‘I don’t know about a statement, but she did say she’d spoken to a detective and ’e might want to speak to me.’

‘Did she say who the detective was?’

Betty paused. ‘It was King, I think.’

‘Could it have been Kingston?’

She pointed a finger. ‘That’s the name. Fi said ’e was a nice chap and told ’er not to tell anyone that she saw the driver’s face. She said I should keep schtum about it as well.’

‘And have you?’

‘On me life, sweetheart, I ain’t told a soul,’ Betty replied firmly.

‘What happened when the driver opened the car door?’

‘I was on me way to get some bits an’ bobs from the shops an’ the bastard nearly knocked me off me effin’ feet when ’e was getting out of ’is car. Brown, it was. The car . . . I told him to mind what ’e was doin’ an’ use ’is bloody eyes, but ’e just pulled ’is cap down an’ walked off. I called ’im a rude word, but ’e still ignored me.’ She looked angry.

Jane asked her to describe the man, and she confirmed the details they already had: the newsboy cap, sideburns and ruddy cheeks.

‘Would you recognise him if you saw him again?’

‘Me ’ips is bad but me eyes ain’t – an’ I got a good memory for faces.’

‘Did you see anything else?’

‘When I came out of the shops the robbery was takin’ place. I nearly had an ’eart attack when the gun went off an’ that poor lad fell to the ground. Then quick as you like the brown motor pulls up an’ the three robbers jump in an’ piss off. The driver was wearin’ a balaclava this time, but I know it had to be the same bloke in the cap, because of what Fi told me.’

‘When did you last see Fiona?’ Jane asked.

‘Yesterday evening at six, when I popped in for my usual two bottles of Mackeson.

‘Did she have anyone helping her behind the bar, Betty?’

‘No, she was on her own . . . has something happened to Fiona?’

Jane took a deep breath, crouched down beside Betty and took her hand.

‘I’m sorry to have to tell you Fiona is dead.’

Betty started to rock back and forth, her eyes open wide with disbelief.

‘No, no, not my Fi, she can’t be dead . . . It’s gotta be a mistake.’

‘I’m so sorry, Betty, but we’re sure.’

She squeezed Jane’s hand and started to cry.

‘Oh my poor, poor Fi . . . She was like a daughter to me . . . What ’appened?’

‘It looks like she fell down the cellar stairs and hit her head on the floor.’

Jane did her best to comfort her, then once she’d stopped crying she made her a cup of tea.

‘Is there a neighbour you’d like to come and sit with you for a bit?’