"Good God, I know this one," Parky said. "He used to live round here when I was a young constable. Bagged him coming out of a booze shop he'd broken into on Wapping High Street. Costello, Fergus Costello. He went down the steps for two years. Petty criminal, when he got out. Irish bloke, drunk and disorderly, that kind of thing, always getting arrested."

"Can you remember what happened to him?" Billy asked.

"Not really, it's so long ago." They watched as a police officer went through the dead man's pockets, producing a bunch of skeleton keys, a folded flick-knife, and a.38 Smith amp; Wesson revolver, which they handed to Parky.

"He certainly meant business."

A passport came next, which turned out to be Irish. "See, I was right," Parky said, but frowned when he opened it. "John Docherty, and there's a Dublin address." He shook his head and handed the passport to Billy. "Even though he's dead, you can see from the photo it's the same man."

"You're right." Billy gave it to Harry. "Must be a forgery. Let's see what's in the wallet."

Parky went to his car, opened the wallet, and took out the wet contents-a driver's license, a Social Security card, and a credit card. "All in the name of John Docherty, and an address in Point Street, Kilburn."

"So he was living under a false name," Harry said.

Parky nodded. "You know, I remember now, it's all coming back. He used to get in a lot of trouble over the drink, and then there was a refuge opened, run by Catholics. They used to get visits from a priest, who had a big influence on the boozers there. I can't remember his name, but, as I recall, Costello stopped getting into trouble and started churchgoing, and then he cleared off."

The officer who had been searching the pockets said, "There's this, sir, tucked away."