Jane got a call from Cam at 6 a.m., telling her that Kingston had persuaded Murphy to put her back in the cafe. Cam also said he’d tried to contact her the previous evening but she must have been out.

Driving to the cafe, she couldn’t stop thinking about her date with Carl and what a fool she’d been to go over Murphy’s head. She’d discovered nothing that might implicate the Ripleys in the Leytonstone or any future robbery, and clocking the mileage on motor cars was hardly a serious offence. There was no way she was going to tell Murphy what she’d done, and she hoped to God he never found out as he would undoubtedly throw her off the Flying Squad.

She got to the cafe just after 7 a.m., and by 8 a.m. it was very busy. Rachel came in just after 9 a.m. and Jane slipped her a thank you note for her information while serving her. Neither of the Ripley brothers came to the cafe, but Carl unexpectedly walked in at midday.

‘Hi, I was just passing by and thought I’d drop this off for you. It’s an official invite to the wedding. I didn’t know your surname, so I just put Jane.’

‘Thank you. It’s a beautifully designed card.’

‘Like I said – only the best will do for Tina.’

‘Would you like something to eat and a drink?’

‘No, I can’t stop. I’ve got to pick up some engine parts and get them back to the garage. Thanks again for last night, I really enjoyed your company.’

He leant forward to kiss Jane’s cheek and she pulled her head away.

‘Sorry,’ he said.

‘It’s OK. It’s just that people are watching us and I’m quite shy about things like that.’

‘I understand, I won’t do it in public again,’ he said, then walked out.

Jane sighed. Reaching across a table to pick up a dirty plate, she knocked a half-full coffee cup, spilling some onto a customer’s lap.

‘Watch what you’re doing, you silly cow!’

The young man grabbed a napkin and started wiping himself down.

‘I’m really sorry. It was an accident. I’ll get a clean cloth for you.’

‘These are my best jeans and you’ve fucking ruined them!’

Nick strode over, a look of anger in his eyes, and picked up the young man’s plate of half-eaten food. Jane thought he was going to tell her off.

‘Getta out of my cafe!’

‘What for?’ he asked.

‘No one a speak to my staff like that! Now vaffanculo.’

Jane assumed that was ‘fuck off’ in Italian. As the man walked to the door, Nick told him never to come back.

‘Thanks,’ Jane said.

‘Is OK, accidents they happen, and I no like ignorant bastardi in my place.’

*