‘Do you know anything about it?’

‘A lot of people round here think the wife did it.’ There was no self-consciousness to her statement.

‘How d’you know that?’

‘People talk.’ She shrugged dismissively.

‘Were you not a fan of Mrs Ulbiene?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know her. She came charging in here one day, screaming at me because she thought I was having an affair with her husband. Accusing me. Calling me all sorts of names. Can’t say I was too thrilled about that.’

‘What happened?’

‘I told her I’d never even spoken to him, but she wouldn’t believe me.’ She brushed some dust off a jacket and straightened another on a hanger. ‘Turned out he had some woman on the go and she’d got it into her head that it was me.’

‘How did you find that out?’

‘She came back in and apologised.’ Natassja’s expression was furtive. ‘I’ll give it to her. I felt right sorry for her. She was in pieces. Said she was pregnant.’

‘Did you get an idea of who the woman was?’ I was thinking about our UnSub in the fire.

‘No, but she knows. She said she’d found out who it was and confronted him.’ She paused. Seemed to reflect. ‘Poor cow. Her life can’t have been a barrel of laughs, living with him.’ She tapped her fingers on her chin, and I got the impression there was something else she wanted to say. ‘There was a journo in here earlier, asking all sorts. Said something about “blowing the story wide open”.’ She flashed an apologetic smile. ‘I’m really sorry. She caught me on the hop and I’d just had a double espresso. I think I told her a bit too much.’

I stifled a groan. ‘Who was it?’

‘The woman from the local paper. You’ll know her. Black hair. High heels.’

I opened the internet browser on my phone and pulled up the Stepney Gazette’s website. On the front page, posted twenty-one minutes ago, was a piece by Suzie James, with the headline: ‘SERIAL ADULTERER DIES IN FIRE – was the person with him one of his many mistresses?’

The article text went on to say:

‘With his pregnant wife out, local womaniser, Simas Gudelis, is thought to be the man who died in the arson at the old bagel shop yesterday . . . ’

‘Do you realise his wife is in hospital?’ I asked Natassja. ‘If she clicks on this website, thanks to you, she will read things that she doesn’t know and which may not be true.’ I made sure my eyes locked on hers while she absorbed my words. ‘If any more reporters ask you questions, please don’t tell them anything.’ Then, to Dan, I said, ‘Let’s go.’

*