Jane asked a female employee where the manager’s office was. She said he was on holiday and escorted her to the undermanager’s office on the ground floor. He was in his mid-thirties, tall, dark-haired and slim, with a neatly trimmed black moustache, and wore a dark shiny charcoal-coloured two-piece suit, white shirt and black Windsor knot tie. He reminded Jane of someone out of a new wave pop band. He had a pleasant smile, was well spoken and said his name was Jeffery Dobbs. She introduced herself and he shook her hand with a firm grip.

‘Does a Miss Emma Wilson work here?’

‘Emma’s not in trouble, is she?’ he asked.

‘No, she reported an incident to Tottenham CID that I’m investigating.’

‘Is it those kids shouting abuse and throwing food again?’ he asked, frowning.

‘Yes,’ Jane said quickly. She didn’t want to reveal she was investigating an armed robbery.

‘The youth of today have no respect for anyone, or anything – they make me sick to the stomach, the way they behave. That Broadwater Farm is a terrible place to live. I know Emma regrets ever moving there. When she first told me about the abuse, I helped her draft some letters to the council requesting a move, but to no avail.’

‘It’s to your credit that you care for your employees’ well-being, Mr Dobbs. Can you tell me which department Emma works in, please?’ she asked, eager not to waste any more time.

‘Drapery. It’s like a home from home for Emma – she makes all her own clothes.’ He looked at an employee work chart on the wall. ‘She will be at lunch just now in the staff canteen.’ He opened the door. ‘If you’d like to follow me, officer, I’ll take you upstairs. Emma’s quite reserved and tends not to socialise with the other ladies, but she has a heart of gold. It’s unusual for her to complain about anything, and I can only imagine that she reported this latest abuse because she was at breaking point. Actually, come to think of it, now the police are involved I should write another letter to the council. Perhaps they might finally listen and move them off the Broadwater.’

As they climbed the stairs, Jane suspected she might have dug a hole for herself by lying to him about why she’d come to see Emma.

‘It’s probably best to speak to Emma first and see if that’s what she wants you to do.’

‘Good point, I’ll speak to her later.’

There were several employees in the canteen, chatting and laughing while eating their lunch. The women were all dressed in white frilled blouses and black skirts, and the men wore dark suits, white shirts and ties. Jane noticed a woman in her fifties sitting alone in the corner of the room reading a book.

‘Is that Emma over there?’ she asked.