Jack explained that he wanted to ask Angela about the train robbery, even though he wasn’t expecting much, having read her original statement.

“I wasn’t there,” she explained. “I’d taken Kathleen’s kids away for the night. We got back early and The Grange was swarming with police. That’s the first I knew of it. Tea?”

“No, thank you. I’m all tea’d out.”

“Ask anything you like—but I’m going to keep going on these chairs. I’ve got a deadline!”

Jack asked question after question, most of which were answered with “I don’t know, I wasn’t there.” It struck him as interesting that none of the women from The Grange were remotely flustered by him showing up at their homes. Surely train robbers, even 24 years on, would be a little surprised and jumpy? He got no sense of tension from any of the women, and there was precious little evidence of unexplained wealth.

Angela’s flat was probably two- or three-bedroomed—the wall of photos showed numerous children, but they couldn’t have all fitted in there. A toy box in the corner of the lounge contained some boys’ stuff and some girls’ stuff, so Jack guessed that at least two kids lived here. He also guessed the rest must be extended family. As he looked around the walls he noticed, high on a shelf, far out of the reach of sticky young fingers, were two lone toys—a small, worn teddy bear and a bright yellow teething ring. Special memories being kept safe, he supposed.

The family feel of this place was oddly similar to Julia’s home, even though in other ways they were vastly different. The children in these photos had probably never known abuse, violence or anger.

Angela freely told Jack all about herself. She ran an upholstering business, earning money from family, friends and neighbors—she was bringing back the make-do-and-mend ethos in a “throwaway” society. Her husband, Rob, was doing the same with cars and bikes. Angela felt the need to digress for long enough to confirm that their businesses were legitimate and that they paid all their taxes. Unfortunately, seconds later, Irene from 36 came up to take photos of her newly covered dining chairs and took the opportunity to pay Angela in cash.

“Take it now, Ange, for God’s sake, or it’ll go straight back out on the 3:40 at Chepstow.”

Jack smiled as Angela squirmed, trying to work out what kind of a copper he was. He laughed.

“I’m not here for anything other than a little background on the train robbery.”

And to prove he wasn’t going to turn her in to HMRC, he accepted the cup of tea offered when he first arrived because, as every good cop knows, sharing tea breaks down barriers.

Jack and Angela talked for a further thirty minutes about the other women at The Grange, about the failed children’s home, about the death of Dolly Rawlins—and this final topic of conversation had a clear impact on Angela’s mood.

“From the very second Dolly saw me, she knew I needed her. She was this old woman—old to me back then—who could suss a person out as soon as look at them. I remember I said to her once about me and her being friends or something like that, and she said, ‘You don’t know me, darlin’. There’s lots to me no one ever knows. That’s how I survive.’ But I did know her. And she certainly knew me. I miss her.”