“Where are the Guards when you need them, I’d like to know. I think they’ve given up, that’s what I think. They don’t care, do they.”

“What Guards?”

The Jack Russell strained at the leash again. He yanked on the strap. The dog stood on its hind legs.

“God and it’s still so hot out,” she said. She pulled on his arm. She was smiling, he saw.

“Joey. Remember you used to go for a swim here? You and Tom and Ernie and the lads. God be with the days. Do you remember?”

He hated her asking questions like that. He could still make out the matte of weeds and scum on the surface. The bark startled him. Timmy had moved between Mary and him. The terrier had planted his front paws on the stone anchors for the railings and was staring at the canal bank. He drew hard on the leash. The dog braced its legs and barked again.

“Now Timmy! Give over.”

He tugged but the dog still pulled back. A rat, he thought. That’s all they needed.

“Come on now, boy. Go after them another day. Come on.”

A car raced past with a thumping sound pouring out its windows. Joey Byrne pulled the dog away from the railings. He didn’t turn to his wife when he spoke.

“Come on, Mary, we’ll be off home. Before the bloody vampires are out in force.”

The detective crouched and drew out a pistol.

“Oh, here we go,” murmured Kilmartin. “Out comes the shooter. About time too.”

The detective was a woman. She was dressed in dark clothes. She had chased the suspect who had shot her partner into a poorly lit alleyway.

“Here, Molly,” said Kilmartin. “What do you think of that?”

Detective Thomas Malone cleared his throat.

“She’s got all the moves,” he said. “I think she’s going to come out of it all right.”