“No, no. I won’t be long.” Steph draped her coat over her lap and opened the file. “I was in the neighbourhood and thought you’d appreciate an update.”

“We would,” Rosie said. She and Jem had given statements to a detective from Major Crimes, but his visit had been brief, and he hadn’t divulged much information. “Being in here is like being stuck in a vacuum. Have you been keeping things out of the media?”

Steered back onto safer ground, Steph seemed to relax. “Yes, which has been relatively easy with the flooding dominating the news. We’ve worked around the clock with the TAU to round up the last of Fagin’s crew, and we think we’ve finally got them all.”

Rosie heard Jem catch her breath and took her hand without thinking. “How many were involved?”

“As of three a.m. this morning, we’ve arrested and charged seven adults,” Steph said, which went some way toward explaining her dishevelled state. “And you were right, Rosie.”

“I was?” Rosie bum-shuffled; the constant ache in her thigh was making it difficult for her to concentrate. “About what?”

“About Mrs. Galpin.” Steph took a photo from the file and passed it over. It was a custody suite mug shot of Frank Galpin’s mother, and if looks could kill, the photographer would have been six feet under by now. Gone was the fondant-fancies-toting old dear, replaced by a glowering, five-foot-three battleaxe.

“Wow, really?” Rosie peeked again at the image. “Fucking hell, she’s giving me the willies. Was she running the whole shebang, then?”

“It would appear so. Mrs. Fiona Galpin was identified by Tahlia Mansoor, who had seen her ordering Frank about at the main shelter, Olly’s. Only one of the other children we’ve spoken to was able to ID her. It seems her involvement was very much of a behind-the-scenes nature.”

“How many children have you found?” Jem asked. Her hand felt damp against Rosie’s, and her posture was as rigid as a board.

Steph checked her notes. “Eighteen at the last count. About half have been reunited with their families, and the remainder have been taken into care. They were scattered around five of Frank Galpin’s renovated houses, and I use the term ‘renovated’ very lightly. Olly’s was refurbished to a high standard, to lull the kids into a false sense of security, but the others were barely habitable and seem to have been selected for either their isolation or their lack of sober neighbours.”