This was just a crate of beer: once she got the door open slightly she could see it and push it out of the way. Then she went in.

She almost turned and went straight back out because the smell made her gag, but she covered her nose with her hand and tried hard not to look at the filth.

She had never in her life seen anything like it. Dirty dishes, empty beer bottles, fish-and-chip papers, cigarette stubs, milk turned sour in bottles and cans of food with jagged tops lay everywhere. The sink and draining board were full of dirty dishes, cigarettes ends stubbed out on them. Burnt saucepans sat on the floor alongside clothes, shoes and old newspapers. She couldn't imagine how anyone could even make a cup of tea in there, let alone cook a meal. But not wanting to linger, she pa.s.sed through it into the hall.

It was eerily quiet, the only sound a buzzing of flies somewhere. She pushed open the back-room door and saw a rectangular table strewn with beer bottles, dirty gla.s.ses, a half-full bottle of Scotch and several overloaded ashtrays. Eight chairs were set around it, and this had to be where they held the card games.

She knew the front room quite well from looking into it so often from her flat, yet close up it proved far more disgusting. Dirty cups and plates littered the floor and the battered and stained couch and chairs were strewn with clothing. The television was a big one, and there was a long, low walnut veneer radiogram, its top scarred with cigarette burns and rings from cups and gla.s.ses.

On she went, up the stairs, peeping briefly into each of the three bedrooms. All were vile; there were beds that looked like heaps of dirty rags, a smell that made sure she kept her hand clamped over her nose, and the light filtering through the covering on the windows was grey. She couldn't bear even to look into the bathroom.

Finally she got to the last flight of stairs. There had been no carpet anywhere except in the downstairs front room where the television was, and her footsteps rang out on the bare boards. b.a.l.l.s of fluff, refuse and even crusts of bread were everywhere.

'Angela!' she called out. 'It's me, Fifi!' Her voice echoed alarmingly, and her heart pounded with fear that the front door would open and Alfie would catch her in there.

She could smell stale urine on top of the other putrid smells now, and the buzzing of flies was much louder. She went first to the front room, as she'd seen Angela look out from that window so often, but it was empty except for two double beds pushed up close to each other, and the now all too predictable filthy bedding. A naked rubber doll with one arm missing lay on the floor, the only toy she'd seen in the entire house.

There was only one more room now, and she had a really bad feeling about opening that last door.

She braced herself as she pushed it open, but recoiled momentarily at the frenzied buzz of flies that flew at her. Her eyes met the end of an old-fashioned black iron bed with fancy bra.s.s k.n.o.bs, and through the rails she could see a shape under a surprisingly clean sheet.

'Angela!' Fifi called, creeping hesitantly closer.

It had to be her under the sheet, the mound was the right size and there was even a little tow-coloured hair by the head rails. But even so, Fifi was afraid to pull the sheet back. Gooseb.u.mps came up on her limbs and her heartbeat accelerated with fear. She wanted to flee without looking, but she knew she must.

The smell which filled the whole house was much worse in here, rank and heavy with overtones of urine, sweat and mould. But there was another smell too, something she couldn't define, and this disgusted her most.

But she had to get this over with, so she grabbed the sheet and pulled it back sharply.

'Oh no!' she exclaimed, clamping her hand over her mouth in horror.

It was Angela, stark naked.

Her arms and legs were all splayed out like a starfish, and her mouth was gaping open. There were smears of blood and bruising on her thighs and stomach. Even without touching her, Fifi knew she was dead.

For a second Fifi could only stare at the child in horror. Her eyes were shut, but her features were set in an expression of anguish. Such a thin little body, every bone visible through her pale skin, and her little v.u.l.v.a was swollen and red.

As she began to heave, Fifi turned and ran down the stairs, wrenching open the front door.

The heat of the sun hit her like opening an oven door. 'Did you find her, Mrs Reynolds?' she heard Matthew call out. She knew she was going to be sick, but some sort of instinct made her hide it from the boy.

'Yes, I'm just going to the shop to get her something,' she managed to croak out. Then, taking a deep breath to try and calm herself enough to fool him at least temporarily, she began walking quickly to the end of the street and the phone.

It seemed like an hour before the police came, although in reality it couldn't have been longer than ten minutes. She managed to report the crime, give her name and address and walk swiftly back to her flat. Fortunately Matthew and the other boys had gone from the street, for if they'd come over to her she might well have blurted out what she'd seen. She needed someone, anyone would have done, for it was far too big a shock to contain it. But the entire street was deserted, and she knew too that the right thing to do was to keep it to herself at least until the police had been.

