‘There isn’t much more to know,’ said Ross. ‘Two ruthless, highly organized East End gangs, like the Krays and the Richardsons, who’ve been at each other’s throats for years. Between them they control the local drug scene, prostitution and gambling, and run a protection racket that’s more efficient at collecting its weekly payments than the local council is with the rates. And even when we do manage to get one of them convicted and sent down, they’re like cockroaches: stamp on one and two more creep out from under the floorboards to take their place.’

‘Forgive me for being cynical,’ said Paul, ‘but do the public give a damn if these scum go on killing each other? Most people would be perfectly happy if they did our job for us and wiped each other out.’

‘That may well be the case, DS Adaja,’ said William. ‘But if they’re allowed to continue with their criminal activities, it won’t be long before the East End ends up as a no-go area for the police, as well as law-abiding citizens.’

‘I apologize,’ said Paul. ‘I should have thought it through.’

‘No need to apologize, DS Adaja,’ said Ross. ‘Although I was working undercover at the time, I was made aware of your memorable contribution during the Trojan Horse operation.’

The rest of the team burst out laughing, while William recalled that Ross had given him a black eye on that occasion, so that no one other than the commander would know he was still working undercover.

‘Could you brief us on your case, DS Roycroft,’ said William, once the laughter had died down.

‘Clive Pugh couldn’t be more different from the Roaches and the Abbotts,’ said Jackie. ‘Although he’s every bit as ruthless, he’s far more cunning. As far as the outside world is concerned, he was a law-abiding citizen who ticked all the right boxes. Married with two children, both university graduates, deputy manager of his local branch of Barclays Bank, and the local Rotary Club voted him businessman of the year.’

‘So who did he murder?’ asked Rebecca.

‘His wife of twenty-seven years, and just months after he’d taken out a million-pound insurance policy on her life, with himself as the sole beneficiary.’

‘How did he get away with it?’ asked Paul.

‘His story was that after he returned home from a Rotary Club meeting he found his wife hanging from a beam in the bathroom. He immediately called the police, who found a typewritten letter apologizing for what she’d done. It looked like an open-and-shut case of suicide, until the pathologist pointed out at the inquest that she’d been killed by a single blow to the head some time before she was strung up. The jury couldn’t make up their minds if he was guilty, and ended up hung, which was somewhat ironic.’

‘The judge was clearly convinced of Pugh’s guilt,’ said William, ‘because he immediately ordered a retrial. But it ended up being thrown out of court on a technicality long before the jury had a chance to deliver a verdict, so Pugh got away with it a second time. The investigating officer announced from the courtroom steps later that afternoon that the case was closed and the police wouldn’t be looking for any other suspects.