Right from the start, ‘fair trial’ or no, it looked like the judge had decided that Frank was guilty. He guided the jury constantly, giving them telling looks after comments from the defence or the prosecution. Frank had refused to cooperate with the police, to confess; without a doubt, he was going down and Dora was the clincher – an actual living witness to the gruesome deed. A survivor, when others had not been so lucky.

The day Dora stood in the witness box, the whole courtroom was heaving with press, TV, public; it was strictly standing room only.

Dora was terrified, but Donny Maguire was across the room from her, giving her the evil eye. She had to do this. If Frank frightened her, Donny now frightened her even more.

‘I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth,’ she said shakily, her right hand on the Bible.

For the trial, Dora had dressed in a cigar-brown skirt suit. Now that her baby weight was gone, she could carry off the tightly fitted jacket with its nipped-in waist and the full skirt with net petticoats underneath so that it hung just right. She wore a small close-fitting hat, and her hair, now returning to its natural blonde, was swept into a chignon. She looked classy; hardly a party girl. Donny had approved her outfit, and told her to leave off the make-up.

‘We want you looking halfway respectable,’ he’d told her in front of his bathroom mirror this morning. ‘A ton of slap and you’ll ruin the effect.’

As if she looked like nothing but a tart, normally. The bastard.

It was a show trial, that was the conclusion Dora quickly came to. Despite her initial nerves, she soon relaxed as she realized the whole thing was a set-up. Due to the massive publicity surrounding the trial, everyone already believed that Frank was guilty. Frank’s defence barrister gave her an easy ride. The judge prompted the jury. The prosecution painted Frank as a monster and Dora as an innocent, corrupted and upset by what she had witnessed.

All Dora had to do was tell the truth – and she did. As she spoke, for once the courtroom fell utterly silent.

‘I was at the party. I went there with Frank Pargeter in the car but I was with Dickie – Richard – Cole. When I went in, I felt uncomfortable straight away. It seemed . . . a disreputable sort of place. I couldn’t believe that Dickie would have taken me there, given a choice, but Frank insisted I went along. And it was all OK for a little while, but then Tony Dillon came down the stairs and Dickie . . . poor Dickie . . .’

‘Take your time, Miss O’Brien,’ said the prosecuting counsel.

Dora gulped and took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. She saw Donny Maguire’s eyes narrow with approval across the room. Nice touch, Dora.

‘Dickie went to shoot Tony Dillon but his gun – I didn’t know he had a gun on him, I was shocked to see it – his gun misfired on the second shot and missed Tony Dillon on the first. Then Frank just seemed to go completely mad.’