‘I want to ask you a favour, Pat, if you don’t mind?’ She sat in a chair opposite the desk and, leaning over, took a cigarette from the box on the desk.

‘What is it, Ju? Trouble?’

‘Sort of. Nothing to do with this place. Remember my youngest son, Owen?’

Patrick scanned his mind and came up with a picture of a tall, blond-haired, good-looking boy. Not unlike his mother.

‘Yeah. What about him?’

Juliette ran her hands through her short blond hair and Patrick was surprised to see that she was agitated.

‘You know Jimmy McDougall, the pimp?’

He nodded, frowning now.

‘What about him?’

‘He’s got my boy up the ’Dilly. I can’t find him, Pat, and I’m worried out of me bleeding mind. He’s only twelve, as big as he is. Well, I heard a whisper on the street that McDougall had him. I know I ain’t exactly lived the life of a virgin, I don’t deny it, but all my kids have done well, you know that. My eldest girl is a secretary, my eldest boy is at university, my Owen was doing well at school.

‘He’s my baby, Pat, my little surprise I call him. I mean, I was nearly forty-one when I had him. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep with worry at what he’s getting into . . .’

Patrick looked at her. She looked terrible - Juliette never had looked that good. But she’d been one of the best Toms in the business in her day. Bought and paid for her own house and kept her husband in the life of Riley until the ponce drank himself to death. Patrick liked her, respected her.

‘I want you to have a word with McDougall for me. I know it’s a cheek . . .’

He felt a rage inside him and was glad to have somewhere to channel the hatred that was slowly building up in him day by day. McDougall was a scumbag in his opinion. Anyone who lived off the earnings of young boys was a scumbag. Homosexuals bothered Kelly not one iota as long as they were consenting adults. It was the men who slept with children that disgusted him, whether they were young boys or young girls. There was a fortune to be made from youth. Extreme youth. But Kelly would have none of it.

‘Don’t you worry, Ju. Owen will be home within twenty-four hours. Now go and get yourself a stiff drink and let me deal with it.’

Juliette’s hard face relaxed. ‘Thanks, Pat. If you only knew what I’ve been going through.’

‘I have a pretty good idea, you know, Juliette.’

‘Of course. I’m sorry, Pat. What with Owen and everything . . .’

‘You leave it with me, girl, and just bide your time. How long has he been gone?’