The photograph was in a filigreed silver frame. A younger, almost beautiful Lynette Drury – striking, certainly – lit up by the sun; beside her, a handsome, dark-haired man with a strong, almost aquiline nose and dark eyes that stared out while the rest of his face attempted a smile.

'That's what it was going to be,' Lynette said, 'the rest of our fucking lives. And no matter how… how filthy it all became, that was what I clung on to. The rest of my life in the fucking sun.'

Her nails were digging deep into Elder's arm, close to breaking the skin.

'Well, I'm not, am I? Not going fuckin' anywhere. I'm going to die here in this place with just a poof for company while him and Mallory are out there living the life of fucking Riley after all… after all the…'

A fresh fit of coughing doubled her forward and Elder prised her hand from his arm, then patted and rubbed her back, low below the shoulder blades. He thought Anton might reappear, but there was no sign; perhaps he was content to listen outside the door.

'Ben and I, we were living together. Not married, not official, but it had been a long time. I was running this place in Streatham, girls, you know, young, some of them, almost as young as they looked. That was when I met George Mallory. One of the girls, she had a bit of trouble with this punter. Went for him with a knife. Panicked. Next thing you knew, emergency services everywhere. Ambulance. Police. George was there. Promising to make it all go away. And he did. Only there's payback. Wants me to be his snout, doesn't he? No way, I tell him, I'm not turning Ben in, not for anyone, but he says no, that's not what he means. Play this right, and we all stand to gain. Your Ben, he knows what's going on, got his nose in the trough. Have a word with him, see what he says. So I do, and Ben says fine.

'Couple of months later there's this robbery, Hatton Garden. Diamonds. Big reward. Ben knows who took it down. He tells me, I tell George, they're caught cold, most of the stuff recovered. The Yard only passes on five grand to me, right? Reward money for giving the information leading to the arrest. George and me, we split it down the middle. Lovely. Six months later, more of the same. Next thing I know he's coming on to me. Wants to set me up in a flat somewhere. I told Ben, thinking he'll tell him to fuck right off, but instead he says, yes, why not? Not going to do us any harm, is it, you and me having someone like Mallory in our pockets?'

She stared out of the window, sipped more champagne.

'That's how it was, for years. Favours going back and forth. Little celebrations. Parties. Pop singers and second-rate movie stars. Yanks, some of them. Hollywood, you know. Rubbing up against real villains, loved that, didn't they? LSD, horse, cocaine. Boys and girls, all hand-picked, paid for. And George, he was in the thick of it, wasn't he? Lapping it up. Girls, especially; he liked girls, did George. Two or three at a time. Young girls. Not, you know, really young, he's not some bleeding paedophile. That kind of thing I won't go near it, won't touch it, makes my skin crawl, but young, you know, fifteen, sixteen, not been around the block too many times. In the end it all went too far. You don't want to know how and I'm not telling you. Not ever.'

Elder was about to ask anyway, but Lynette didn't give him the chance.

'Things settled back down,' she said. 'Went on pretty much as before. Ben got hooked up with Will Grant and they pulled off a couple of tasty scores. Tasty himself, Will Grant, I'll say that for him.' She gave Elder what would once have been a coquettish glance. 'Once or twice the law got too close and George had to straighten things out, make them go away. Then, a few years back, there was this big falling-out after they done this job at Gatwick. Law comes sniffing round, as per usual, and someone's only dropped Grant right in it, name and number, and of course he thinks I've grassed him up. Reckons George has persuaded me to roll him over. It's not true, not for a bloody moment, but Grant's not having any, real paranoid by now, thinks they're both out to stiff him of his share of almost a million, Ben and George both. Won't be persuaded. No way to turn him round. Oh, when the case fell apart and they all walked free, he let on it was okay, all pals again together, forgive and forget. But no, whatever trust there'd been had gone. George, especially. Always figured Grant for a loose cannon after that.'

She stubbed out her cigarette.

'Grant had threatened him, that was the problem. I know where the bodies are buried, George, remember that. Said he had something could put George inside for life.'

'You know what that something was?'

'Me? No, no idea. Just talk, more'n likely. But George, he believed him, I know that. I'd not often seen him worried, really worried, but that's what he was.'

'Worried enough to kill Grant if he got the chance?'

Lynette looked at him with her good eye. 'George would kill his own mother if he thought she might turn against him.'

Anton had come back into the room. 'Time for your nap before lunch.'

Lynette swore and smiled and brought the wheelchair back around. 'Nice to have met you, Frank. Come and see me again some time.'

'I'd like that.' He placed a card on which he'd written his London address and mobile number down on the arm of her chair.

'Lying bastard.'

Elder smiled and raised his glass.

46

Karen Shields and Mike Ramsden were gradually wearing Kennet down, chipping away at the carapace of half-truths and denials he'd constructed around himself, teasing out each incident in which he had broken into the flats or houses of various women living alone, some whom he knew well, others whom he scarcely knew at all. They persuaded him to talk, sometimes haltingly, sometimes, despite his own best interests, almost with relish, of the sexual life he had persuaded, cajoled, or bullied the women in his life to share: fantasies of forced sexual activity and rape which were often played out in public places where the risk of discovery added an extra frisson.

But on Maddy Birch's murder, they could not shake him. He remained adamant he was not involved. And as long as there was still no evidence, other than the circumstantial, to link him to the crime, they were stymied.

'Bastard keeps it up,' Ramsden said, 'he'll have me halfway believing he's telling the bloody truth.'

'About Maddy? Maybe he is.'

'You reckon?'

'In here, no. I think he's guilty as hell. But unless we can prove it, break him down…'

'Yeah.'

'We've got to find out what he was doing, Mike. The night she was killed. If he wasn't watching Jackie Chan and downing a few pints on the Holloway Road, what was he doing? Maybe he was drinking somewhere else? Somewhere closer to where Maddy was killed. Filling in the time till she was through with her yoga. Getting himself up for it, who knows? Let's have Lee and Paul back round the pubs with a photograph, Tottenham Lane, Crouch End, Hornsey Rise.'

'Okay.'

'And Mike, another thing. That story of his about getting up early the next morning to go to work – if he was, to all intents and purposes, still off on holiday, why was he going to work? And where?'

'Self-employed, isn't he? Work when you feel like it.'

'Even so. Let's nail it down.'

'That's a joke, right?'

'What?'

'Nail it down. Building. Kennet's job…'

'Mike?'

'Yes?'

'No time left for jokes.'

Attention to detail, Karen thought, check and double-check. That's what brought most cases to a satisfactory conclusion. That and sheer luck. She hoped their luck hadn't run out.

Meanwhile, the process by which Grant's assets would be claimed by the Crown had begun its slow and tortuous progress. His bank accounts had been traced and were being examined; the sale of his penthouse flat would eventually be negotiated. There were no records of him having had a safety deposit box.