Jane finished the call and turned to Teflon.

‘The couple who own the garage where the burnt-out Cortina was found bought their flat through an estate agent’s in Wanstead. The previous owner died, and the flat was sold on by one of her relatives. I’d like to visit the estate agents and see if we can find out who that relative was.’

‘OK, but can I ask why?’

‘It’s a long shot, but the lab said the garage was locked after the Cortina was left in it and the estate agent only handed over one key for the garage to the present owners. It’s possible there were two keys, and whoever has the other one may have used it to lock it after torching the car.’

Teflon nodded, impressed with her thinking. ‘Sometimes the long shots pay off – so let’s get going.’

‘I’ll drive,’ Jane said.

‘We’ll take one of the squad cars – might stand out a bit less.’

‘You don’t like custard tarts, then?’

‘Love ’em . . . just don’t like being inside ’em.’

*

The Petty, Son and Prestwich office – ‘Est. 1908’ – was just off Wanstead High Street. As Jane and Teflon entered, a middle-aged man, smartly dressed in a blue three-piece pinstripe suit, white shirt and red tie, got up from behind a desk.

‘Good morning. I’m Peter Petty, the grandson of our founder and current owner of the oldest estate agency in East London. Are you looking to purchase a property or rent?’

‘Neither, sir. I’m WDS Tennison and this is DC Johnson.’ They showed him their warrant cards.

‘Is this about that abysmal O’Donovan family who rent the ground floor flat in Chaucer Road? The number of complaints I’ve had about their fighting and screaming at all hours is getting ridiculous. I’m just the letting agent, not the landlord, officer. I’ve asked them to keep the noise down, but Mrs O’Donovan always tells me to eff off.’

‘No, it’s nothing to do with that,’ Jane assured him. ‘We are trying to find out who the previous owner of flat forty Edgar House was. The current resident, a Mrs Clarke, said that your company dealt with the sale, which was about six months ago.’

‘I don’t recall dealing with that property myself – mind you, we do so many it’s hard to remember them all.’

‘Could you look in the file?’ Teflon asked.

‘Yes, of course. Hang on and I’ll nip and get it.’

As they waited Jane looked at the pictures of the two- and three- bedroom properties for sale on the office walls.

‘Are you thinking of moving, or just browsing?’ Teflon asked.

‘Bit of both, actually, but I don’t fancy Wanstead.’

‘Snaresbrook and Wood Green are just up the road. A mate of mine lives in one of the police accommodation flats in Snaresbrook and says it’s a nice area.’