In this situation, it is easy to jump straight back in with an answer, but the Old Man would pounce on that. So they wait. Let the old man catch his breath. He’s clearly out of shape and they can smell the drink over the flat’s natural dog stench.

The larger detective, Paulson, explains to Old Levant that the police are not the same as the media. Journalists are pursuing one direction while the authorities are looking into other avenues. The newspapers are seeking blame.

‘We are working with the River Police and medical examiners to see if there is any kind of link between the victims. They may all be victims.’

He goes on to explain that Dinah Faige had crossed paths with Doctor Alden. He asks the old man whether Young Levant had ever been to that hospital, whether he had been treated by Alden, whether a relative had been to see her, whether he, himself, has any reason to visit that hospital. The detective asks what happened to Young Levant’s father. Did the kid have any money troubles or debts he was finding difficult to pay off? Did he have a girlfriend? An ex? Did he go to church? Was he member of any clubs? Had there been a change in his recent behaviour?

No. No. No. No. No. His dad was a deadbeat and disappeared. Not sure about debt but he lived a simple life. He has an ex, doesn’t everybody? No church. No clubs, he stayed in mostly. He seemed happier over the last couple of months.

The old man takes Paulson’s card. ‘In case you think of anything else that might be useful. You know how it works, right?’

Levant nods. He ushers them towards the door, eases them out, locks it behind them and returns to his office.

From the drawer in his desk, he takes out more string. He links Ungrateful to Doctor with a piece of yellow string. With the blue string he forms two lines. One between his nephew and the doctor, and the other between his nephew and the ungrateful woman everyone refers to as Dinah.

Then he looks through the box of items he took from the dead boy’s flat because he needs to find out who this ex-girlfriend was.

77

Detective Sergeant Pace sits at Chelsea Bridge, the monolithic power station looming ominously to his right, and he waits for the train to emerge opposite. When it pulls into view, he stands up. The train stops, as it always does, to allow another to leave the station. Pace walks to the edge and looks over at the black ripples beneath.

He looks left at the light that illuminated one of the jumpers. Just a boy. Mixed up in something he probably didn’t understand. It’s not his case but Pace has looked into it and there’s no way the kid was behind it.