‘Not a chance,’ Grant said. ‘I kept tabs on her for at least a year after Ben went down the steps, just in case she started spending heavily and proved us wrong about that cash going up in flames. She never did. Worked as a waitress for most of the time, then got a job at one of Harry’s clubs. From then on she was in clover. He chased her for long enough, believe me, and she made him pay for the privilege.’

A car drew up behind them and a tall, ascetic-looking man in a dark overcoat, a University scarf wrapped around his neck, got out. He carried an old black bag in one hand and nodded to Grant in a familiar manner.

‘Can’t they pick a more convenient time, for God’s sake?’

‘Sorry, Professor,’ Grant said. ‘You’ll need gumboots for this one. They’ll let you have a pair inside.’

The Professor leaned over the rail and shuddered. ‘I see what you mean.’

He put down his bag and turned to the van and Grant took Nick by the arm and led him a few paces away. ‘I’ve been thinking. By a stroke of luck, Harry Faulkner can only be in one of two places. At the Flamingo or back at Headquarters waiting to see me about the Brady affair. That leaves Bella on her own. It might be an idea if you paid her a visit.’

‘What line shall I take?’

‘You can start by saying we need her to identify Garvald’s body. As his ex-wife she’s the nearest thing to next of kin he’s got.’

‘The news could hit her pretty hard. I got the impression she still had a soft spot for him.’

‘That’s what I’m counting on. See what her reaction is. If she breaks down, get to work on her straight away while the going’s good. No telling what you might come up with. You can take my car. If anything unusual happens, let me know by radio.’

He turned as the Professor emerged from the van in a pair of gumboots a size too large and Nick moved away quickly, glad to be going. At least this gave him something concrete to do that might conceivably lead somewhere.

Grant’s car was parked outside the gate in the alley and the driver sat behind the wheel smoking a cigarette. ‘The Superintendent’s staying here,’ Nick told him. ‘You can run me up to Harry Faulkner’s place in St Martin’s Wood.’

He reached for the door handle and the driver said: ‘What about the Yank, Sergeant? He’s been walking up and down the alley like a cat on hot bricks since you went in.’