‘I’m asking the questions, Danny.’

The boy thought about it. ‘I dunno. A lot of girls hate other girls for completely random reasons. Maybe she dissed 1D or something.’

Winkler smiled. He would have shaken Danny Clarke’s hand if he didn’t suspect where it had been. Now he had something to tell the DCI that would prove to her that Lennon was heading off in the wrong direction again. OK, so he might not have any great leads of his own, but here was a chance to make Lennon look even more stupid and there was no way he wasn’t going to take it.

Chapter 35

Chapter 35
Patrick – Day 6

‘Here we are again,’ Patrick said.

Carmella craned her neck towards the tops of the tower blocks, where Adidas tops and Primark knickers flapped in the soft summer breeze. ‘At least when it all goes horribly wrong and we find ourselves living here, we’ll know our way around.’

They walked over to the building where they had encountered Martha and her dolls, just over a week ago. A group of teenage boys in sportswear and an emaciated girl in a belly top that showed off the tattoo that snaked around her midriff watched them from across the street. A young man with a Staffordshire terrier stood a little way apart from the group, also watching them, a sneer on his lips. Patrick recognised him: Jerome Smith, a small-time gangbanger who’d been up on a number of charges, none of which had stuck.

This morning, Patrick had taken Martha into an interview room, wishing dearly that he had a cold so he couldn’t smell her, the reek of layer upon layer of body odour and uncleaned teeth, mixed with cheap alcohol. She was barely coherent but, between rants, she told an interesting tale.

‘Them kids – the boy tried to take my baby – and now he’s living next door with his girlie-friend. I saw it, I saw it in a paper – someone’s been stealing children, and now they want mine.’ She screwed up her filthy face and hugged the doll she’d brought with her, kissing its scraggy head.

‘Can you describe these kids, Martha?’

‘Yeah, the girl is, whatchamacallit, half caste, and pretty. Very pretty. The boy, he’s . . . white. He’s tall and he’s got these little eyes that look right at you and make you feel like he’s stripping you naked.’ She gasped. ‘That’s what he wants. He wants to take my babies and then have his wicked way with me.’ She squeezed the baby so tightly that Patrick thought its head might pop off.

‘And how long have they been there?’

‘Since . . .’ The pause that followed was longer than the gap between Stone Roses albums. ‘Yesterday. But I saw them, them and their friends, that evil boy and that other pretty girl.’ She began to sob. ‘Please, sir, you have to help me.’