The atmosphere seemed flat when Anderson had gone as when he was around you could almost feel the energy he seemed to throw off like blown air.

‘Another drink, Frank?’

‘A very small one,’ he said, telling himself to bring a little stock of booze with him next time, the kid had little enough spare cash. He flicked through the sheets of the flip chart. Could it be one of them, he wondered, or one of those secret punters who might never now be traced, however hard they brainstormed? He sighed.

‘Thanks.’ He took the fresh drink she handed him. She seemed to be mutating before his eyes. It wasn’t just the hair and the make-up she was looking to, but also her clothes. She wore a crisp white square-neck top, lilac, narrow leg trousers and newish black mules. He sat with her on the sofa. It was obvious she’d loved working with them this evening.

‘Patsy, when the police searched Donna’s room after she’d gone missing they’d have been hoping to find letters, a diary. Especially a diary.’

She nodded. ‘That’s what Mr Benson said. We were there while they went through her things. They found nothing like that and they looked everywhere, even under the mattress. Her bed has drawers in the base, they took every single thing out.’

‘Did they look under the carpet?’

She shook her head. ‘It’s fitted. You can’t move it.’

‘There could just be a little part that’s loose. My granny used to keep a few tenners in an envelope in a place like that.’

‘I could take another look.’

‘Might be worth a try. Has anything been done with the place since?’

She shook her head, gave a slight grimace. ‘They’ve kept it exactly as it was. Like a … what’s the word?’

‘Shrine?’

She nodded. ‘I’ll have a scout round next time I’m there.’

‘Good girl.’

He got ready to go. He patted her arm, gave her a warm smile. She was searching for her own self-worth as hard as he was searching for Donna’s killer. And it seemed that Donna had had to die for the complex chain reaction to be triggered which could lead to Patsy being given a chance to live.

Later, Patsy couldn’t sleep for thinking about him. Three times he’d been here and would be here more, with Geoff, the men listening to what she had to say, so keen to use what little she knew. She’d never known anything like it. She wondered, could Crane be, could he possibly be, interested in her? She knew she wasn’t much of a looker, but neither was he, but what a bloke! He really seemed to like coming here, having a drink with her, and she didn’t think he was living with anyone, at least that was the feeling she had. Life had never seemed like it was now, and it was just since she’d met Frank.

SIX

Crane blended in with the women and scattering of men who waited to pick on up their children. As Liam Patterson only lived a couple of roads away, and it was summer, Crane hoped he took himself home. The boy came drifting across the playground with two others. ‘Liam? Liam Patterson? Could I have a word with you?’

He eyed Crane suspiciously. He was small but chunky, with spiky brown hair, a pink, downy face and a snub nose. ‘You think I’m getting in that car, pal, you’re out of your tree,’ he said in a piping voice. ‘We don’t go nowhere with strangers.’

Crane put on a friendly smile. ‘I’m not asking you to, Liam. I’m helping the police. About the lady in the reservoir.’

‘Not that again. Haven’t they nobbled anyone? The fuzz are rubbish.’

‘Couldn’t catch a fish in a bucket!’

‘Couldn’t catch a burglar with a wooden leg!’

‘Couldn’t catch a torcher with his pants on fire!’ The list of police inadequacy went on for some time. Crane waited patiently. At least the three seemed in no hurry to move on.

‘When you used to swim in the reservoir, how late would you stay?’

‘Listen, we need to split, mister—’

‘Ninety-nines all round if you answer a couple of questions.’ Glancing cautiously about him, Crane showed them the edge of a fiver.

‘You don’t want no change?’

‘It’s yours.’

‘You couldn’t make it a tenner?’

‘No.’

‘OK, man, a couple of questions.’

‘Swimming in the reservoir, how late would you stay?’

‘Till it started getting dusky. Till the funny men started hanging about, up on the other reservoir.’

‘Funny men?’

‘Queers,’ he said.

‘Poofters,’ said another.

‘Arse bandits,’ said the third.

They began to giggle.

‘Did any of these men talk to you boys?’

‘Only Ollie.’

‘Ollie?’

‘Ollie Stringer. He’s always around. He’d watch us swimming. Didn’t try nothing on though. Daren’t. We’d have had the Bill on him, no bother.’

‘The police have some uses then?’ But the blank stares reminded Crane that youngsters didn’t usually do irony. ‘What does he look like, this Ollie?’

‘Fat. Has glasses with no edges. Always wears a straw hat.’

‘Look … Liam, you went home when the light started going, but did you ever see the lady called Donna at Tanglewood with anyone when she was still alive?’

‘You said two questions, mister. This is about ten.’

‘That’s the last one,’ Crane said, giving the knowing urchin another warm smile. ‘Can you remember someone as pretty as the lady was with a bloke around there?’

‘Nah, she was just dead meat to me, buddy.’

Crane wondered which forbidden shocker he’d been watching, Goodfellas or Reservoir Dogs? But then the boy’s downy face became impassive in the afternoon sun and he wondered how many frightful, recurrent dreams he’d had about trawling the bottom of a murky sheet of water and getting hold of a handful of pale dead flesh.

‘Frank Crane.’

‘It’s Terry Jones, Frank. How are you doing?’

‘Nice to hear from you, Terry.’ It was too, DI Terry Jones had once been Crane’s boss when he’d been in the force.

‘Marvin Jackson. Ted tells me it’s time for some collar-feeling.’

‘I’m certain he’ll admit to the fancy guns. Otherwise he knows he’ll be a suspect for Donna’s death. She was definitely into him for money.’

He gave Jones the details of what had happened between Jones and his sister. ‘He’s scared shitless about any of that coming out. He knows he’s just got the one option.’

‘Bloody good effort, Frank. I’ve been in touch with Leicester, that’s where the guns were sold in a district auction. A go-between put them in the sale, then the gang bought them back themselves, cash down. It only cost them a small commission and then they’ve got a bona fide bill of sale to show private buyers they’re the legal owners.’

‘Clever stuff.’

‘No one can fix these things like Dougie. The police still haven’t nabbed the gear but they know damn fine who’s involved. If your friend Marvin coughs we’ll be able to establish a link between Dougie and the gang, and we should be in business.’

‘Glad I could help, Terry.’

‘Tell me, are you still working on the Jackson case?’

‘The Jacksons rehired me. I told them your people would be making a fresh start, but they’d not take no for an answer. I’ll not get under your feet.’

‘You never do. And as far as I’m concerned, the more brains involved in that particular can of worms the better. You must come for a bite of supper one night, Frank …’

Jones put down his phone. Christ, he wished Crane were back. There’d been big trouble. Crane had fixed some evidence against one of the most evil types the city had ever known. Top class lawyers had picked up on it, Crane was out. Jones sighed, turned back to the file on the antique guns. It hadn’t been just down to Crane, but also to Ted Benson, he was sure of it. He was sure too that Crane had taken the burn for the lot, as he was single and Benson had kids and a sick wife. That was the sort of bloke Crane was, apart from being the sharpest Jones had ever had on his team.