‘Yes?’

‘Wendy’s made an OnTarget connection to where Rose was found – “Room 365” is apparently the name of one of their songs. I’d never have figured that one out in a million years. Bright girl, that one.’

‘Hmm, well, I wouldn’t say that an encyclopedic knowledge of OnTarget’s back catalogue would normally be an asset in a PC’s skillset, but good on her.’

Patrick laughed. ‘I meant that she’s a bright girl, in general. I like her.’

‘She likes you too,’ Suzanne said, a trifle darkly, Patrick thought, puzzled. ‘Anyway, I’d better be heading off; I’m getting cold. Are you back in this afternoon?’

He nodded. ‘See you later, boss.’

‘See you, Pat. Good to bump into you. Say goodbye to your mum and Bonnie.’

She smiled again and set off, her blonde ponytail swinging on her back and her long legs stretching gracefully as she ran. Patrick couldn’t help but stare after her, watching the way her buttocks moved in the tight black Lycra. She had an amazing figure – she could pass for a teenager from behind, he thought.

‘Patrick!’ his mother called sharply.

‘Yes?’ He climbed slowly back over the fence into the playground and jumped into the sandpit with both feet, to make Bonnie laugh. She did laugh, but Mairead was fixing him with one of her Paddington stares.

‘I’m not as green as I’m cabbage-looking, you know,’ she said, sotto voce so that Bonnie couldn’t hear. ‘Would you care to tell me exactly what’s going on with you and that one, now?’

It wasn’t difficult for Patrick to arrange his features into an expression of horror and outrage – although what he was really horrified about was how easily his mother appeared to have read the situation.

‘Nothing, Mum,’ he said meekly. ‘I swear. We’re just work colleagues.’

‘And the rest, Patrick Martin Lennon. You watch yourself with that one. You’ve enough on your plate.’

‘I know I have,’ he said, but he couldn’t prevent a pang of misery stabbing him in the chest. So was that it, then? Having ‘enough on his plate’ meant that he was trapped in an unhappy marriage with Gill forever, with no hope of ever getting what he wanted out of a relationship?

The trouble was, he wasn’t entirely sure what it even was that he wanted anymore, or with whom.

He and his mother both watched Suzanne jog away in between the trees, until she shrank to a blonde dot and vanished.

It was the first time since Gill’s release that he had articulated, even to himself, that his marriage was unhappy.

As soon as Patrick got back to the station, the woman on reception said, ‘There’s a chap here to see you.’ She gestured towards the waiting area, where a bearded man in a corduroy jacket sat thumbing a smartphone. Graham Burns, the social media manager from Global Sounds. His trousers, Patrick noticed, were a few inches too short, displaying a pair of bright yellow socks.

Patrick strolled over. ‘Mr Burns.’

Burns looked up, startled. He jumped to his feet. ‘Detective. I think I’ve found something . . . interesting.’

Patrick led Burns to an interview room and asked him if he wanted a coffee.

‘Flat white, please.’

Patrick gave him a look.

‘Um . . . actually, don’t worry. I’m good. Yeah.’ He was carrying a mustard yellow satchel, which he rummaged inside, pulling out a sheaf of papers. ‘You remember you asked me if I could access the private messages Rose and Jess exchanged?’

Patrick nodded, trying not to look too eager.

‘Well . . . I could be fired for doing this, but . . . you’re not going to tell anyone, are you?’

Patrick couldn’t make that promise in case this evidence was ever needed in court, so said, ‘What did you find?’

Graham handed over the sheets of A4 paper and spoke as Patrick cast his eye over them. ‘These were sent last year, on the fifteenth of October.’

The first message was from Jess to Rose.

Hey, I saw you posting about Shawn, saying you didn’t believe he’d ever go with a groupie . . . Well, a friend of mine got picked out of the crowd at Wembley and met Shawn at a hotel!!!

As Patrick read, Burns pulled a cotton handkerchief out of his inside pocket, blowing his nose loudly.

Rose wrote back: OMG, no WAY!!! What happened? Did she have sex with him?! What was it like?

Jess replied: Get this: apparently, Shawn wanted to tie her up and smack her bum with a riding crop!!!

Rose replied with a row of smiley faces in various states of shock and alarm. Did she let him?!?!

Yeah. She said she couldn’t sit down for a week. But this is obvs TOP SECRET, OK?

Patrick looked up. ‘Is that it? Did they exchange any more messages?’

‘No, not that I could find. It’s possible there were more, but if they deleted them, they wouldn’t be stored anywhere. It’s pretty worrying stuff, isn’t it?’

‘I assume you know about Shawn and the young woman in Dublin.’

‘Yeah, I was aware of that . . . Part of my remit is to stop rumours spreading about the band on social media, to manage their reputation. So if any of this stuff ever got out . . .’

Patrick stood up and led Burns out past the reception area, thanking him and asking him not to talk to anyone about what he’d found.

‘Don’t worry, Detective. I won’t tell a soul.’

Patrick watched him go, bright yellow socks and all. Now he was keener than ever to talk to Shawn Barrett.

Chapter 27

Day 8 – Carmella

Roisin McGreevy visibly relaxed once they left the house, despite the presence of the little gang of staring boys in the cul-de-sac. She obviously found them far less scary than her mother. Carmella waited until they were out onto the main road, hoping her phone would continue to record clearly enough.

‘It must’ve been bad, to make you completely change the way you dress and look.’

Roisin’s lip trembled. ‘It was . . . I couldn’t believe what he wanted to do to me. What he did.’

‘Tell me. It’s OK. I’m not going to judge. You had a terrible ordeal.’

She took a deep breath. ‘His bodyguard came and got me after the show, then we – me and Shawn – got smuggled out into a limo with black windows. I was so excited at that point. He said we were going out to dinner. He was lovely. The car was lovely. We had drinks; it had a proper bar inside and everything. I couldn’t believe my luck. He was talking to me all romantic, telling me how beautiful I was and that. Then he goes, “Let’s just go back to my hotel so I can get my wallet.” So we stop off at The Merrion, in the back door ’cos there were fans outside, and next thing we’re in his room – some massive suite with a four-poster bed. I don’t know what we were drinking ’cos I didn’t really drink, even then – and I never drink now – but I started feeling woozy and kind of dreamy; the whole thing was like a dream. I wanted to take a photo of him, but he wouldn’t let me. Then he goes, “Why don’t we just lie down a little while before we go out? I’m pretty tired after that show. Let me jump in the shower.”’

Roisin swerved to avoid a large pile of dog poo on the pavement. She glanced up at Carmella.

‘You’re doing great, Roisin. This is so helpful, really. Go on.’

‘When he was in the shower I felt really tired, so I lay down on the bed. I think he must have given me something to make me sleepy. Next thing I know, he’s sitting astride me, naked, kissing me. It was nice at first, once I got over the shock of him suddenly being . . . on me. Although I was a bit scared because I’d never been with a boy before, not . . . properly. And he . . . he . . . didn’t look like a boy, you know what I mean? It was massive.’