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private self-examination, fired no doubt by her ex-husband’s accusation the day before that she was, in some way, responsible for her son’s death.
    ‘Have you been given any word yet?’ I asked when I sat down.
    ‘Nothing,’ Caroline said. ‘But thanks for coming.’
    I waved away the comment. ‘How have you been since?’
    She glanced sideways at Simon before answering, ‘Fine.’
    ‘You’ve asked for blood tests,’ Simon said, his tone heavy with accusation.
    ‘That’s right. I’ve asked for toxicology tests,’ I said. ‘I want to check whether Peter had taken or been given something in the time prior to his disappearance.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘It’s standard practice, Simon.’
    ‘Don’t Simon me,’ he snapped. ‘You didn’t ask our permission.’
    ‘He asked me,’ Caroline said, though that was untrue. I had simply assumed that they would be agreeable to such a test being conducted. Besides, there was no legal requirement for me to ask their permission.
    ‘That’s right,’ I said, smiling lightly to show Caroline I appreciated her support.
    ‘There’s no need,’ Simon Williams continued. ‘He was allowed to go off the rails. She couldn’t keep a handle on him, didn’t discipline him.’
    ‘I’m familiar with your views on discipline, Mr Williams,’ I said.
    ‘What’s that meant to mean?’ he demanded, leaning forward in his seat, the table edge digging into his gut.
    ‘Stop it,’ Caroline snapped. ‘Both of you. Stop it.’
    Simon Williams glared at me and jerked his thumb in Caroline’s direction. ‘Ask her what he was doing out camping in the month of February.’
    Caroline looked at me, seeming to struggle with how best to answer his accusation and clearly questioning herself why she had allowed her son to spend his last night on earth in a tent at the latter stages of winter.
    ‘Look, I understand how you feel,’ I said, ‘but blaming someone won’t help Peter.’
    ‘You couldn’t understand how I feel,’ Simon Williams snapped. ‘He was my son. And he needed his father.’
    ‘His father didn’t want him,’ Caroline retorted, and I saw for the first time since her arrival a flash of the Caroline Williams I knew.
    ‘Watch your m—’ Simon Williams began, emphasizing his point with a single podgy finger, but he got no further for I gripped his wrist in my hand and slammed it against the tabletop.
    ‘Mind how you speak to her,’ I warned.
    ‘For God’s sake,’ Caroline snapped again. ‘Stop it, both of you,’ she added, pleadingly, before getting up and rushing from the table.
    I followed and caught up with her in the corridor.
    ‘I’m sorry he spoke to you in that way,’ I said, my hand on her arm.
    ‘I’m not fucking helpless, Ben,’ she said. ‘I don’t need you to stand up for me.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I thought—’
    ‘Stop saying sorry. And stop treating me like an invalid,’ she said, her voice rising to the point where it cracked a little on the final word.
    I took my hand from her arm and stood foolishly, as she rushed down the corridor and through the double doors at the far end.
    I called in to Letterkenny station, to meet Harry Patterson and update him on the state of the Kielty investigation, though my focus had shifted slightly with the discovery of Peter Williams’s body. Indeed, that was the first thing about which we spoke.
    ‘Bad news about Williams’s wee boy.’
    ‘It was fairly horrific,’ I said, shuddering involuntarily at the memory of Peter’s damaged face.
    ‘A fucking waste,’ Patterson said. ‘He was always a bit . . .’ He struggled to find the right word. ‘Sensitive,’ he concluded.
    ‘He had an abusive, neglectful father,’ I said levelly.
    ‘We all have our sob stories,’ Patterson said, belching lightly into his fist. ‘Doesn’t mean we all take a one-way flight off a clifftop, does it?’
    ‘It’s been assumed that he fell.’
    Patterson sniffed dismissively.
    My feelings must have