She only just got to the bathroom before she was sick. Her legs felt like rubber, she was shaking like a leaf and as cold as if it were suddenly the middle of winter. She hauled herself back up to her flat, wrapped her dressing-gown round herself and waited.

It was so strange that she'd spent so much time recently looking out of the window but couldn't look now. The picture of Angela lying on that bed, the accompanying smell and the sound of the flies were all she could see, smell and hear. She was beyond crying; what she felt was white-hot rage.

Even when the first police car came roaring down the road, pulling up with a squeal of brakes, she couldn't move to look. She'd left the Muckles' door on the latch, and she could imagine the policemen seeing everything she'd seen as they went up through the house.

As a child she was always wishing she could be involved in a huge drama. She would imagine herself rescuing an old lady from a burning house or jumping into a frozen river to save a drowning dog. She wanted to be a heroine, to have everyone applaud her courage, to be looked up to and talked about.

Maybe she could have that kind of attention now, but she certainly didn't want it. She wished this was just a terrible nightmare and that she'd wake up to see Angela out playing with other children in the street.

When she'd sat at the window this morning, the sun had been on that side of the street. She'd felt happy, giggling to herself at how the Muckle family looked in their best clothes. They'd looked bizarre but not evil, not even dangerous. Yet they must have prepared for their day out while Angela was already dead or dying.

Her horror wasn't so much that Angela was dead. If she'd heard the child had been killed in a road accident she'd be upset, but at least that would be understandable. But how could she ever get over what had been done to that little girl before she died?

The sound of car doors slamming, heavy boots ringing out on the pavement and other neighbours' voices as they came out to see what was going on upset her still further. She had to go into the bedroom, draw the curtains and lie down. She wanted Dan. If only he'd come home right now.

She lay on the bed waiting for the inevitable ring at the doorbell. Even though she'd shut both the living-room and bedroom doors, she could still hear the ever-increasing noise from the street. She so much wished that she could be on the same level as the other neighbours, curious, eager, gossiping and trying to work out what was going on in number 11. She was certain that not one of them could even guess at the real horror the police would be confronted with.

The ring on the doorbell came at ten to five. Fifi knew she must answer it, but all she really wanted to do was to pull the covers over her head and ignore it. She got up, her legs stiff and wooden, and slowly made her way downstairs.

'Come in,' she said to the two police officers. She'd never seen either of them before. The smaller, older one was in plain clothes, his dark suit crumpled and shabby, his hair like a rough wire brush. The uniformed one was well over six feet tall, with washed-out blue eyes and rather prominent teeth.

They were introducing themselves, but she was too aware of the neighbours crowding around just behind them to take in what the men were saying.

'You are Mrs Felicity Reynolds?' the older man asked as the door closed behind him. Fifi could only nod and lead the way upstairs.

Once in her living room, Fifi took the chair furthest from the window. 'I don't know if I can tell you,' she said, feeling as if she might be sick again at any minute. 'It's too terrible.'

'Take your time, Mrs Reynolds,' the older officer said gently. 'We understand you are in shock. I'm Detective Inspector Roper, and this is Sergeant Wallis. We have of course been in there; we just want you to tell us what you saw.'

All at once she was blurting it out in one long flood of words, crying at the same time. They were gentle with her: Roper even took her hand and patted it, telling her that she was doing just fine, while the younger man made her tea.

After Fifi had drunk it, Roper went back over what she'd told them, getting her to explain how and why she went into the Muckles' house in the first place. His voice was calm and soothing as he asked her questions, and Wallis took notes.

As Fifi told them about seeing the Muckles leaving at nine that morning, and what she'd overheard, the noise level from the street was growing. She could identify some of the voices, sharp and questioning, perhaps wanting to know why the police were in with Fifi.

'I shouldn't have gone in there. I should have called you,' Fifi said, breaking down again. 'I wish to G.o.d I'd never seen it.'

'But we couldn't have gone in there straight away without any evidence of a crime,' Roper said evenly. 'What you did was perhaps foolhardy, but none the less brave. You have at least prevented the little girl's death being concealed.'

'What would he have done with her body?' Fifi asked, then shuddered at the possibilities that brought into her mind.

Fifi knew the moment Dan turned into the street as the voices outside grew louder still and she heard people running down the road.

'Do they know what's happened?' Fifi asked fearfully. 'If that's my husband they are running to, what will they tell him?'

