‘You should have thought about all this before you set up shop in that penthouse,’ she said.

Whitestone left. Edie followed her. But I stayed where I was as Madam Theresa reached across the table and once again I felt those long bony fingers digging into my arms.

‘Please,’ she said. ‘I never wanted you hurt. I never wanted those girls hurt. I did not want them pumped full of those disgusting drugs. I never did these things in the past. Ask your friend. Ask Ginger. It was that abomination and his paymasters. My son is blameless. And I’m begging you not to punish him too.’

I felt my elbow throbbing with pain, pulsing and straining against my skin, as if that hammer was still coming down and connecting with fragile flesh, blood and bone.

I shivered. Her hand felt as if it was seizing me from beyond the grave. I shook it off.

‘Why should I give a damn about your son?’ I said.

‘Because you are a parent too,’ she said.

33

I had been home for an hour when someone rang our bell down on Charterhouse Street. There was a tiny black-and-white screen by the intercom and the sight of DCI Whitestone jolted me. I buzzed her up, expecting her to tell me that the only thing she wanted from Madam Theresa now was to see her burn. But there was something else on her mind.

‘We want our dog back,’ Whitestone said.

‘His name is Dasher.’

‘We want Dasher back.’

I felt like shutting the door in her face. She had not asked about Dasher once. He was our dog now. I have no sympathy for anyone who gives up a dog, whatever the reason. But then I thought about all the time and money that someone else had lavished on Dasher, and of all the tests he had to pass, and the serious task that he had been trained for and I could not find it in me to send her away.

This wasn’t about Pat Whitestone. This was about her son.

‘You better come in.’

Whitestone had never been to my home before. She walked into our loft and stood there staring at all that empty space. That’s what everyone does when they see our place for the first time. A loft is like a cathedral. It is built to inspire awe.

‘Dasher’s being walked with our Stan. They’ll not be long.’

She nodded, still adjusting to the cavernous room. Mrs Murphy was laying out Scout’s school clothes and I introduced her to Whitestone, seeing her face fall as I told her why Whitestone was here.

Mrs Murphy blinked back the tears, briskly folding Scout’s freshly ironed school clothes as Whitestone wandered over to the window, her gaze drawn to the left and the great white dome of St Paul’s.

Scout came out of her room.