‘That pub you visited,’ said Nancy. ‘The Admiral. Arthur used to own it. He bought it many years ago and it’s still in the family.’

That explained the soundproofed back room. Arthur had probably customised it especially for the purpose of having confidential business meetings in there.

‘Adrian was buried in the same plot as his father,’ Nancy added.

Bailey nodded, unsure how to respond. All she could think about right now was how the woman sitting just a few centimetres away from her had personally drilled holes in the heads of her husband’s killers… or so the stories went. Bailey suppressed a shudder.

Nancy picked her lighter up off the top of the pack of Lambert and Butler on the table in front of her and began to absently fiddle with it in the same manner that she had done so in the pub, opening it with that distinctive ‘cling’ but not actually igniting the flame. The lighter was gold with a diamond-head pattern on its surface and a vertical striker wheel. Close enough to see it properly, Bailey recognised it as a Dupont. They were very expensive.

Nancy suddenly turned her head to Bailey. ‘My son was murdered,’ she spat. ‘My own flesh and blood. And I’m going to get to the bottom of who did it if it’s the last thing I ever do.’

Her words instantly dispelled the priest’s eulogy about not seeking revenge. What with Nancy’s past history, and now this, Bailey could tell that revenge was something that was very personal to her.

‘I understand where you’re coming from,’ said Bailey, pushing her loose lock of hair aside to reveal the scar on her face, reminding Nancy of her own predisposition to revenge. Bailey half expected Nancy to enquire in more depth about her scars, but she didn’t. Instead she set her jaw in a grim line and took it upon herself to dispense some gangland advice.

‘In this world, if you don’t take action you look weak. And that’s fatal.’

‘War is bad for business,’ said Rick, who had sat down opposite them.

‘Looking weak is even worse for business,’ responded Nancy. ‘That was one thing your father understood.’

‘And look what happened to him,’ said Rick.

Bailey detected a little discord between mother and son. The thirst for revenge versus the necessities of conducting business.

‘You saw them all here today,’ hissed Nancy. ‘The Erkans. The O’Reillys. The Cromwells. Offering their condolences,’ she said contemptuously. ‘It could have been any one of them that blew up Adrian. They might be paying their respects, but what they’re really looking for are any signs of weakness. They’re like vultures circling.’ She eyed her son gravely. ‘And just remember, Ricky, it could be you they come for next.’

Rick shot his mother a warning glance, his eyes flickering to Bailey. It seemed that a mixture of emotion and alcohol had perhaps loosened their tongues more than was advisable in the presence of a newcomer such as Bailey who they didn’t fully trust quite yet.