“And prosecuting’s exactly what the WAM are daring us to do,” Kilmartin added.

“WAM… wait a minute. Oh, yes: the Women’s Action Movement.”

“The same bunch. They sound like bloody paratroops. A crowd of well-fed radicals and students and actresses from Dublin, never did a hand’s turn on a farm. They’re the ones that don’t eat meat and tell the bishops to eff off. Lesbians and what have you.”

“They’ve raised money for Mrs. Ryan already.” Minogue tried to divert him.

“Sure haven’t they plenty of it, isn’t that what I’m saying? All well-to-do. They’ll make a big thing out of this, so they will.”

Both policemen fell to reading paragraphs from the report again.

“… And see this here, page what is it, page seven, I have it marked, where she says, ‘Were it not for my children I would not have endured these years.’ ” Kilmartin paused. “I’ll never understand that. Fair enough, I say, but how were the children brought into the world in the first place, I say. It takes two to tango, amn’t I right?”

“Jimmy, have you ever heard of contraception? Can you remember back that far?” Minogue murmured.

Kilmartin who, like Minogue, was within five years of early retirement, affected to smile.

“Ah, you’re not one of those maniacs wanting to put any girl over the age of ten on the pill and turn the churches into bingo halls, are you? Sure, all a woman has to do is say no.”

“And if she says no but her husband has his way anyway, that’s rape then, isn’t it?”

“Here, hold on a minute,” Kilmartin temporized with his palms up as he worked on staunching Minogue’s attack of logic. “That’s not how things are done, Matt. That’s a grey area, I mean. There’s no plain and simple answers to this business.”