She pulled away from him. She didn’t have to look him in the face to know he was hurt.

‘We’ll take it from here,’ Tom said gently.

‘By all means, but I’m going nowhere.’

Fred sighed.

Tom nodded. ‘Fine.’ He bent down to the letterbox and opened it. They could plainly hear someone crashing around inside. ‘Mr Murphy, it’s Detectives Tom Doran and Fred Brennan here. Open the door and we’ll ask a few questions. If you leave or stay hiding, we’ll kick the door down and raid the place. You decide.’

Maisie waited and watched. She’d been banging at that door for five minutes solid. She just wanted to know where her boy was and she couldn’t understand why Sid would allow her to stand there, begging for help. Please just help us.

Tom knocked again. ‘Don’t make me break this door down, Mr Murphy.’

Finally they heard shuffling, the door opened and Sid Murphy peered out. He looked like hell, eyes sunken and skin blotchy. His dirty clothes hung off his bony body and, most striking of all, his shaved head was covered with scabs. The smell that came from him was inhuman. Maisie’s shock was profound. What happened to you? Maisie’s eyes watered and she couldn’t help but hold her nose and cover her mouth. He looked past the two men to her. ‘Maisie?’ He seemed half asleep and a little confused. ‘Is that you, Maisie Bean?’

She dropped her hand from her nose. ‘Hello, Sid,’ she said, in a much friendlier tone than the one she had employed just moments earlier. ‘Sorry to disturb.’

Sid leaned on the door heavily, his eyes half closed. ‘Nah, it’s grand. I always have time for you, Maisie.’

Don’t throw up! God almighty, what is that smell?

‘Can we come in?’ Fred asked.

Sid looked from Fred to Tom, then back to Fred. ‘I don’t know yous.’

‘That’s OK, we know you.’ Tom pushed the door in and Sid stumbled backwards.

‘Oh, me foot! Mind me bleedin’ foot!’ he shrieked.

‘Ah, Fred, there’s no need—’ Maisie said.

‘Let Tom do his job, Mai.’

She followed the men inside but was stopped in her tracks by the smell in the house. And then another wave hit her. ‘Oh, sweet Jesus.’ She raised her hand to cover her nose and mouth again.

Fred and Tom seemed unfazed. They followed Sid, who was limping badly. He wasn’t wearing shoes but one foot was covered with tea-towels and a black plastic bag, all held together with tape and a rubber band. He moved slowly and held on to the wall as he made his way through the dingy hallway, passing the broken public telephone that was practically hanging from its bracket. The receiver was lying on the floor beside it, its cord cut or pulled out of the wall.