He warmed his hands on the mug. “You don’t understand, Kate. This isn’t going to be solved by fingerprints and alibis. This is going to be solved by understanding people. The Old Bill, they didn’t know Moira. And they sure as hell don’t understand any of us. The people in this house, we don’t talk the same language as these cops. Not even Mr. Respectable Kevin. But you’re different. You live with Richard, you know this life. You can speak to them, make them open up like they won’t to the Old Bill.” It was a long speech for a man as close to the edge as Jett obviously was. He leaned back in his chair and squeezed his eyes shut.

“I don’t know, Jett. I’ve never had to investigate a murder before.”

His eyes opened abruptly and he stared at me, brows drawn down in a scowl. “Listen, Kate. To those cops, I’m just a piece of black shit. A rich piece, but still shit. Moira was just a junkie hooker to them. They’d love to pin this on me and walk away, because that would fit. I grew up in the Moss, I know how their minds work. I don’t trust them and they sure as hell won’t trust me. There’s only you between me and the nick, Kate, and I need your help to stay out of it.” His bottom lip thrust out defiantly.

I pushed my mug away and reached out for his hand. “OK, Jett. No promises, but I’ll give it my best shot.”

He clasped my hand in both of his. There were tears shining in his eyes. “That’s good enough for me.” A single tear trickled down his cheek and he brushed it away as impatiently as if it were a troublesome fly.

“What happened after I left?” I asked.

“They kept us all shut up together till gone four o’clock. Didn’t leave us alone for a minute, though. They had a kid copper keeping his ears open. That guy Jackson, he told me to say nothing about how I found her, or anything else. They all wanted to know, though,” he added bitterly.

“They’ll be hoping they can trip up the killer,” I explained. “You know, someone knowing more than they’re supposed to.” Amazing that the police still rely on that after they spent three years barking up the wrong tree on the Yorkshire Ripper investigation

“What time is it?” he asked incongruously.

I glanced at my watch. “Five to twelve.”

Jett got to his feet and swallowed most of his tea in a oner. “I told them all to be in the blue room at twelve. I knew you’d be here. You have an intuitive spirit. I knew you’d know I needed you.”