Claudia’s large dark eyes were wide with fear.

‘I tried to tell her, I tried to warn her. She was my friend, you know. But she wouldn’t listen. I think she figured she’d have enough money to split for good and go somewhere where Mister Snigiss would never find her. She offered to cut me in if I didn’t tell Mister Snigiss, a cut of all this cash she said she was going to make from selling it to the media. But I didn’t want any part of it, so I refused. But I also told her I wouldn’t tell Mister Snigiss. Because she was my friend.’ Claudia took an emotional gulp.

Bailey gave an empathetic nod, encouraging her to continue.

‘But then, later, the next day, when I thought about it, I got scared. Even though I’d refused to be part of it, I realised that if Tiffany’s tape was all over the news, then Mister Snigiss would think that I was involved even if I wasn’t and then he’d punish me too. Mister Snigiss once had acid chucked over this hooker who stepped out of line and I didn’t want to end up like that. So then I did tell Mister Snigiss, and the next evening Tiffany got blown up. But I didn’t know he was going to do that, I swear. I had to tell him though. You understand. I had to. Or else he would have hurt me as well.’ At that point, her voice broke completely and she started sobbing outright, large tears streaming down both cheeks.

Bailey stepped up to her and placed a soft hand on her shaking shoulder.

‘You did what you had to do,’ she said gently. ‘And I need to do what I have to do. I have to talk to Mister Snigiss and you’re my only way in.’

‘You don’t want to talk to him,’ whispered Claudia, looking at her through tear-rimmed eyes. ‘He’s dangerous. He’s ruthless. He’ll kill you. You don’t know what he’s capable of.’

‘I’ll take my chances,’ said Bailey.

52

Nancy Molloy lived in an unassuming semi-detached house on a quiet suburban street in Wanstead. Her son was always pestering her to move into a larger place in a nicer area, but she wasn’t interested in some big flashy mansion like the one he had. This was where she’d grown up and she felt that it was important to stay in touch with your roots. Plus the place held lots of memories for her, not least of her beloved Arthur, and the older she got, the more valuable those memories became.

‘Bolo de Mel,’ she said. ‘From Madeira.’

Stephen Drood, perched on the settee in her front room, nodded as he took a bite of the cake that she’d given him, along with a cup of tea, served, as always, in one of her best bone china teacups. She’d always possessed a sweet tooth and recently she’d become enamoured of this traditional Madeiran dessert.

Sitting in a high-backed leather swivel armchair by the window with Ettie on her lap, Nancy patiently waited as Stephen munched on the cake and swallowed. She watched him with a certain measure of affection. How time flew. It seemed only yesterday that she’d caught him breaking into this very house as a delinquent teenage burglar. Under other circumstances, he might have ended up paying for it with a good maiming, or even his life, but she’d spotted something in him – a latent potential – a seed that if properly watered and tended to would one day bear fruit. And so it had, for he was now one of her most efficient and trusted employees.