As Jack looked at him with his big brown eyes and his crooked smile, Peter saw not only the deep-rooted belief that he would actually walk away from this but, worst of all, he saw the weakness in his son that had finally manifested itself in his addiction. It was hard for him to admit that his youngest son was capable of such skulduggery, but he was.

‘All right, Dad?’ Jack smiled nervously.

Peter Bailey nodded. ‘Yeah, I’m all right, son.’ He turned to Petey and Liam, who were watching him intently. ‘You done what I asked?’

Petey gestured to the side of the warehouse. ‘Yeah, it’s through here.’

Peter Bailey pulled his youngest son up from the chair by the scruff of his neck and, dragging the protesting boy behind him, he forced him bodily towards a large vat of water.

He drowned his son as easily as he would have drowned a litter of kittens.

When it was done, he wiped his hands and addressed the other boys. ‘You made sure this water was from the Thames, didn’t you?’

Petey nodded.

‘He has to have the correct water in his lungs apparently, when he’s found floating in the Thames. It has to be seen as a tragic accident.’

Petey was quick to reassure his father that everything had been done properly. ‘Don’t worry, Dad, it’s all taken care of.’

Peter Bailey sighed. ‘At least this way your mother gets a fucking funeral for him and no one is any the wiser.’

Liam Bailey was staring at his little brother’s body, unable to believe what he had just witnessed. It seemed surreal somehow, as if it was a dream and at any minute he would wake up. Liam was shocked at his father’s complete indifference to his actions. He seemed to have no real emotion about what he had just done – Liam could see that. It was wrong, all wrong.

Motioning to his two remaining sons to follow him, Peter poured them each large Scotches. ‘Get that down you, Liam, and remember, son, he brought this on himself.’

Liam drank the whisky but he didn’t say a word. He was unable to answer the man, but Peter Bailey understood his son’s feelings far more than he would ever let on.

‘Right, well, you both know what to do.’

Chapter Eighty-Four

Ria was lying in her bed, and all she could think about was her youngest son. Her baby Jack. He had always had a cheeky smile, always known how to get around her, and she had loved that about him.