Eddie was already on the whisky. It seemed more like a habit, to numb the dullness of his life, than any attempt to get drunk. Jack got straight to the point.

“Who would you go to for fake passports? Not me, you understand, Eddie—you. Where would an old-timer like you go?”

“You in trouble, son?”

“I need to trace some people who’ve been around since your day. I don’t think they’d trust new blood—I think they’d dig up an old faithful.”

Suspicion crossed Eddie’s face and he sat down to stop himself jittering from foot to foot.

“You’re starting to sound like Old Bill,” he joked.

“I am,” said Jack, raising his chin and introducing himself—prematurely—as “Detective Sergeant Jack Warr.”

Eddie slammed his hands on the arms of his chair and attempted to leap up in indignation—although all he actually managed was a bunny-hop to the edge of the chair until his hips were far enough forward for him to throw himself into a standing position. The effect was somewhat spoiled by the time it took him to stand up, but he still managed to sound pissed off when he spoke.

“He’d be ashamed of you! You hear me? You come in here under false pretenses, get all cozy and then think I’m gonna spill the beans just ’cos you’re Harry’s boy? Get out and don’t come back. You ain’t welcome.”

According to the law, Jack knew he had to leave as Eddie had demanded. Ridley would have done it. But Ridley was a copper through and through and Jack . . . well, Jack was evolving into something else. As he frowned at Eddie and listened to the barrage of insults, Jack wanted to punch him. It dawned on him that Eddie wasn’t scared of Jack, the policeman—but he was scared of Jack, the son of Harry Rawlins.

Jack took a step forward and got in Eddie’s face.

“I am Harry Rawlins’s boy,” he whispered menacingly, and watched as fear flushed through Eddie’s face. “But I’m also Charlie Warr’s boy. And you know what that adds up to? The best of both worlds, Eddie. I know you and I know how to get to you. So, I want the names of any old-school forgers in London that are still alive, and that anyone would dare go to. If you give me names, I won’t take you in.”

Jack stepped forward again, forcing Eddie to shuffle backward until he toppled back onto his seat. He leaned his hands on the arms of Eddie’s chair and gave him one final nudge.

“Believe this, Eddie, Harry’s got nothing on me.”

The stench of Eddie’s whisky breath blew hot in Jack’s face, but he didn’t back off.

“They’ll all be dead now.” Eddie trembled as he spoke. “I can’t think of no one—I swear I can’t.”

Jack sat himself next to Eddie, just as he’d done when they flicked through the photo album together, and smiled.

“You take your time,” he told Eddie. “I’m going to make us both a nice cup of tea.”