He stepped away from the window. He swallowed hard and realised that his palms were clammy. He became aware of a bubbling noise and turned to the cooker, taking a spoon to stir his pasta, cursing when it stuck to the bottom of the pan. Whatever had just happened, he wanted no part of it. There was no helping her anyway. Jackson had seen enough people stabbed to know that the girl had no chance. Somebody else would find her and report it. She must have done something bad. Maybe it was debt. Maybe it was sex. Fact was, if you messed about with the Cotton brothers, you were nowhere close to being a nice girl. Playing with fire got you burned. It was a fact of life. But Tyrone had been part of it.

He ate his pasta, then went to pack his gym bag and left via the rear entrance. As he got his bike out of the lock-up downstairs, he heard screaming and assumed that somebody had found her. He looked at his watch: it was 6.15.

He cycled away.

In ten minutes, he was at the rendezvous point. He came to an abrupt halt when he spotted Tyrone, and thought about turning round, but then he saw his friend’s face. He took a quick glance around and was satisfied that they were alone.

‘What the fuck happened?’ he asked. Tyrone seemed smaller inside his hoody, his face half-hidden. Jackson had his hood up too: it was standard practice in case anything went down, and it just had.

‘You have to take this,’ Tyrone said. He handed Jackson a black bin liner. ‘Hide it.’

‘What the fuck? Mate, you OK? You look like shit.’

Tyrone looked scared and shocked, and well he might. Jackson was sure he hadn’t seen the hit coming: the girl was Tyrone’s, and he knew he’d never hurt her, but she’d clearly done something.

He didn’t let on what he’d seen. ‘What did you do?’

‘It’s not mine.’

‘Whose is it?’

Tyrone looked at him; he’d spent far too long there already. ‘Jason’s.’

Jackson looked behind his friend and saw the Cotton brothers sauntering towards them, faces, hands and heads covered. He saw no blood. It was Jason who spoke.

‘No questions, Guns.’

Jackson took the package and cycled away, not looking back. He threw a glance over his shoulder and noticed a camera situated on the corner of a building. He hoped it was damaged.

Chapter 11

Kelly was woken by her phone at 7.30 a.m. Johnny groaned next to her. She sprang out of bed, hoping that it was a new lead. No one would wake her unless it was something important. Maybe they’d discovered some CCTV. She answered the call. It was the duty officer at Eden House; they’d received a call from a local squad patrol attending the scene of a 999 call: a fatal stabbing on the Beacon Estate.