The room was windowless, lined with mirrors to give it the illusion of space. Brown leather seating ran around the walls and in front of that were eight or so tables in a broken horseshoe, in the middle of which stood a solitary empty wooden chair.

Seated with their backs to the wall like spectators in a show were five members of the Molloy crime family.

Bailey’s eye immediately gravitated to the only other woman in the room, sitting at the back in the centre, like she was holding court, which in a sense Bailey guessed she was. For this could be none other than Nancy Molloy.

Small and vulpine, she had a sharp angular nose and a scraggy craning neck. Her black hair was cut into a neat bob, quite obviously dyed, and she was dressed smartly in a dark purple blazer and matching skirt. On the lapel of the blazer was pinned a large gold and blue enamelled brooch in the form of a forget-me-not flower. She wasn’t unattractive for a woman of her age, definitely well-kept, for Bailey estimated her to be somewhere in her early sixties. What stood out most, however, were her dark close-set eyes which were fixed on Bailey with a penetrating laser-like stare.

Sitting on her lap was a fluffy white dog which Bailey recognised as a Pomeranian, a yappy pointless breed that she particularly disliked. And on the table in front of Nancy was a bone china cup and saucer and next to that a packet of Lambert and Butler with a fancy-looking gold lighter on top of it.

Bailey acknowledged Nancy with a curt nod, then pulled her eyes away to cast her attention to the other occupants of the room. Immediately to the right of Nancy sat a tall man clad in a stylish dark blue suit and a pair of black snakeskin brogues. Bailey guessed the suit to be Armani, tailored to fit his muscular frame, and beneath the jacket he wore a charcoal slim-fit shirt with a button-down collar and a maroon tie. She clocked a plain gold wedding band on his finger. On his wrist, she noticed a gold watch with a black leather strap, elegant and understated, as opposed to the chunky showy Rolexes that these types usually favoured, and that small detail told some part of her this was probably Rick Molloy.

His hair was shaven close to the skull and a thin black stubble coated his large square jaw, and on first impression, Bailey thought he was quite handsome, in a dark, mysterious way. He observed her closely with a set of emotionless black eyes which revealed no clue as to what thoughts lurked in their inky depths. They reminded her of the dead black eyes of a great white shark; seeing as he was close to the top of the food chain in the underworld, the analogy wasn’t totally inappropriate.

Sitting by the wall to the left side of Bailey was a burly man, also in a dark suit, although his style wasn’t quite as voguish as Rick’s. He was broad-shouldered and olive-skinned… and he looked faintly familiar to Bailey.