In keeping with the occasion, she was wearing a black French Connection trouser suit beneath her Hugo Boss jacket. The Oakley sunglasses completed the look, and today she wore her loose lock of hair down over the scar on her face.

Seeing the sentimental floral tributes in the back of the hearse, Bailey reflected that the maudlin nature of the whole affair was characteristic of the underworld. Whatever Adrian had been like in real life, in death he was elevated to near-sainthood. The event bore the nostalgic ring of a bygone era of blaggers and bank raids.

Glancing around, she knew there would be plainclothes policemen and unmarked cars watching the proceedings at Dale’s behest, conducting surveillance, photographing everybody there, including her. She knew there would probably also be a few tabloid journalists here, their presence much less subtle.

Studying the people around her, she recognised a few well-known ‘faces’ from the criminal fraternity, clad much like herself in black leather jackets, suits and shades. Apart from the ones she knew from police files and past briefings, there were others there, clearly of a similar ilk, who she wasn’t familiar with – up-and-comers perhaps, or just those who were good at maintaining a low profile. Watching them mingle with each other, she could only imagine what devilish schemes and internecine rivalries lurked behind the amicable handshakes and black sunglasses.

She arrived at the church just as the funeral cortège was disgorging various members of the Molloy family.

Nancy, stony-faced beneath a black veil, watched as Adrian’s coffin was hoisted up onto the shoulders of Rick, Shane, Archie and several other thuggish-looking Molloy associates, all of whom were crammed into stylish black suits. Stephen, exuding his characteristic malice, followed next to Nancy, presumably too short to carry the coffin.

On entering the church, Bailey was suddenly struck with uninvited thoughts of her father’s imminent demise and the fact that he too would be having a funeral at some point in the near future. She pushed the depressing contemplation from her mind and tried to focus on her surroundings.

Moving down one side, she positioned herself close to the front where she could have a better view of the mourners. The pews were full, with a number of children present alongside the adults, and the place buzzed with the murmur of low-level conversation.

The coffin was lying on the catafalque in front of the altar, where it was draped with a pall. Unlike some other Catholic funerals, Bailey reflected that this one would definitely be a closed-casket job; apparently they were still discovering body parts in the area where the bomb had gone off.

The Mass began with the priest reading a liturgy from the Old Testament and a psalm. Then he read a passage from one of the Gospels. After that, he delivered a short eulogy, praising Adrian ‘for being the brother that they loved’ and ‘the son that they adored’. He made a point of saying how there should be no reprisals, quoting Romans 12:19 about leaving revenge to God and God alone. Listening to his words, Bailey wondered just how far he was aware of the exact character of the Molloy family and if they were really the kind of people who would pay heed to what he was saying.