‘Well, if he don’t he’ll be able to find out anyway.’

‘I think you might be right, Nuala.’ Donna felt her spirits lift. ‘Maybe now this Wilson’s dead, it might be easier to prove he was lying.’

Nuala smiled. ‘We can only try, darlin’. We can only try.’

Maeve and Donna sat before Mr William Booth, QC. His pinched face was devoid of any expression whatsoever. He wiped his beaked nose with a tissue and tossed it carelessly in the direction of a bin.

‘I am quite aware that Peter Wilson committed suicide, Mrs Brunos, but it has no bearing on your husband’s appeal. It seems that it was suicide while the balance of his mind was disturbed. The sentence and the prison he was in contributed largely to his depression.’

‘But he only got five years.’ Maeve’s voice was loud in the small chamber.

‘Five years is five years too long for most people, Mrs Brunos. You have to understand, the man was suffering from clinical depression. It was an unfortunate thing to happen, granted, but unavoidable. If a man wants to kill himself he will. In fact, according to the coroner’s report, Wilson had to hold his legs up in the air until he was unconscious. He was very determined by all accounts. The ceiling of the cell had nothing which he could use for his act. He had to use the iron coat-peg on the back of his cell door. Wilson was five ten, the door a standard six-foot-six. He couldn’t actually hang, if you see what I mean, so in order to maximise his weight, he had literally to hold his legs up a foot or eighteen inches from the floor. Once unconscious, he slumped down - and this action actually finished off the strangulation. His own weight finally crushed his windpipe.’

Maeve closed her eyes in horror. ‘What did he hang himself with?’ she said faintly.

‘A child’s skipping rope of all things. Taken from the visiting room - probably when his wife and children had come to visit. As I say, he was very determined.’

‘So how will this affect my husband’s appeal?’ Donna asked breathlessly.

Booth sighed heavily. ‘Your husband’s appeal is in hand, Mrs Brunos. Once we have collated the statements again, gone into the actual robbery once more and collected more statements, we shall be ready to proceed.’

‘Do you hold out much hope for his acquittal?’ Maeve’s voice was low.

William Booth gave her a pained smile. ‘I never make promises unless I can keep them, Mrs Brunos. I can only do my utmost, nothing more.’

‘But surely with Wilson being dead and everything . . . Maybe he killed himself because he lied?’