Sammy smirked. Years ago he and Jed had earned a crust by getting some mug to steal motors, horse-boxes and caravans for them which they would then doctor and sell on again. More recently though, they’d learned the art of conning vulnerable old people. They referred to it as ‘grunting’, and would befriend their victims by doing odd jobs for them at first. In the past couple of years, they’d robbed some of them blind and, between the two of them, had had three properties left to them and a nice piece of land. Getting their victims to make out a will in their names was easy. They only targeted people who had no close family and lived alone and Sammy absolutely loved their new career.

‘So, when we gonna crack on again, then?’ he asked excitedly.

About to answer, Jed was disturbed by the sound of his mobile phone ringing. His face immediately drained of colour and he quickly ended the call without uttering a word.

‘What’s the matter now?’ Sammy asked, concerned.

‘I just got another message sent via Frankie. She says I fucked up big time and now she’s gonna make me pay.’

‘Don’t take no notice of the silly whore. If she was gonna shop you or me, she wouldn’t be telling us, would she?’ Sammy said reassuringly.

‘But, say she does?’

‘She won’t, you dinlo. All the fucking slag’s doing is trying to put the fear of God into ya and it’s worked. If she was gonna grass, she’d have done it yonks ago. Now chill out and go and get us another beer, you tight bastard.’

Jed stood up and walked towards the bar. Past experiences had taught him that people who placed threats of any kind rarely carried them out, so Sammy boy was probably right.

DI Blyth had had an extremely eventful day. From first thing this morning she had been run off her feet like a blue-arsed fly and it was only now, late afternoon, that she finally had a chance to sit at her desk, have a bite to eat and a coffee and, most importantly, check her answerphone messages. The first five messages were the usual run-of-the-mill rubbish that she encountered every day, but as she listened to the sixth, she spat a mouthful of prawn mayonnaise sandwich into her hand and immediately returned the call.

‘Mr Peters, it’s DI Blyth here. You left me a message saying that Francesca Mitchell has some vital information for me.’

When Larry relayed Frankie’s exact words, DI Blyth felt the blood pumping faster through her veins. She had liked Frankie Mitchell and had always known when she’d interviewed her in relation to stabbing Jed that there was more to her predicament than met the eye.

‘I’ll speak to the prison now and will visit Frankie tomorrow, Mr Peters.’