‘Where’s Jennifer?’ she gasped breathlessly.

‘You’ll find out everything you need to know when you meet Mister Snigiss,’ said the woman. ‘Abney Park Cemetery in Stoke Newington. Tomorrow morning at seven o’clock. By the gravestone of Nelly Power.’

‘But—’

‘And one other thing. You must come alone.’

The woman terminated the call.

Bailey stared at her phone, her thoughts churning. There had been no physical description of Mister Snigiss, no indication of how she might recognise him. It would be Mister Snigiss who approached her. It would be Mister Snigiss who would be in control of the situation.

Standing there in the poky bathroom, Bailey was hit with a wave of misgivings as she recalled everything she’d heard about Mister Snigiss… how he’d had acid thrown over a hooker who’d stepped out of line, how he’d personally planted the car bomb that had blown up Adrian and Tiffany, how he’d deceived and abducted her very own eight-year-old sister and done God knows what to her. Claudia, Marcus, Dave Boakes, her own father… their fearful testimonials swirled together into a dark coalescence of this shadowy evil figure. Mister Snigiss was a vicious pimp who employed blackmail, coercion and murder in a heinous quest for dominance. He was devious, nasty and ruthless, and people were scared of him for very good reason. And she was going to meet him by herself in the middle of a cemetery with no one else around. Was she crazy?

She was well aware that this could be a trap – the chance for Mister Snigiss to conveniently silence the nosey policewoman sister of the little girl he’d abducted all those years ago. And that’s why the woman on the call had mentioned Jennifer – just to make sure that Bailey definitely did go along tomorrow. Bailey knew she had no choice but to go anyhow if she was to stand any chance of finding out about Jennifer, and it looked like Mister Snigiss knew that as well…

Emerging from the bathroom, she re-entered the front room to be met by inquisitive gazes from Frank and Dale. She tried to pull herself together and act as if nothing was amiss.

‘So who was that then?’ said Frank.

‘Oh, no one,’ she said, trying to keep the stammer of trepidation out of her voice. ‘Now, where were we with these guns?’

Frank and Dale swapped glances with each other. Neither of them looked convinced, but they didn’t probe any further.

54

That same morning, in St James’s Park in central London, Stephen was ambling along next to Nancy, appreciating the sunny weather, observing Ettie as she scampered in front of them on the lead.

The good thing about the Pomeranian, thought Stephen, was that at least she was small and non-threatening. Whenever he was round Rick’s house, those two Neapolitan Mastiffs scared him shitless.

Stephen had always liked St James’s Park, not least because of its associations with espionage, the corridors of Whitehall being just a short hop away. He often contemplated that, in some other life, with the right upbringing, he could have ended up working as a spy. But as fate had it, he worked for the Molloys and that certainly wasn’t a bad gig by any means.