“Can’t leave without seeing if he has what we’re looking for,” said Iris, running her hands through his coat. “Blast. Nothing that feels like a packet of letters. Here’s his billfold. Money still in it. And there’s his ident card. Nikolas Magoulias.”

“He’s Greek?”

“Well, it’s a Greek name,” said Iris. “British ident card, though. I wonder if it’s real.”

She lit up the man’s face again. Olive-complexioned, dark hair and mustache. Glistening eyes …

She reached down and closed them gently.

“I should leave pennies for the ferryman,” she whispered to him. “I’m sorry that I won’t be.”

She replaced his billfold in his coat pocket. Something glinted a few feet to her right. She turned her torch towards it.

“Look,” she said. “A dagger.”

“He was stabbed?”

“He was stabbed, certainly,” said Iris, shining her torch at the man’s stomach, which was covered with blood. “Several times. But not with that.”

“How can you tell?” asked Gwen.

“Look at the blade,” said Iris. “Whoever stabbed this fellow plunged his knife in to the hilt, and did it more than once. That dagger’s blade is only bloodied at the tip. Let me see—”

She slid her hands up his sleeves, then felt behind his neck.

“Yes,” she said. “There’s a sheath at his collar. The dagger must have been his. He was able to do some damage to his killer before he succumbed.”

“Should we be glad for that?” asked Gwen.

Iris stood and shone her light at the ground around the man. Something red and wet caught her eye.

“There,” she said, pointing to it. “A splash of blood. And another beyond it. The killer went that way, through that door.”

“Then I think we should go out this way,” said Gwen, reaching for the front door. Then she froze. “Iris. There’s a siren. And I think it’s getting closer.”

“Let’s take our chances with the killer, then,” said Iris. “Come on.”

Gwen stood anchored in place.

“We can’t just leave him,” she said. “It wouldn’t be right. There will be vermin.”

“Sirens, Gwen,” said Iris, coming forwards to grab her by the arm. “The police will find him.”

“What if they don’t?”

“I promise you that we will make an anonymous call at the first telephone box we find once we’re safely away,” said Iris. “Now, come on!”

She hauled Gwen to a small door by the large ones facing the Thames.

“Step to the side,” she instructed Gwen. “We don’t want to get any blood on your shoes.”

“We’ve disturbed a crime scene,” said Gwen.

“We have,” said Iris. “We’ve done many illegal things in a short space of time, and now we are going to run from the police like good criminals should.”

She opened the door and peered out, knife at the ready.

“The coast is clear,” she reported. “Follow me.”

They emerged onto a strip of dock, half of which had fallen into the water. Iris took a quick look. The blood trail went towards their right.