Wexford called, ‘Come in,’ and Sergeant Willoughby first put his head round the door, then advanced a little sheepishly into the office. Behind him came Burden.

‘The young chap I saw driving that van last night, sir,’ said Willoughby, ‘I knew his face was familiar, I knew I’d seen him before. Anyway, I’ve remembered who he is. Tony Jasper, sir. I’m certain of it.’

‘And am I supposed to know who Tony Jasper is?’

Burden said quickly, ‘You know his brother. His brother’s Paddy Jasper.’

‘Paddy Jasper went up north.’

‘That’s what they said,’ said Burden, ‘and maybe he did, but his girl friend’s back living round here. You know Leilie Somers, he’s lived with her on and off for years, ever since she left Stowerton Secondary Modern when she was sixteen.’

‘D’you know where she’s living?’

‘In one of those flats over the shops in Roland Road,’ said Burden.

Roland Road was in Stowerton, running behind and parallel to the High Street. Wexford’s driver took him and Burden along the High Street to reach it and, looking out of the window, Wexford saw Pippa Bond’s mother walking along, shop-window-gazing and pushing a pram that was higher and grander than her daughter’s and of a rich dark green colour. Its occupant was presumably her grandson. Mrs Leighton was also dressed in dark green and her dyed hair looked redder than ever.

The car turned left, then right into Roland Road. The row of shops, eight of them, was surmounted by a squat upper floor of aimlessly peaked roofs and, on its façade, a useless adornment of green-painted studs and beams. The block had been put up at approximately the same period as Baron’s Keep, the time which Wexford called the Great Tudor Revival. He remarked to Burden that the whole face of urban and semi-rural Britain would have been changed immeasurably for the better if architects in the third and fourth decades of the century had revived the Georgian instead of the Elizabethan. Think of it, he said, long elegant sash windows instead of poky casements, columns instead of half-timbering and pediments instead of gables. Burden didn’t answer him. He had given a push to the door between the newsagent’s and the pet food shop, and it gave under his hand and swung inwards.

The passage was rather dark. At the foot of the stairs was a pram from which a young woman was lifting a baby. She turned round as the light fell on her and said:

‘Oh, hallo, I was just coming back to shut that. Were you wanting something?’

Burden was inspired. He said, remembering Leilie Somers’s character, guessing at her hopes and fears, ‘We’re looking for Mrs Jasper.’

The girl knew at once whom he meant. ‘Leilie’s door’s the one on the right at the top of the stairs.’ The baby on her hip, she parked the pram a little way down the passage, pulled and fastened the cover up over it.

‘Do you know if her husband’s at home?’