‘A couple of planning officers from the council were there to assess the development of the block where the squat is. They’d seen the media coverage of the raid on the flat, so when they stumbled on Kenny’s van, they called in. As we suspected, it was dumped where the CCTV isn’t working.’

‘Bloody typical. They’ve let the place rot for years and now a kid’s been killed there, they decide to develop it.’ I swore under my breath. ‘Let’s hope they find some blood and dog hair in the van.’

‘Your wish has just come true. Dougie’s team are doing the forensic tests now. He says it’s a blood-bath in the back so I think that’s a given. The chassis number is registered to Hayes, so there’s no doubt it’s his.’

As I absorbed the news, my thoughts kept sliding back to motives. ‘Something’s not right, Jackie. We’ve missed something, I can feel it. Why would Kenny care about torching Rosa’s shop? Sure, they’re involved with LfA, but it’s hardly a high-profile property – even if the fire grabbed headlines, why start with the shop? What was in it for them?’ I began logging into HOLMES. Until— ‘Wait a minute. We’ve been looking at this wrong.’ I grabbed up my car keys and phone, and pulled my coat off the back of my chair.

Jackie was staring at me.

‘I’ve had an idea. If I’m right, it fills in the missing pieces.’ I checked the office clock. ‘I won’t be long.’

Curiosity was written all over Jackie’s face.

I was out of the incident room before she had time to ask where I was going or mutter about procedures.

*

Twenty-five minutes later, I was in the rear garden of Rosa Feldman’s newsagent’s. I watched the person I’d known since I was four tug handfuls of bindweed and brambles from the ground. The midday sun slanted on the panes of the shop’s first-floor windows.

Tomasz had his back to me and must’ve heard me approach as he spun round. ‘Hi,’ he said, and he lobbed the weeds onto a growing pile by the fence. ‘She needs a gardener. The constant up-keep is too much for her.’

For a moment, I caught a boyish look on his kind features.

‘D’you remember when we were kids, and I’d order stock for the shop when Dad was out? Mum would cover for me and tell Dad that she’d put the order through.’

‘The Black Jacks?’