Joanna turned on her fiercely. ‘You don’t like him, do you, Aunt Mary? You never did. Because of that you want to believe that he’s somehow mixed up in this business. Well, I never will.’

The old woman turned away, suddenly looking her age and Frank Marlowe said, ‘Want me to come?’

Joanna shook her head. ‘Better not. Would you mind. hanging on till we get back?’

‘I’ll be here.’

Jack Morgan opened the door for her and as Joanna turned, her aunt made a final try, ‘Joanna,’ she said sharply. ‘You must listen to me. It’s for your own good. Think of your career. You can’t afford to get mixed up in the kind of scandal this could cause.’

Joanna ignored her completely. ‘Ready, Jack?’ she said and led the way out.

They didn’t talk during the drive to Bruno’s place, but when Morgan pulled in at the kerb and switched off the engine, she put a hand on his arm.

‘You’ve known Bruno a long time, Jack, longer than any of us. You don’t believe he could …’

‘Not a chance,’ he told her emphatically. ‘He’s a wild man, I’ll give you that, but I couldn’t accept the kind of suspicions Nick Miller obviously holds for a moment.’

‘That’s all I wanted to hear.’ She smiled her relief. ‘Now let’s go up and have a word with him.’

But they were wasting their time. There was no reply to their insistent knocking at Bruno’s door. After five minutes of fruitless effort, Morgan turned to her and said gently, ‘Better leave it for now, Joanna. He’s probably had enough for one night.’

She nodded wearily. ‘All right, Jack, take me home. We’ll try again in the morning. I’ll cancel my trip to London.’

On the other side of the door, Faulkner listened to the footsteps fade as they descended the stairs. His head was hurting again. My God, but it was hurting. He took a couple of the pills the doctor had given him, poured himself a large whisky and stood at the window and looked out into the night.

Rain spattered against the glass and he rested his aching forehead against it. But it didn’t help. Quite suddenly it was as if he was suffocating. Air, that’s what he needed – the cold air of night to drive away this terrible pain. He grabbed his trenchcoat and hat and let himself out quickly.

9

‘Last time I saw you in the ring was when you fought Terry Jones for the area title,’ Ma Crowther said. ‘I thought you had it in your pocket till he gave you that cut over the eye and the ref stopped the fight in the third.’