He waited until the teas were placed before them all, before saying gently, ‘We believe he is on heroin – a lot of the mentally disturbed take that drug on the streets. We also found a crack pipe, and evidence that he’d used it, at the murder scene. Is there anyone you can think of that he might go to? Any friends?’

She shook her head. ‘No, nobody. He’s a loner, a strange boy. I wish I could help you more.’

Five minutes later they were ushered out of the front door and, seeing the number of locks she had on it, they realised that she had been preparing for her son coming for her long before they had arrived on the scene.

‘You keep yourself safe now, Miss Callahan, and, if he comes near you, ring the police immediately. All the forces are looking for him, so try not to worry.’

Cynthia closed the door and locked it, every bolt and chain, then she went around the house making sure everywhere was secure.

In the kitchen she poured herself a large vodka and tonic and then, smiling slightly, she wondered if he would have the guts to turn up here. Burn her out! She’d like to see the little fucker try.

Picking up the phone she rang her daughter. If he went near her grandchild, she’d skin him alive. The only good bit of all this aggravation was that they’d have to lock him up again and, hopefully, this time, they would throw away the bastard key.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Five

‘Look, Gabby, all men are the same, they get you pregnant but they have no real interest in the actual pregnancy – it’s only the baby they are interested in, and even that wanes after a while.’

Gabby sighed. Did her mother really think she was helping? The worst thing of all was she had a feeling that what she was saying was true. She was heavily pregnant and Vincent was never in the house for any length of time. The garage was doing well, and that pleased her; they were beginning to save some money, and they were moving to a new council house before the baby was born. But he was out from early morning till late at night.