Stephen Brunos answered the phone and listened in amazement to what Paddy was telling him. Quickly getting dressed, he left his flat in Tobacco Dock, taking his car keys and his wallet. It wasn’t until he was driving towards Essex that he realised he didn’t have any socks on.

He arrived at Donna’s at three thirty-five in the morning. Davey and Carol Jackson were already there, as were the police. Donna was sitting in her kitchen in shock, Dolly was making tea, and Carol Jackson was calling the police, the perpetrators of the offence, and anyone else she could lay her tongue on, whoresons.

Detective Inspector Richie Richardson was already sick to death of her.

‘Mrs Brunos, have you any idea who would do this to your car lot?’

Donna shook her head for what seemed the millionth time. ‘No idea whatsoever. I’m just glad we’re insured.’

She looked at Davey as she said this and he had the grace to drop his eyes. The car lot, as well as all the sites, had all been hopelessly under-insured. It was one of the first things Donna had sorted out. In fact, it wasn’t unusual for a car dealer to under-insure, because some of their cars were ringers, or cut and shunts. No one in their right mind insured them, that was up to the purchaser. Donna, in ignorance of this, got the insurance increased.

Dolly had made yet another cup of tea and everyone was sitting subdued around the large antique scrubbed pine table.

The DI spoke to Davey. ‘Have you had any trouble with a customer recently? Maybe someone who bought a beast off you? It happens all the time.’

Davey straightened up and said nastily, ‘None of our motors are beasts, mate, we deal in prestige cars. You saw them for yourself, didn’t you? Mercs, BMWs, Rollers. We ain’t talking Dagenham dustbins here, an odd Sierra or fucking Metro! They were decent motors!’

Richie Richardson waved a hand to calm him down. ‘How about part-exchange motors, any pigs there? You sell them off, I take it?’

Davey shook his head. ‘Go straight through the auctions at Chelmsford. Anything under a D-reg Jag is useless to us. We shove them straight through at Chelmsford as I keep telling you. You don’t part-ex on a forty grand motor with a fucking Reliant Robin, do you get my drift?’

‘All right, all right, keep your hair on. I have to ask these questions. Any suspicious characters around the car lot lately?’