Victor coughs and taps his finger to his nose. ‘Loose lips and all that.’

She tries not to show her eagerness. ‘It would be interesting to know more about him.’

He raises his eyebrows cynically. ‘More background information?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Why don’t you ask him yourself?’

She frowns. ‘Do you know where he is?’

He shakes his head. ‘The old dog keeps his whereabouts close, but wherever he is, the house will be as secure as Fort Knox.’

‘Why?’

Victor laughs. ‘Kenneth was paranoid. Although I must say, with the number of people who were after him, I’m not surprised.’

‘Why were they after him?’

He taps the side of his nose again. ‘Honour amongst thieves.’ Marina is getting fed up of his clichés. ‘Or lack of it. He stole from his mates. Common knowledge.’

‘What happened?’

‘Kenneth and his gang went to prison for armed robbery. A lot of the money they stole wasn’t recovered by the police and it’s unclear what happened to it. However, when Kenneth came out, he was a lot richer than when he went in.’

‘Why didn’t the police go after him again?’

‘I guess he covered himself. He was meticulous,’ Victor adds. ‘He loved to tell us that. Never stopped, in fact.’

‘What about the rest of the gang? Didn’t they try and claim it?’

‘One of them died in prison,’ says Victor, ‘and the third – Frank – had a longer sentence because he injured a guard.’

‘Really?’

‘Allegedly. The accusation got overturned, they let him out and then he died.’ Victor stubs out his cigarette and grimaces. ‘Conveniently.’

There is a silence while Marina processes this tale of dishonour amongst thieves. ‘So, if they’re all dead,’ she says slowly, ‘why is Kenneth still paranoid?’

‘Aye, there’s the rub.’

Marina raises her eyebrows at Victor’s unexpected Shakespeare.

‘The fact is, Kenneth has always been stupid. Always looked in the wrong direction, never noticed what was going on.’

‘And you’re sure you don’t know his address?’

‘No, but it shouldn’t be too hard to find out. He’s still the landlord at Harrington Gardens.’

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘Well now you do.’

He grins at her and an image of the old man shuffling with his stick in the garden comes to Marina’s mind. Now she has all the more reason to talk to him. The boiler is the perfect excuse. She will call Wayne and hurry him along.

Outside the house, she collides with a teenage boy wearing owl glasses who mumbles an apology and avoids eye contact as he lollops up the steps, taking them two at a time.

As soon as she steps inside her flat she knows that someone has been there. There is a scent. A faint sour smell like sweat with a sweetness underneath.