‘Remains.’ Kathleen smiled. ‘My Gerry’s gone, love, all that remains is memories. Memories and children. I used to look forward to being a granny. You know the jokes about having the children when you want, but being able to give them back? Now I have them all the time and I don’t really think I’m up to it. But these things are sent to try us or so they say. Would you like another coffee?’

‘No thank you. I have to be on my way.’

‘Have you any idea who it was who did it? I mean, my Gerry was the first of three, and people seem to think he’s going to strike again. Do you think you’ll catch him?’

‘We’ll catch him, I can promise you that.’

Kate’s voice was hard and strong and Kathleen Peterson believed her.

Sophie scrambled off her granny’s lap. Going to the back door she urinated on the mat, her thumb still tucked firmly in her mouth. Kate saw Kathleen’s eyes roll up in dismay.

‘Now, Sophie, you know that’s naughty.’ She looked at Kate. ‘This is the latest thing with her. It’s funny though, she’s as dry as a bone at night. Come on, madam, let’s get those wet knickers and socks off you. Though if you keep this up I’ll make you wear them all day, see how you like that.’

As Kathleen went to the child, Kate stood up. ‘I really must go now, Mrs Peterson. I hope everything works out all right.’

‘So do I, love. So do I.’

‘I’ll see myself out. Goodbye.’

‘’Bye, lass, and thanks for coming to tell us. It’s a load off of me mind.’

Kate left the kitchen and walked through the lounge. Mick O’Leary was still watching the flickering screen. He did not even know that Kate was there.

She left feeling worse than she had before.

Patrick Kelly was in the West End. He owned massage parlours the length and breadth of London and surrounding areas. Today he was in Soho, supposedly checking the books, but in effect just showing his face. It paid in this business always to be on top of everything. If the girls ever thought they could tuck you up, they would.

While he sat in the makeshift office his mind was on his daughter. The account books lay open in front of him so that if anyone came in, it looked official.

He was startled by a knock on the office door. It was opened almost immediately by a tall thin woman who strode purposefully into the room.

‘All right, Pat? Everything shipshape and Bristol fashion?’

Kelly nodded. Juliette Kingsley had worked for him for years and like all his top girls - that is, the women who ran the parlours - she was a trusted friend.