Limmington looked at the big, handsome man before him and couldn’t restrain a smile. He’d said he’d get them, he had promised himself that. But in the end the two Cavanagh boys had simply taken themselves out of circulation. They couldn’t hope to get away with this night’s work. No matter how many high-powered friends they possessed. He had witness statements, and he had fingerprints, bloody fingerprints from the knife blade. Daniel had given it to one of his men to dispose of. He should have done it immediately instead of leaving it in the back of his car. He had them all bang to rights. Soon he’d be visiting this house a second time, and then he would arrest the woman in front of him, standing with her hand held to her mouth and those deep green eyes wide with innocence. Well, she would have a murder charge on her and all.

Handcuffing an unprotesting Daniel, he took him out to the waiting car and they made their way back to the station. Briony watched the policemen leave. They had obviously been expecting a fight and they were disappointed.

Tommy took hold of her hand and held it tightly. Then, picking up the phone, he dialled. He would find out the score of last night’s work, see what he could do, if he could salvage anything.

It was two-thirty. By three o’clock he told Briony everything.

Suzy watched in disbelief as her husband was dragged, protesting from the house. Unlike Daniel, Boysie was not coming quietly. He was making a racket that woke up the whole street, and caused more than a few curtains to twitch. Looking at the large imposing house opposite his own, the owners two respectable doctors, Boysie shouted at the window: ‘Had your fucking look, have you? You nosy pair of bastards!’

Then, dragging his arms away from the policemen restraining him, he took a swing at the young uniformed man nearest him and caught him a stunning blow on the temple. The boy went down and Boysie kicked him in the head with slippered feet.

Standing in his drive, he looked around at the twenty other policemen. Fists clenched, he was ready for a fight.

‘Come on then, come on, you ponces. I dare you to come and take me.’

Then he laughed out loud, head back, teeth exposed.

‘Come on then, what’s the matter? Your mummies told you not to play with the naughty boys, did they?’

DI Canningfield shook his head in amazement. This boy was a lunatic. He should be put away where he belonged.

Boysie walked slowly down his drive, arms still up, fists still clenched.

‘Come on then ... What’s the fucking matter with you? You’ve got an audience, ain’t you? Show the public what hard nuts you are.’