Whitestone grinned. ‘But maybe it’s true. Maybe there’s nothing more you can tell me. And then there’s really nothing you can do for me.’

‘I want to help you!’

‘I’ve got you on trafficking, manslaughter and living on immoral earnings.’ Whitestone nodded at me. ‘And I’ve got you on the attempted murder of this detective. And you want to cooperate? I am going to watch you die inside with or without your lousy cooperation.’

‘I’ll tell you everything I know,’ Madam Theresa said, suddenly desperate. ‘Troy. The Grande-Synthe camp. The lorry drivers.’ I saw her hesitate. ‘And what happened to the women who left. But on one condition.’

Whitestone chuckled. ‘There are no conditions!’

‘Then I’ll tell you nothing.’

Whitestone smiled, shaking her head. ‘Let’s hear it.’

‘I have a son,’ Madam Theresa said. ‘He has … problems. There’s some money put aside. I don’t want the money confiscated. I want it to go to him.’

Whitestone laughed out loud. ‘Every old lag inside has children! Every low-life scum doing time has a son or a daughter who has to queue up to see Daddy or Mummy with all the other poor little sods whose parents got sent down! You should all think of those innocent little children before you buy the ticket.’

‘My son is not a child. He’s a man. And he’s in a home.’

‘A home?

‘My son is a long-term resident at Summerdale.’

‘Summerdale is a psychiatric hospital,’ I said. ‘How long has he been there?’

‘Always. Since he was a small boy. He has learning difficulties. And now he is a middle-aged man.’

‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘In the Sixties they called him backward.’ There was a lifetime of bitterness in the word. ‘They would have other names for it today. They would be more understanding today. But fifty years ago there was no understanding. Fifty years ago there was only fear and shame and contempt.’

Whitestone mockingly touched her heart.

‘So you did it all for your son! A tart with a heart of gold – my favourite criminal cliché.’ She headed for the door. ‘I am concluding this interview.’

‘I’m not asking for your sympathy,’ Madam Theresa said, her voice rising. ‘I will take what’s coming to me. But there’s a little money put aside. I want to make sure that my son is properly cared for. In return I will cooperate as fully as I possibly can.’

Whitestone laughed out loud, and I saw the chip of ice that had been in her heart ever since the night that someone ruined her son. Whitestone would have listened to Madam Theresa once, I thought. There was a time when she would not have so casually dismissed a villain begging in the name of their child. That time had gone.

Edie was shaking her head.