Donna felt hysterical laughter well up in her throat; she swallowed it down. Then her attention was drawn towards Milton Hardcastle, the liar of the building sites. He was crying like a baby over Georgio and she wondered at how her husband could have been so loved, yet been so bad. Was he really that good an actor, or was he just caught up in the love of money?

She instinctively turned her face away from the TV cameras. This was still a big news story. The man murdered by the transvestite, instigator of one of the most violent riots in prison history, was being buried alongside his brother who had died on holiday. She had nearly laughed out loud on seeing Stephen described as a ‘young up-and-coming businessman’ in the tabloids. They were making the two brothers out to be like Cain and Abel. One too good to be true and the other rotten to the core. They even had Maeve believing it. She had sold her story to the News of the World, giving them photos of the two men as children, describing their childhood.

Donna shrugged inside her black coat. Good luck to Maeve; let her make some money from them. It seemed fitting somehow.

The priest was still talking, making the most of his television fame. The Chase cemetery had never been so popular. People had come from all over the East End, hoping for a glimpse of the dead men’s family and friends.

The worst of it all was, Donna was now a very rich woman; yet she didn’t really want the money. Even the pay-outs from the insurance seemed dirty to her.

Maeve had refused to allow her to pay for Georgio’s funeral, insisting that it would be paid for by her and Pa. They would bury their two sons together.

Donna heard the priest’s ‘Amen’ and sighed inwardly.

Carol stood beside her, together with Dolly, and the three women moved away from the graveside towards the black limousine as if of one mind.

Alan watched Donna from the other side of the grave-yard and his heart went out to her. He walked to his car and climbed in beside Nick and Albie.

‘Well, the dirty deed is done.’

Nick nodded and watched the mourners as they made their way back to the black limousines.

‘Georgio lost out every way in the end, eh?’ Alan said heavily.

Nick said softly: ‘Poetic justice, really. You can drop me off in Soho, Alan I have a few people to see before I make my way home.’

Alan started the car and drove away before the three-ring circus started. Already the camera crews were taking shots of everyone, hoping against hope to see a few well-known villains to add colour to their stories.

As Donna walked to the funeral car, Detective Inspector Frank Laughton placed a gentle hand on her arm.