The twins climbed into their white Rolls-Royce and drove away, oblivious of the stares of the other tenants in the road. They were sponsoring a boxing tournament for under-fourteens in Wapping, and were dressed up ready to have their photos taken for the local papers. They both looked the part: neat black suits, slicked-back hair and plain grey ties, their practised smiles coming now without any effort on their part. Big, powerful men, both physically and mentally.

They thought they were untouchable.

‘What time are you meeting Suzannah?’

Boysie shrugged.

‘About seven. I’m seeing her mum and dad tonight, about the wedding like.’

Danny laughed. ‘It seems funny, thinking of you married.’

Boysie laughed too. ‘I want a family, Danny Boy, a family and a nice house and a nice wife. A decent type of bird. I’ve had me eye on Suzannah since she was at school. She’s a good kid.’

‘Yeah, the emphasis on “kid”! She’ll wear you out, mate, before you know it you’ll be draped in nappies and smelling of piss and sick!’

Boysie rolled his eyes in ecstasy.

‘I can’t bleeding wait!’

Danny punched him on the arm, none too gently.

‘Well, just so you know and don’t get soft.’

Boysie stopped laughing and said seriously, ‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’

They had had a small confrontation and both knew it. Daniel wasn’t happy that his brother was marrying. It was like splitting them up. But he would allow it, as long as nothing else changed. Their business partnership would stay as it was, Boysie had confirmed that.

Detective Inspector Harry Limmington looked into the face of the man sitting opposite him in the interview room.

‘You’re going down for a twelve stretch, my son, and I’ll laugh my head off as they pass sentence.’

Larry Barker was rolling a cigarette and Limmington saw his hands shaking. He smiled to himself. He had him worried all right. Really worried. They had had him in the station for twenty-eight hours and he hadn’t slept once. He had been interrogated continuously, with only a cup of coffee now and again to relieve the pressure. He was ready to crack.

‘How many kids you got, Larry? Five, is it?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, Mr Limmington. Five boys.’

Limmington laughed scathingly. ‘Another crowd of fucking thugs growing up! What is it with you villains, why don’t you have many daughters?’

Larry lit his thin roll-up with trembling hands. ‘I don’t know, Mr Limmington.’

Limmington stood up and smashed a closed fist on to the table. “‘I don’t know, Mr Limmington. Yes, Mr Limmington.” I want results, boy, and I want them now! I’m losing me patience!’

With that he clubbed Barker a stinging blow across the side of the head, sending him flying off the wooden chair and on to the floor.