Steph took out her notepad and flicked to a page full of neat handwriting. “A couple of hours ago, a woman called Paula was assaulted at the cafe she owns. Jem had told her about Olly’s, and it seems someone didn’t take too kindly to Paula asking questions of her customers. When she described the perps, Jem recognised one of them from a car crash she’d attended.”

Rosie raised an eyebrow at the coincidence. “Small world.”

“He has a rather conspicuous tattoo and, fortunately for us, an equally conspicuous vanity plate on his Range Rover. Jem remembered it because it was about the only thing damaged in the accident.” Steph turned her notepad and tapped a line written in all caps: “FGN1.”

“Fuck off.” Rosie let out an astonished laugh. “Did we just find our Fagin?”

Steph smiled back. “It would seem so. His full name is Frank Galpin, so I’m sure he finds the pseudonym ingenious. I’ve got the TAU heading to his address. If you’re done bagging and tagging here, do you fancy an afternoon doing likewise out in Droylsden?”

Rosie nodded and then caught hold of Steph’s arm. “Was Jem really okay?” she asked quietly.

“She was fine,” Steph said, for once choosing not to be an arsehole. “Ray’s with them now, taking statements. She said she was going back to work tomorrow.”

“That sounds about right. Thanks, Steph.”

Steph shrugged. “We’ll be leaving in ten. Get that clothing to SOCO and meet us outside.”

* * *

At the soft sound of approaching footsteps, Rosie closed the drawer she’d been rooting through and went to stand by the bedroom window. Mrs. Galpin, Frank Galpin’s elderly and very accommodating mother, had been plying the search team with brews since their arrival in her house, her generosity undiminished by the abrupt invasion of her privacy. According to the TAU sarge, she had requested that Galpin be allowed to put on a shirt and tie before they arrested him.

“Here you go, dear.” Mrs. Galpin placed a tray laden with coffee and fondant fancies on the dresser.

“Thank you,” Rosie said. “But please don’t feel you have to go to any trouble for us.”

Mrs. Galpin waved away her protest. “Nonsense, I know how hard you all work, and I’m sure we’ll have this misunderstanding cleared up in no time.”

Rosie busied herself adding milk to her coffee, stirring it for longer than necessary in the hope Mrs. Galpin would sense her discomfiture and leave her to squirm in peace.

“He’s never been in bother of any kind, you know,” Mrs. Galpin continued, as Rosie added a spoonful of sugar she didn’t even want. “He’s a good lad. He looks after me and holds down a full-time job.”