‘Did the woman have a kid with her?’ They were halfway up the flight of stairs now. Patrick’s chest burned. So much for the e-cigs making him healthier.

‘Yeah, that’s the bit I haven’t told you yet. They’re on the roof, the roof garden.’

Patrick ignored the burning in his chest and increased his pace, running up the steps, taking them two at a time. Carmella followed, her breathing much easier than his, and they left Len floundering behind.

By the time they reached the top, Patrick was swimming in sweat. He paused to call the station, pantingly checking that back-up was on its way. They went out onto the top floor and found a couple more security guards and a hotel assistant manager standing outside the door of the honeymoon suite, her face as white as the lilies that drooped in a vase beside the door. Her name badge read Elaine Flint.

‘Police.’

The hotel staff stood aside to let them into the room, which stank of blood and shit, plus the smell of gunpowder that always reminded Patrick of fireworks. The body on the floor was clearly that of a young man. He was wearing designer sports gear and pristine trainers. There was a dark, bloody hole where his face used to be, bits of brain and skull splattered on the lovely carpet. Patrick crouched and fished in the man’s pockets, pulling out a wallet containing a driving licence and about £300 in cash.

‘Jerome Smith. Shit.’

‘He found her before we did,’ Carmella said, shaking her head.

As soon as Georgia had told them about Jerome and his dog, Patrick had sent a couple of officers to his known address but he hadn’t been there.

Patrick recalled Georgia’s ruined face; he knew what a petty thug Jerome Smith was, suspected of multiple beatings and muggings. He still felt some pity, though, for this young man whose death would be celebrated by the residents of the Kennedy estate more than it was mourned. But it wasn’t a great deal of pity.

‘Don’t let anyone else in this room. Don’t touch anything.’

The assistant manager, Elaine, nodded.

‘There are more police and an ambulance on its way. I was told the woman who was staying here is on the roof with a child, a little girl?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Had anyone seen this little girl before?’

‘No,’ said Elaine. ‘We have no idea where she came from.’ Elaine was in her early thirties, pretty, with an immaculate blonde bob, but stress had added ten years to her face. Patrick suspected she would be off on long-term sick leave for quite some time after what she’d seen today.

‘She looks like that girl off the news, the missing one,’ one of the guards interjected. ‘Frankie.’

Patrick ignored him. ‘Would it be easy for someone to get a child into this room without anyone noticing?’