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‘But the chances are she was a prostitute. There are plenty round here too, and there’ve been a few girls attacked recently. It’s a risk they run.’
    â€˜That’s no comfort if you’re dead,’ Kate said. ‘She’s someone’s daughter. And why have they arrested Nelson Mackintosh? He seems to be a good family man, looking out for his son with Tess, who’s one of his teachers  . . .’
    â€˜Who the hell is this Nelson Mackintosh?’ Barnard asked, looking at her flushed face in astonishment. ‘What on earth is going on? You sound as if you’re getting into something you really shouldn’t. And after last time I don’t suppose I should be very surprised about that. Come on, tell me all about it. Who exactly is Nelson Mackintosh?’
    Slightly reluctantly she told him how she and Tess had bumped into Mackintosh the previous evening and been entertained at his cafe. ‘He’s a Jamaican,’ Kate said, more airily than she felt. ‘His son’s in Tess’s English class. She’d met Nelson before, when he came to the school at the beginning of term to talk about his boy. He runs this Jamaican cafe, called Poor Man’s Corner.’
    â€˜Jesus wept,’ Barnard said. ‘I’ve heard of that. And so has the local nick, I know for a fact. It was Jamaican independence day last year and things blew up at Poor Man’s Corner, if I recall it right. They called out the riot squad in the end. Nicked a lot of them for smoking marijuana – as they do. The local superintendent wanted the place closed down but the magistrates reckoned it was just high spirits, a party that got out of hand. The super was not very pleased with that result, as I hear it. I guess they’ve been keeping a close eye on the place, and on Mackintosh.’
    â€˜Well, everyone seemed very well behaved last night,’ Kate said defensively. ‘And Nelson seemed like the last man you’d expect to get arrested – for murder no less, according to the bizzy on the door.’
    â€˜I’m sure they were on their best behaviour if you were with the boss man, but that doesn’t tell you anything about what goes on there when there are no whites around, does it?’
    â€˜But murder?’ Kate said mutinously.
    â€˜I’m sure the local nick know what they’re doing,’ Barnard said quickly, although he was not at all sure that what they were doing was likely to be in any way straightforward. ‘They know this patch.’
    â€˜You don’t sound as if you like West Indians very much,’ Kate said.
    â€˜Most cops would like it better if they stayed at home,’ Barnard said flatly. ‘They’ve been nothing but trouble since they came to this part of London.’
    â€˜We had an African priest for a bit in my parish when I was a kid, helping Father Reagan,’ Kate said. ‘He was a very nice man. The kids all loved him.’
    â€˜But he went back home, I bet,’ Barnard said.
    Kate nodded.
    â€˜So there you are then,’ Barnard said.
    Kate drained her coffee and pulled her coat back on.
    â€˜Will you at least stop taking chances, Kate?’ Barnard said. ‘Keep clear of all this stuff and find a new flat somewhere safer?’
    â€˜I didn’t really know I was taking chances,’ she said.
    â€˜Have you been taking photographs too? That might not go down to well with some people.’
    â€˜A few,’ she lied airily.
    â€˜Look, let me take you out tonight and I’ll show you where it’s safe to go and where it’s not. Just a tour round the pubs and clubs, no strings. You’ll enjoy it, I promise. You never know who you’ll see slumming in some of these places.’ Kate put her head on one side for a moment.
    â€˜OK,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Pick me up about eight.’

FIVE
    K ate knocked on Cecily Beauchamp’s door but it