The middle-aged, grey-haired driver was happy to chat for England, and Zara was equally glad to listen.

‘I live just up the road, and in all my bleedin’ life I’ve never had to worry about stepping out of me own flaming house. Sure enough, back in the day, we had a few thugs, but not like these. They are wild now. There’s no respect for no one or nuffin. Drugs cause it. I tell ya, I’ve been more busy cabbing in the last year than ever. All the old dears won’t walk to the shops no more. The people are too afraid to walk the streets. It ain’t right. The police don’t do enough as far as I’m concerned. Me, I’d flaming gather all those thugs up and put ’em on a boat and sink the bleedin’ thing.’

‘Why do you think the drug situation has got worse?’

‘Well, it’s that new drug. It makes ’em wild, I’ll tell ya. Once these kids get hooked on that shit, they do anything to get money to keep up their habit. Christ, I never believed in drugs meself, but compared to this new shit out there, I’d even legalize cocaine right now.’

Intrigued by the man’s proffered information, Zara pressed for more. ‘What’s this drug called then? I’ve not heard about it.’

The driver looked in his rear-view mirror and smiled. ‘Sweetheart, you probably don’t mix in those circles. It’s called Flakka, but they reckon it’s mixed with something that turns the most decent of kids into demons. It’s pure evil, poxy stuff. Whoever’s making it and selling it to the kids needs to be shot. That Lennon bloke was one of the dealers, and if what I’ve heard is right, I’m glad he’s dead . . . ’ He paused and glanced in his mirror again. ‘Sorry, love. Did you say your father owned that jeweller’s back there?’

Zara nodded and wondered if she’d said too much. If Lennon was the man who attacked her, then the other guy may well be able to give the police a description. A woman with one hand would stand out like a sore thumb. She pulled her sleeve down to hide her wrist.

‘See, now, love, this shit wouldn’t be going on if your old man was alive, Gawd rest him. Now that there was a proper geezer. He was a decent fella. Er, didn’t he own the Pomodorra over near Denmark Hill?’

Zara had to play it cool and not appear too eager, but this man may just know more about the black guy who stabbed Neil. ‘Yeah, he did, but apparently the Italians were threatened, and they’ve taken off. I bet it was the same gang you’re talking about.’