'They know that Angela Muckle is dead and they've probably guessed that you found her,' Roper said. He looked hot, running his finger around the collar of his shirt as if he longed to unb.u.t.ton it. 'We won't be telling anyone anything else, and we have to ask that you don't discuss anything that you saw with anyone, as it might prejudice our investigation.'

Even beneath the grime from the building site, Dan looked pale and apprehensive as he came up the stairs. Fifi ran into his arms crying and he held her tightly, looking at the two police officers for an explanation.

Roper told him the gist of it, then said they would have to leave now to continue with their investigation. 'Obviously your wife will need to talk to you about it,' he said, looking sternly at Dan. 'But I have to ask that you keep it between yourselves. Until we have made an arrest, and all the evidence has been examined, it is imperative that no one else knows the details your wife has given us.'

'How did Angela die?' Dan asked, his voice rasping with emotion.

'We can't be absolutely certain until the pathologist has examined her. But it appears to be asphyxiation.'

'The b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' Dan spat out. 'I should have ripped his throat out the last time he hurt her.'

'Don't, Dan,' Fifi implored him, knowing he was now going to blame himself for not going to the police then. 'We couldn't have known it would come to this.'

'He might have been doing a runner this morning!' Dan said, his dark eyes wide with horror.

'We don't think so,' Roper said firmly. 'It's like a tip over there, but it doesn't appear to have been abandoned. Don't you worry, we'll get him. We'll have officers everywhere around here waiting for him to come home. Now, Mrs Reynolds, we'll need to take a formal statement from you soon,' he went on to say. 'Not tomorrow, you need to calm yourself first. Monday morning will do, if you wouldn't mind coming down to the station at about ten.' He looked at Dan then, who was still holding Fifi tightly. 'I think you should call the doctor to your wife. She's had a terrible shock.'

A terrible shock! That was how anyone would describe it, yet it didn't come even close to describing what had happened to Fifi. Deep down inside her she had expected to find something nasty in number 11. But what she had found was way beyond any horror she was capable of imagining.

After the police had gone, she wanted to talk to Dan about what she'd seen, but she couldn't. The bare bones of it she could manage, but she couldn't convey the gut-wrenching disgust she'd felt, or even come close to describing the evil she'd seen, smelled and felt. The policemen understood, she'd seen it in their faces, but they'd been there, seen it, and Dan hadn't.

He didn't know what to say to her. He kept clutching her to him, rubbing her back as she cried, kissing her face, even apologizing for not knowing what to say.

'I don't know what to say either,' she cried, clinging to him.

He washed and changed his clothes, then made them both a cup of tea and sat down with her on his lap, but his eyes constantly strayed to the window. There were five police cars in the road now and the area along the front of number 11 was cordoned off. As the police searched the house, more and more people were arriving in the street to look, and the noise they made wafted up to Dan and Fifi and engulfed them both.

They heard Frank arrive back, and voices shrill with an ugly kind of excitement telling him what had happened. Soon afterwards Miss Diamond came home too, and it was all repeated.

'They are all feeding on it,' Fifi whispered. 'Like sharks coming in for the kill. A little girl is dead, and they can't even be quiet and show a little respect.'

Both Frank and Miss Diamond at least came in quickly. Dan and Fifi could hear their m.u.f.fled voices down in the hall.

'I don't want to see them,' Fifi said in panic, knowing they were probably discussing whether they should come up to her or not.

'I'll go,' Dan said, lifting her up in his arms. He put her back in the chair and ruffled her hair affectionately. 'I'll ring the doctor while I'm at it.'

'I don't need a doctor, only you,' Fifi said, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. 'What can he do but give me something to sleep?'

'Maybe that's what you need,' Dan said, looking very anxious.

Fifi shook her head. 'No, I want to be awake when they they get back.' get back.'

Dan slipped down to Frank and Miss Diamond. He spoke in a low voice and although Fifi could not hear what anyone was saying, she sensed the tone of sympathy in both Frank and Miss Diamond's replies.

Dan came back with a brandy bottle. 'Frank said you're to have some of this,' he said. 'Miss Diamond has gone in with him, they're both shaky and stunned and neither of them wants to be alone.'

Fifi had never liked the taste of brandy, but she drank it anyway, grateful for the way it soothed the jitters inside her. Dan made himself a sandwich but found he couldn't eat it. He stood at the window looking down at the people in the street and a tear rolled down his cheek.

'I should never have brought you here,' he said after a few moments of silence. 'In fact I should have disappeared after that day I went to tea at your house. I've brought you nothing but misery.'

