‘So?’ Sadie said. ‘We’ve all been there. Eddie wasn’t able to keep it in his trousers for more than five minutes.’

‘So that’s something you’ve got in common.’

‘I don’t think so. Half the world’s had someone cheat on them at one time or another.’

Velma gave a nod. ‘Sure they have, hon, but not everyone’s partners have been murdered.’

Sadie frowned. ‘What are you saying? That Leah —’

‘Yeah, someone put a bullet through her head… God, it must have been about seven years back now. ’Course Nathan was first on the list of suspects, especially as they’d had a very public row earlier in the evening. He reckoned he hadn’t seen her again after that but Old Bill thought different. And then they found the gun at his flat and…’

Sadie snatched another quick glance and shivered. Of course he was bad. She’d recognised that from the first time she’d met him. ‘So why isn’t he locked up?’

‘Oh, he was. Got life for it, didn’t he? ’Cept then it turned out that the cops who nabbed him were bent and made a habit of planting evidence. After three years, the conviction was overturned on appeal and Nathan walked free.’

‘But was he innocent?’

‘Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t. Anyway, it was while he was inside that he met Terry Street. Terry was on remand for something or other – I can’t remember what – and the two of them palled up. The rest, as they say, is history. Nathan’s been working for Terry ever since he got out.’

Sadie felt her chest tighten. It was a scary thought that she had spent the evening with someone who could be guilty of murder. Although, she supposed, he could say the same thing too, although she didn’t imagine that Nathan Stone was scared of much and especially not of a woman. If you’d spent time inside and survived it, there probably wasn’t much that could frighten you. ‘I wonder if he did it,’ she murmured.

Velma raised her eyebrows. ‘Best not to go there, hon. Judge not that ye be not judged. Ain’t that what the holy folk say? Maybe a few people wondered about you too.’

‘They still do,’ said Sadie, thinking about the inspector and all his questions, thinking about Peter Royston with his sly, suspicious eyes.

‘Well then.’

Sadie gave a nod. Velma was right: she shouldn’t be too quick to judge. ‘I just wondered why he went to work for someone like Terry Street.’

‘Jobs ain’t that easy to come by, love, especially when you’ve been inside. Doesn’t matter if some court says you’re innocent and lets you go, there’s plenty who’ll still believe there’s no smoke without fire. You can’t blame a man for wanting to make a living.’

‘No, I guess not.’ But Sadie, even though she understood this, still couldn’t bring herself to like him. Stone wound her up. He was like an itch under her skin – constantly annoying – and no amount of scratching was going to ease the irritation. Her gaze slid back to the bar where he was now perched on a stool, smoking a cigarette. She had the feeling that his pose was deceptively casual, that in fact he was aware of everything and everyone around him.

‘He still hacks me off though.’

‘I can see, hon. That’s one almighty scowl on your forehead.’

Sadie made an effort to smooth out the frown. ‘I can’t help it. Do you think he was deliberately trying to scare me? About the funeral and all?’

‘Why would he do that?’

‘Why does Nathan Stone do anything?’

Velma didn’t get the chance to answer. At that moment a young, peroxide blonde woman who was almost definitely a prostitute – low-cut blouse, a miniskirt barely covering her backside and enough slap on her face to start a Revlon factory – came over to the table. She put her right hand on her hip and pouted.

‘Velma, love, you in tonight?’

‘No, babe. I’ve got Sandra covering for me. What’s wrong?’

‘I’ll tell you what’s wrong: you have to do something about Dexter. It took him ten bleedin’ minutes to get up the stairs after I rang the alarm last night. Ten minutes, hon! I could have been dead meat by then. It ain’t right. He’s a lazy fucker. And that Sandra’s not much better either. All she does is sit on her arse and watch the box; bloody place could be burning down and she wouldn’t notice.’

‘Okay, I’ll have a word.’

‘You’ll get it sorted?’

‘I just said, didn’t I?’

‘But you’ll do it soon, yeah? And that gas fire’s been playin’ up again. Icy it’s been for the past few nights. It ain’t good for business having the punters freezing their bollocks off.’

Velma heaved out a breath. ‘Anything else, hon, or can I get on with my drink now?’

‘Oh, pardon me. Didn’t know I was interrupting something important.’ The girl threw Velma a hostile look before flouncing off.

Sadie gazed after the prostitute, her brain rapidly digesting the words she’d just heard. She hadn’t got around to asking Velma what she did for a living and now she didn’t need to. Her jaw must have dropped because Velma gave a light laugh.

‘Not shocked are you, love?’

Sadie quickly shook her head. ‘Why should I be shocked?’

Velma smiled wryly. ‘Because you’re a nice middle-class girl who’s just discovered that she’s out with a tom. Wouldn’t blame you for feeling a bit —’

‘I don’t,’ Sadie insisted. And then, seeing the sceptical look in Velma’s eyes, she shrugged and admitted, ‘A bit surprised, I suppose, but that’s only because I’d never have guessed. I mean, you don’t look like…’ It was true that Velma maybe dressed a little young for her age, but plenty of women did that. ‘I just thought you worked in a shop or an office.’

‘To be honest, I pretty much hung up the fishnets a few years back. You reach a certain point and…’ Velma gave a resigned kind of sigh. ‘Well, Terry has a couple of houses down Albert Road and I help look after the girls. It don’t bring in a fortune but it keeps me going. Every little helps, as they say.’

Sadie gazed curiously at Velma. She had never met what her mother would call ‘a lady of the night’ before and found herself fascinated. ‘So you’re a sort of madam now?’

‘Ah, I wouldn’t call myself that. No, I just book the punters in and make sure they behave themselves. I ain’t no Cynthia Payne, that’s for sure.’

Sadie remembered the name. Cynthia, a middle-aged so-called party hostess, had made the headlines when she’d been charged with running a brothel in Streatham. There had been lurid tales of elderly men dressing up in lingerie and being spanked by young women. And something faintly farcical about payment being made with luncheon vouchers. ‘She was in the papers, wasn’t she? Didn’t she go to jail?’

‘Six months, hon, although the judge gave her eighteen at the end of the trial. There was talk of lawyers and MPs being clients, not to mention a vicar or two. That’s what really got up their noses. Still worried about all that Profumo shit, you see. The sentence was reduced on appeal though; she only served six.’

‘Don’t you ever worry about being raided?’

‘There’s no chance of that. Terry makes sure that all the right palms are greased. Old Bill pull a few girls off the streets every now and then, just for appearance’s sake, but then Terry pays the fines and everyone’s happy.’

Sadie, although she’d heard about police corruption, about bent coppers, had never been sure how widespread it was. ‘Really? Is that how it works?’

‘Sure. The law knows it can’t get rid of prostitution, love. It ain’t called the oldest profession for nothing. They can move the girls on for a while, clear a street or two, but they can’t make it go away. For as long as there are men willing to pay, there’ll be girls prepared to take the cash.’

Sadie took a sip of her wine while she thought about this. ‘It must be scary, though,’ she said. ‘You don’t ever know who’s going to walk through that door. Do you get much trouble?’

‘Some, but nothing I can’t deal with. And it’s safer for the girls being inside than out. Mainly it’s regulars, same guys turning up again and again. It’s the strangers you got to watch out for, the unfamiliar faces; you’re never sure how they’re going to behave.’