‘There’s been a development.’ She made it sound like a case.

‘Couldn’t you be a bit more cryptic?’ he joked.

‘Sorry. Habit.’ Maya laughed. ‘We all assumed Dad was dead, but it seems he may be alive after all.’ She told him about the visits their mother reported to her residential home; the times Maya had thought someone was watching her; the battered iPhone that mysteriously appeared with a radio app installed. ‘I have a feeling the shit is about to hit the fan. I’ve sent fingerprints off for testing. From the mobile.’

‘And?’

Any response Maya was about to make was prevented by the loud voice of a tout as they passed an Indian restaurant. ‘Very good price, all fresh,’ the man said through a tired perma-smile. ‘Special menu,’ he said, pointing at the laminated double A4 sheet in the window.

Ahead, an enclosed brick bridge straddled the street. An eagle insignia lay above the word TRUMAN. Underneath this, it said, ‘A Black Eagle Brewery.’ A tall chimney rose high above the top of the bridge.

Maya tapped his arm and pointed at a restaurant on the corner of Woodseer Street. ‘See that place. City Spice. When we arrived here in 1982, the top floor of that corner building was our first home. No-one had double glazing then so even with the windows shut, the flat permanently smelled of hops being boiled.’ Her eyes shone as though the memory warmed her. ‘We had two rooms up in the eaves. One was an open plan living room and kitchen, and the other was the bedroom.’

‘One bedroom for five of you?’

‘Mum and Dad slept in the front room.’ She pointed at a small sash window which now had a container on the sill outside, filled with bobbing yellow tulips. ‘Jasmina, Sabbir and I slept in the bedroom at the side, and we shared an outside toilet with loads of other families. Jaz and I hated having to go downstairs in the dark, and out into the yard at the back.’ She shuddered. ‘A couple of times a week we’d go to the public baths to get a shower. Depressing to think that lots of people are still living in conditions like these, and worse.’

Dan was aware that Maya had used the interruption to dodge his question. She must’ve been going through hell these last few months. ‘Maya, the fingerprints. What did the lab find?’

‘I haven’t read the report yet.’ Her face was solemn. Haunted. ‘I was about to yesterday afternoon when some gobby Australian bloke rocked up and told me there was a fire.’

It was funny hearing Maya use an Aussie expression. It was also typical of her to deflect and make a joke to cover her pain. ‘That told me,’ he jested, feigning an offended face. ‘Tell you what. I’ll hold your hand later. You can open it then.’