I nodded. ‘And if you’re going to look inside a bag, you take a good bloody look, don’t you, Guv? Why is she protecting them?’

‘She was trying to save her own arse while not dropping them completely in it. She knows enough not to make herself the star prosecution witness. The Fosters would make her life a misery. So she’s playing dumb. Bethan Trott’s a hell of a lot smarter than she comes across,’ said Shep.

I was struck by a new twist. ‘Neither Karen nor Laura have an alibi now for that afternoon. We’ve got to get Laura in. Why the hell would she back her sister to the hilt when she knows she’s murdered someone?’

I thought back to Marion, all those banging doors. ‘My God, Guv.’

Shep looked at me, expectantly.

‘Have we got Laura’s fingerprints? We need to check the doors at the scene for her prints. She might be an accomplice.’

‘We’ve had no reason to take her prints, until now. Get it sorted, Lynch, you could be onto something there.’

‘Laura’s prints at the scene would make it watertight, against both of them, wouldn’t it? We could definitely charge them. Then it’s just a case of working out who they used as muscle.’

This must have been what Marion had been leading me to, from her very first visit: Laura’s prints on a door at the murder scene. Relief coursed through me so violently that it caused me to giggle. Within seconds, laughter infested every fibre of my being until tears streamed down my cheeks and I had to bend over to breathe.

Shep looked at me, bewildered: ‘Jesus, you’re not having another one of your funny turns, are you?’

Chapter 34

Church Road, London SW19

Friday, August 16, 1991; 19:00

I tried calling Gabby again, but her house phone was constantly engaged – probably off the hook. I reminded myself that I’d done nothing wrong, galvanised my pluck with three humongous Shirazs and made a pilgrimage to Church Road.

On the way, I realised I’d learned quite a few lessons since my last visit to SW19, about me, about Eve. The erstwhile love of my life now seemed self-obsessed, devious, a little unhinged – small wonder, after all she’d been through. I realised that I’d wasted the last three years of my life refusing to move on from her, from us. I’d been waiting for some sort of closure that would never come. As Fintan put it, I was still trying to save Eve Daly. Now I realised that the only person I could save was Donal Lynch, and there was work to be done.

I could put Eve behind me now, once and for all, move on with my life. That left me free to give Gabby one more go. After all, she seemed like everything I’d ever wanted in a companion: kind, smart, independent. She deserved better. I had to be a better man for her now.

I gave myself one last talking to and rang her doorbell. I couldn’t believe nobody was in, so pounded the knocker. After another minute, I tried the bell again. Finally a shape appeared behind the stained-glass panels.

Reluctantly, the door opened four inches to the face of an elderly man. I felt pissed suddenly, and confused.

‘What do you want?’ he barked.

‘Good evening. I was hoping to see Gabby.’

‘I’m afraid that’s not possible,’ he said, stiffening and taking a baby step forward. I felt like I was being faced down by Sophia out of the Golden Girls.

‘What’s the problem?’ I said.

He turned inside: ‘Richard, are you ready to dial the number?’

‘Ready, John,’ grunted Gabby’s rock’n’reefing flatmate Rick the Prick.

‘What number? Sorry, I really don’t understand what’s going on.’

‘Gabby no longer lives here. You have no reason to come round here. Do you understand?’

‘I’m not Dom Rogan,’ I laughed, ‘I’m Gabby’s policeman friend, Donal. Just ask her housemates.’

‘We know exactly who you are. Now … f – f-fuck off.’

I couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Sir, I don’t want to make any trouble. But I won’t leave until someone explains what’s going on. Please.’

Gabby materialised in the hallway. ‘It’s okay, Dad,’ she said, ‘I’ll talk to him.’

They shared a solemn nod, then Gabby stepped outside.

‘Just say the word, darling,’ said her dad, stepping inside the door.

She stood an unnatural distance from me, retaining that front door as an escape option. She looked at me with a mixture of confusion and betrayal, like a child I’d just slapped for no reason.

‘Gabby, what’s going on?’

She took a deep breath and eyed me with mild contempt: ‘When we got up yesterday, we found all our clothes cut up on the clothesline.’

‘Oh, Christ,’ I said, thinking: Dom’s back.

‘I called the police. Of course they couldn’t help. But they gave me a number to call if they turned up again.’

‘Why didn’t you call me?’

‘I did. I left a message on your home answerphone. I left a message at your work.’

‘I didn’t get those messages, Gabby. I’m sorry. I’ll get Dom charged for you this time, I promise.’

‘You promise?’ she smiled, turning her contempt on full beam. ‘That’s not all. Someone left a package this morning,’ she said, looking at me accusingly, ‘newspaper clippings about your friend stabbing some guy to death.’

Finally her tears burst through: ‘It was addressed to me. It totally freaked me out.’

She cried at the ground as I tried to figure out what the hell was going on.

‘I meant to tell you about Eve, I really did. But I thought I was never going to see her again. She turned up out of the blue.’

‘So now I’m going to be stalked by your ex as well, a demented murderer that you never even bothered telling me about. She could be watching us right now. I can’t stay here. I’m too scared to go to work. Everything’s fucked. Because of you.’

She glared at me through tears.

‘Gabby honestly, I don’t think any of this has anything to do with her. She’s not deranged. It’s got to be Dom.’

‘She’s not deranged? She stabbed a man in the balls during sex! I mean for God’s sake, Donal, how would Dom even know about her? How would he have got cuttings about her case? She sent them, to warn me off you.’

‘Gabby, it wasn’t her. I’ll prove to you that Dom’s behind the cuttings and the slashed clothes and, this time, I’ll get him out of your life once and for all.’

She stared at me now, her head shaking in disbelief.

‘You – let – me – down.’ Gabby enunciated every word with all the bile she could muster, turned and stormed back into the house.

This had to be the work of Dom Rogan. He’d followed me here last week. Or he’d found her new address another way. Dom worked for a bank so could pull anyone’s personal information at a stroke. He’d most likely checked me out too, discovered my connection to Eve Daly and sent the cuttings to Gabby to drive a fatal wedge between us. I couldn’t let him win. It was time for me and Dom to have it out.

I took the tube to Barbican near the city of London, stopped off at the Old Red Cow for a couple of sharpeners, then stomped to the brutalist block containing Dom’s swanky apartment, determined to scare the living shit out of him.

I pressed his number on the chrome intercom system violently and repeatedly, an avenging angel with no plans to pass. After the fifth or sixth thumb-grind, a shrill voice finally sounded.

‘What do you want?’ demanded the posh female.

‘I’m here to see Dom Rogan,’ I demanded, teeth clenched, pumped, ‘I need to speak to him right away.’

‘Who is this?’

‘A friend.’

‘If you’re a friend, then you’d know he’s not here anymore.’

‘Let’s just say I’m here to dispense some friendly advice.’

‘Well you’ll need to contact him at his new home.’

‘And where’s that?’

‘Cape Town.’

Chapter 35

Clapham Police Station, South London