'That's not true,' Fifi retorted. 'I've had more happiness since I met you than I had in my whole life before. What happened over there is nothing to do with us, Dan. If I hadn't been such a busybody someone else would've found her.'

'I wish it hadn't been you,' he said, looking round at her. 'I'm afraid of what it will do to you.'

They sat in silence by the window, watching as daylight gradually faded. It was a beautiful sunset, the sky turning red, with shades of purple through to mauve and pink.

They didn't turn on any lights, just stayed rooted in their chairs holding hands. As it became dark they could see into the Muckles' house, for all the lights were on there. Figures flitted from room to room, presumably conducting a thorough search. A little later they saw bright flashes in the top window, perhaps from a camera, and a man who could have been a police doctor, as he had a kind of medical bag, left and drove away. An ambulance arrived, two men went into the house and emerged only minutes later carrying a covered stretcher. Two policemen positioned outside the house spoke harshly to the onlookers who had come closer to look, and they melted back as if ashamed of themselves.

One by one the lights at number 11 were turned off. The two police at the door ordered people off the street, and they walked away too.

To all intents and purposes, it looked as if the house was now deserted. But there had been at least a dozen men inside it earlier, and less than half had left. Fifi felt for those left inside that stinking house of h.e.l.l. Two of them slipped out and went down to the coal yard, presumably to lie in wait for Alfie in case he tried to escape that way. She had to a.s.sume there were more police positioned up by the shop and pub, and in the road behind Dale Street.

Every one of Fifi's muscles grew tauter as if she were preparing to run a race as the clock slowly moved on past ten o'clock. Dan was the same, leaning forward in his chair, eyes fixed on the corner shop.

There was no one left out in the street now, but Fifi was very aware that almost everyone was watching and waiting as they were, for windows that were usually brightly lit were in darkness.

A tripping sound of footsteps made Fifi lean forward.

'It's Yvette,' Dan whispered. 'I'd forgotten about her! Has she been out all day? If so, she won't know what's going on.'

Fifi had told the police Yvette had been out when she knocked earlier, but she hadn't given her a thought since. She whispered this to Dan, and added that Mr and Mrs Balstrode, who lived above her, would soon fill her in with the news.

'Poor woman, she looks so weary,' Dan said.

He was right, Fifi thought. Yvette looked as if she was finding it hard to put one foot in front of the other. 'She must have been finishing off the wedding outfit she was working on in her client's home,' Fifi said. 'She never stays out after dark normally because she's so nervous.'

'Living next door to the Muckles must be more dangerous than being out in the dark,' Dan said grimly. 'I wonder if she heard anything this morning?'

They watched Yvette go in through the front door. She switched on her light and they saw her illuminated in the window for a couple of moments while she drew the curtains.

Ten minutes later, just as Fifi's attention was beginning to waver because of the brandy she'd drunk, Dan gripped her knee.

'They're coming,' he hissed.

Fifi was immediately tense again. She got up to see better, and sure enough there were the Muckles coming down the road, both Alfie and Molly wearing some kind of seaside hat. They were arm-in-arm, perhaps drunk, the three children trailing behind them and Dora and Mike, carrying the bags, bringing up the rear.

Seeing Alfie walking down the street apparently without a care in the world, when she knew he'd raped and killed his youngest daughter just that morning, was too much for Fifi. If Dan hadn't suddenly grabbed her, perhaps realizing what she might do, she would have run down the stairs, out on to the street and attacked him.

'No, sweetheart,' he whispered, holding her tightly. 'He'll hang for what he's done, and the police will give him the kicking of his life before that. Just watch him get captured, with me.'

'b.l.o.o.d.y quiet tonight,' they heard Alfie say to Molly. 'Reckon we ought to liven things up, girl.'

Molly cackled with laughter, and the sound was an even bigger affront to Fifi's senses.

She held her breath as the Muckles approached their front door. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the officer down by the coal yard come out of the shadows, and at the same time a police car turned into the top of the road.

Alfie unlocked his door and went in. A light came on in the hall, and suddenly the silence of the street was broken by yelling, swearing and scuffling.

That noise was the signal for everyone to turn on their lights and spill out on to the street again, many of them shouting abuse and waving fists at number 11.

Alan Muckle had not yet got through the front door, and hearing the noise and commotion he tried to run for it. He was swiftly caught by the man at number 14 who twisted his arm up behind his back and brought him back to be handed to the police.

'Child killers!' someone shouted, and suddenly everyone was chanting it, over and over again.

'If they knew what else they'd done they'd tear them apart with bare hands,' Fifi exclaimed.