‘It’s to do with Tony Jones. He came to me a while ago for a passport.’

‘What’s that got to do with me?’

‘The passport wasn’t for him, it was for someone else, a bloke from Grantley.’

Patrick’s ears pricked up.

‘Go on.’

Larry Steinberg wiped his nose once more with a grubby handkerchief. He knew that if you drew your story out, people became impatient and listened better.

‘He didn’t pay me much, Mr Kelly.’ His voice had taken on a whining tone.

Patrick closed his eyes.

‘Look, Larry, you’ll get the money on the fucker’s head as soon as I have a face. Now tell me the geezer’s fucking name! I ain’t in the mood for games.’

Larry hurriedly obeyed.

‘It was Markham. A George Markham’.

‘Did Tony say why the bloke wanted a passport?’

Save the best till last, that was Larry’s motto.

‘That was the funny thing about it all - the passport had Tony Jones’s photograph in it.’ He watched Kelly’s expression and gabbled on: ‘Now be fair, Mr Kelly, I’m just a fixer. If you pay me enough I’ll fix up anything, but I knew that there was something wrong with all this and that’s why I’m telling you. At first I didn’t think anything, you know yourself what it’s like. Then I read about the blood testing in Grantley and it came to me like - well, like a vision from God . . .’

He shook his head for maximum effect. ‘I’ve dealt with bank robbers who wanted to retire abroad, the scum of the criminal world. But my life, Mr Kelly, I would not cover for a sadistic murderer. I heard through the grapevine that you were looking for the man who took your young daughter’s life and thought it was my duty to inform you of what I knew.’

Larry Steinberg himself actually believed this now, so good was his acting.

Patrick nodded.

‘I hope I have been of some little help?’

‘You’ll get the money, Larry, if this is the man, I promise you that.’

He held out his hand and Larry shook it. Feeling the animal strength of Kelly, he shuddered inwardly.

Poor Tony Jones. Still, he reasoned, Kelly had shaken hands on it, and from him that was as good as a signed contract. Steinberg had to stop himself from rubbing his hands together with glee.

That would have been in bad taste, even for him.

Patrick left the office. Getting into his Rolls Royce, he shouted to Willy: ‘Tony Jones’s gaff, now!’

Willy started the car and Patrick filled him in on what had taken place as they drove. By the time they reached the sex shop, both were ready to commit murder.