‘Oh God, I can’t breathe.’ Sharon was on the verge of hyperventilating. Her chest flushed pink and she repeated half-sentences as she slumped back in her chair. This wasn’t the worst of it, though. Kelly knew that that would come after all the police, investigators, doctors, specialists and support officers had packed up and gone home, leaving the real grief to begin: the sorrow in the middle of the night that lurked in every thought and every face. The torture of losing a loved one through violence never stopped.

‘Can I see her? Where is she?’ Sharon appealed to the two officers.

‘Do you think you’d be able to make a formal identification as her next of kin, Sharon? It would be at the hospital. At the moment, our inquiries are live and ongoing, and we need to gather evidence from people who might have seen anything.’

‘You mean she was taken to hospital?’

‘She died in the street, Sharon. I’m sorry. She passed away before the ambulance arrived.’

‘I heard it! I thought it was the police. Any time there’s trouble, I don’t even look out the window. I could have…’

Kelly gave Sharon time. Then she continued to push little by little. She had to form a picture of Keira.

‘How well do you know your neighbours?’

The woman reached for a handkerchief from the sleeve of her cardigan and blew her nose.

‘I want to see her. I want to hold my baby. The neighbours? Why?’

‘I know, Sharon. I’ll make arrangements for you to see her as soon as possible. I’m asking because we’re having trouble finding anyone who heard or saw anything like an argument or a mugging, or something of that nature. You mentioned a boyfriend?’

‘Ding Dong, Dinger, something like that. He’s bad news. Not a bad lad, but mixes with the wrong ’uns. No fucking surprise that no one’s talking to you. You’re hated round here.’

‘I know.’

‘You wait till I get hold of some of those kids who skate up and down and smoke their drugs. I’ll collar ’em. You wait, I’ll get a fucking queue of ’em to talk to you.’

They sat in silence. Kelly took stock of the woman in a fresh light, given her emerging grit. She no longer looked as unwell as she had when they first saw her. Sharon Bradley’s hackles were up, and it gave her guts.

‘Did she suffer?’ Her voice was quiet.

‘The medic told me that it was quick. The weapon hit a major artery. She would have lost consciousness almost immediately.’

Sharon wiped her eyes, then stood up suddenly. Kelly watched as she paced up and down. She didn’t use the stick.

‘Little fuckers!’ she exclaimed, rushing to the front door. She picked up the cane and went outside, screaming at the top of her voice. ‘You little bastards! You fucking butchers!’