A van painted to look like a blue sky turned into the autoyard, so Liz put down her coffee, thanked the man who’d made it for her, and left the reception area. She climbed into the passenger seat without a word and the van backed up. Not until the vehicle was heading southeast along Bow Common Lane did the driver say anything.

‘You employed the Rotten Rake, then?’

She saw him looking at her hands, which were in her lap. For the first time since she attacked Brad, she lifted them and peered at her nails. Blood was encrusted underneath and on the tips of her fingers.

‘Maybe the Ghastly Gnash, too?’

She was still looking at her nails, and remembering. Not the act of clawing at the man’s eyes in the dark train carriage, though. Years earlier, when Ron had shown her the technique. Part joke, given the name of the move, but deadly serious otherwise. Someone had tried to abduct her right out of the hairdresser’s and only the early return of her bodyguard had prevented it. After that, Ron taught her self-defence but not your typical kind. No karate moves or jiu-jitsu submissions because, in Ron’s world, those things didn’t work. In his world, attackers had knives and guns. So, he showed her how to fire a gun. But for the times when a man was close, grabbing her, and a gun was of no use? She was shown how to rake out a man’s eyes and bite out a man’s throat. Not things she would have ever wanted to be shown, of course, but Ron had insisted. She had prayed it would all be a waste of time.

‘I wasn’t kidnapped,’ she said. ‘It was—’

‘It was something else,’ he finished. ‘Enough said. Do you need medical care, and do you need food?’

‘Something else, yes. But what? Why wasn’t it enough to…’ She couldn’t finish the sentence as her eyes welled up. She wiped them, then fingered the side of that hand. The paw print tattoo, bringing her some comfort. Danny didn’t need to hear the remainder of her unfinished sentence to know what she meant. Why wasn’t it enough for these people to do what they had done? Why did they want to harm her, too?

‘You’re a witness,’ he said. ‘That’s why. They don’t want you talking to the police. Soon, hopefully, what you can tell the police won’t matter because they’ll already know.’

She nodded, understanding his message: once she was no longer a threat neither would they be. But that didn’t comfort her right now, with Ron freshly gone and the danger imminent.

He tried to change the subject by asking again if she needed medical aid or food.

But she ignored the question. ‘I heard one of them speak. We were at a bridge, hiding. My head was cloudy… I’d just found out about Ron… but I thought… thought I might have heard the voice before. Do you think this is why they want me?’

‘Sounds likely. Where did you hear his voice previously?’

She shook her head. ‘Maybe I was getting confused. I was in shock.’

She searched his face for something. Recognition. Worry. Understanding. Something that would tell her he knew who might have done this. Because he knew who Ron’s enemies were. Had been, she corrected herself, and felt the tears threatening again. But there was nothing in his face except puzzlement, and she figured that was probably good. Somehow.

‘I need clothes,’ she said.

‘I brought you some. And painkillers. And toiletries.’

‘Thank you.’ She felt a little calmer now.

Danny looked at her, waiting for her to tell him why the killers had targeted Ron. But she had no idea and her silence soon prompted him to veer the conversation.

‘You didn’t go to number ten. Craig went there to see.’

‘I didn’t trust the safe house,’ she said. ‘In case they tortured the information out of Ron. He always said we only should go there together. And I didn’t know who the police would visit.’

‘As far as I’ve heard, nobody went to number ten. The camera recorded nothing. The police have been pulling everyone in. Nobody’s saying a thing, of course, including about who did this. They’ve got some ideas, but nobody knew all of Ron’s enemies except Ron. And one other person.’ He looked at her, and she understood.

Three months before, just after the clock struck midnight. Two days before he got arrested for serious fraud. A candlelit dinner and a swap of New Year resolutions. For her: no more smoking, which she’d achieved, and no more betting on the dogs, which she hadn’t. For Ron: no more secrets. She had made a joke (go on, then, tell me how many little Rons are out there?), but hadn’t been prepared for what happened next. He had outlined every crime he’d planned, taken part in, was responsible for.

Including murder.

She had listened in stunned silence as her husband exposed dark chasms in a soul that she thought she had well mapped. Four people whose deaths she suspected he was involved with. Three that she had believed were wrongly attributed to him and his gang. And three men that Ron had personally killed with his own hands. Some wives might have fled, but her shock and abhorrence had been overwhelmed by his honesty, and, somehow, she had forgiven him. He promised there would be no more killings. And, to her knowledge, there hadn’t been.

‘I don’t know who could have killed my husband,’ she said in response to his unasked question. Even though Ron had confided in her, she was none the wiser.

‘Okay,’ Danny replied. But he didn’t sound that convinced, and his next sentence seemed designed to prompt her: ‘Doesn’t matter because Ron’s boys are out there cracking heads to find out.’

‘I don’t want that. If my name without his has any sway, you should tell them to stop. What’s done is done. There’s no need for anyone else to get hurt. It won’t rewind time and change last night. You didn’t tell them about me, did you?’

She had told him to keep her contacting him a secret.

‘I’m long out of the loop, remember. Nobody knows anything. And I’m also in the dark about everything. But I could do with knowing one thing: what’s your plan?’

‘I’m going to go to the police. I want to talk to Mr Gold first and have him arrange everything. But first, I need your help. To help Karl.’

‘The man who helped you?’

She had only briefly mentioned Karl on the phone and didn’t want to say much more about him just yet. ‘He got me out of trouble and I owe him. I need you to help me. Have you heard of St Dunstan’s Church?’