‘I have been trying to contact you for a while now, Michael. I heard about your Jessie going missing, and I heard you were looking for information about her.’

Michael immediately sat forward in his armchair, he knew this woman wouldn’t have asked him here without good reason.

‘Go on. I’m listening.’ Michael’s voice was quiet, interested.

‘I must explain, Michael, I don’t even know if this is anything of relevance. All I can say is, I found it odd and, considering what’s been going on, I just thought I should let you know about it.’

Declan butted in quickly, ‘There’s also a fifty-grand reward for any information that leads to Jessie.’

Michael Flynn’s head snapped sideways, looking at Declan with complete and utter disgust.

Mrs Singh shook her head slowly in denial. Holding her hand over her heart she said with real meaning, ‘I can assure you, Mr Costello, that means very little to me.’ That she was deeply offended by what Declan had said to her was more than obvious.

Michael Flynn was out of the armchair he was sitting in within nanoseconds and, kneeling down on the carpet in front of his old friend, he grabbed Mrs Singh’s hands in his. Squeezing them tightly, he said, ‘Ignore him, Mrs Singh, he’s fucking ignorant at times. Just tell me what you know.’

She grasped Michael’s hands, pulled them to her chest, knowing that he would listen to what she had to say.

‘I was in the shop a few weeks ago. I rarely spend that much time there these days, but I still pop round once or twice a week. My eldest son Davinda and his wife took it over after my husband died, as you know. Anyway, I saw a man in there, and I could see he wasn’t right, that he was, you know, what the cockneys always called “radio rental”? A bit mental? Remember how Mr Singh always loved the rhyming slang? But I knew this person. You know when you see someone and you can’t place them? That is how I felt. He bought forty Lambert and Butlers, and a bottle of cheap vodka. My son Davinda served him and, as the man was leaving, he looked directly at me, and he smiled. It was a strange smile, Michael. I can’t explain it. Anyway, it took me a day or two, but then I remembered who he was.’

She pushed Michael gently away from her, and she sat back on the settee. Michael could see the turmoil in her face, knew that she was worried about what she was going to say to him. ‘It’s so many years ago but I’m sure that it was Steven Golding.’