said he had given her money to make himself feel better about the hospital: Maureen cast her mind back, trying to remember something about her stay in the Northern that was worth £15,000. And now they had Liam. Liam had never been in trouble with the police before. Joe McEwan seemed to have his heart set on him and, like Leslie said, the police don't have an infinite amount of time. She had known that they'd come for him eventually and she'd been fucking about, wasting time, idly guessing who did it.

She had a sudden urge to phone Leslie and ask her to come over and sit with her. She'd still be at work. Leslie had her own work to do and Maureen couldn't keep leaning on her.

She wondered about them asking about the evening: they'd seemed so sure it had happened during the day. Winnie leaped to mind. False memory syndrome, a get-out-of-jail-free for anyone who didn't fancy tuning in to the dark side.

Maureen walked into the office and smiled at the receptionist. "Hello, Mrs. Hardy," she said. "I think I might have missed an appointment last Wednesday."

"Yes, you did," said Mrs. Hardy. "We waited for you."

"I'm so sorry, it slipped my mind."

Mrs. Hardy smiled. "Don't worry, you're here now. I'll tell Louisa."

Maureen thanked her and went into the little waiting room. The eager man who always tried to speak to her was sitting on the edge of his usual chair. He had turned it sideways to face the door and called "Hello" the minute she stepped into the room. She ignored him and walked over to the window, propping her elbows on the high ledge, bending her head forward and shutting her eyes, thinking about Liam walking off through the double doors in the Stewart Street police station, his head low. She could feel the numbness coming over her.

She scratched the back of her neck slowly with her nails, ripping long, deep welts, trying to chase it away. Numbness is worse than pain: it's like a violent wasting disease when all connection with the outside world evaporates, nothing matters, nothing counts, nothing touches or entertains or surprises', even physical sensations feel distant and unreal. It's death without the paperwork.

Her neck felt wet. She stopped scratching and looked at her fingers. The tips of her nails were smeared with watery blood. She pulled the elastic band out of her hair and let her ponytail fall over her neck, covering the rips. She opened her eyes properly, looking out over the greening roof of the black medieval cathedral.

She thought of Siobhain and the numbness pulled back. Siobhain had seen Douglas at three-thirty that day. If they arrested Liam she could get Siobhain to talk to them as a last resort. They were asking about the nighttime. Maybe someone had seen something at night.

Mrs. Hardy called both of them over the intercom. Mr. McNeil was to come to the office and Ms. O'Donnell could go into Dr. Wishart's office now. Maureen turned and saw the wee man hurry out of the door. Bad day to get your nerve up, pal, she thought.

Louisa was sitting stiffly behind the desk. She pushed the newspaper across to Maureen.

"I've seen it," Maureen said.

"So your boyfriend Davie is really Douglas Brady?"

"Yeah. You can see why I couldn't tell you. I thought you might know him."

Louisa hummed and nodded.

Maureen told her how they had come to be involved with one another and described finding the body, how red everything was and how the police had treated her.

"The police came here," said Louisa.

It hadn't occurred to Maureen that the police might physically turn up at Louisa's office: she had thought perhaps they'd telephone an underling. If McEwan saw her notes he'd think she was a compulsive liar.

"Did they see my notes?"

"No," said Louisa. "They'd need a court order to see them and they didn't think it was that important. They asked me about you."

"What did they ask you?"

"They asked me if I thought you knew the difference between a lie and the truth."

"What did you say?"

"I said I thought you did."

They made meaningful eye contact for the first time ever. Maureen wondered if she knew she lied to her all the time. Louisa's line of sight slid sideways to an empty space by the door. Maureen thought it was her turn to speak. "Did they just come to see you the once?" she said.

"Yes, just once. Do you want to ask me anything else about it?"

"No," said Maureen. It was the longest conversation they had ever had. Louisa sat back.

"What else would you like to talk about today?" she said.

Louisa's blind protectiveness had touched Maureen and she gave her the after-mass rape dream as a thank-you gift. Louisa listened, and smiled happily at the end. They talked about the dream, trying to relate it to Douglas's death.

Maureen didn't want to bare her id, it was just a token gift. She said that her friend Ailish had fallen out with her boyfriend when she found out he was sleeping with her sister. Maureen had thought Ailish would have been more supportive of her during this difficult time but she wasn't being helpful at all.