The senior probation officer was named Joanna and was, it seemed, willing to talk to Molly. No approach had yet been made to her by the police about Greg and Rosco. Claire Bingham had decided that she might talk more freely to a retired social worker than to a policeman about her former clients. Joanna was capable, friendly, in her mid-thirties. Molly thought she would be supportive, accessible, but a little weak. Her staff would take advantage of her. She greeted Molly with something approaching relief. It was pleasant to have a visitor who did not demand money, who spoke in a soft, well-educated voice, whose first enquiries were vague, almost academic. The office was at the back of the building and looked out not over the shopping arcade but over an asphalt children’s play area with one vandalised swing. It was similar to many Molly had visited before she retired. There was the same scratched green filing cabinet, the old Snoopy poster, the shrivelled pot plants.

Molly explained that she had been a social worker and that she was there on behalf of the Franks. She was vague about her actual relationship with Greg’s parents but stressed their shock and confusion over their son’s death.

“I’m sorry,” Joanna said. “I’m not sure I can help.” She gave an automatic reassuring smile.

“After such a violent and sudden death,” Molly said, “I’m sure you can see that it would help the grieving process if they knew more about his life. It would give them something to hang on to.”

The probation officer nodded sympathetically. They were professionals together sharing the same jargon, the same detached quality of professional understanding.

“When did Greg Franks appear in court?” the senior asked.

Molly told her.

“We’ve had a big turn round in staff since then. You might find someone who remembers him, but I doubt it. We wouldn’t have anything here in writing. You say that he pleaded not guilty to the burglary charge. It’s not this office’s policy to do social enquiry reports on not-guilty pleas. Besides, I’d not be able to show you anything official like that anyway.”

“No,” Molly said. “ Of course not.” She paused. “ Don’t you remember him?” she asked. “ He was in the probation hostel for a couple of months while he was on bail. I know you were on maternity leave for most of the time, but you must have been back at work, I think, before he went to trial. You were back at work, weren’t you, before the fire?”

“How did you know about that?” Joanna was a little suspicious but not too concerned.

“Oh,” Molly said absently, “ Greg must have mentioned it to his parents.”