The smell of coffee drifted into his bedroom as Knox mentally prepared for the day ahead. By now Leconfield House would have been told that he wouldn’t be coming in, and the bodies of the two men Williams had killed would have been removed from Smithfield, along with any signs that anyone had been anywhere near the cold store. In an hour Knox would collect Williams from Wytchen House, take him on the long drive to the Kent coast, and hopefully start to help his friend put himself back together, and work out what he needed to do to earn true absolution.

Knox finally let the enticing aroma pull him out of his bed. Then he remembered that he didn’t have any coffee in the flat.

He slid out from under his white cotton covers, slipped on a dark grey robe, and stepped out into the open-plan living area, where he found exactly who he was expecting waiting for him, leaning against the kitchen counter next to two porcelain cups Knox didn’t own full of fresh coffee.

‘Good morning,’ he said to Bennett. ‘I thought I was out of beans.’

‘You are,’ Bennett replied, handing Knox one of the cups. ‘The guys at Bar Italia kindly obliged.’

Bar Italia was the twenty-four-hour cafe on Frith Street that Knox had spent incalculable hours in over the years, first with Williams and then by himself. It was also where he’d first encountered Bennett—though he hadn’t known it at the time.

‘I didn’t know they did takeaway,’ Knox said as he sat down at the dining table. ‘Last time I saw someone ask they were laughed out of the place.’

‘I was real nice about it,’ Bennett said, joining him at the table.

‘I suppose everything changes eventually.’

‘Most things.’ Bennett looked around at the room that had been an empty white box the first time she’d quietly let herself into Knox’s flat. ‘Usually for the better.’

‘Usually.’

Knox took a long sip. He tried to recall the last time he’d shared a drink with someone in his flat, as part of either an interrogation or a seduction, and drew a blank.

‘I’ve missed this,’ Bennett said, taking her own sip.

‘Breaking into people’s homes?’

Bennett smirked. ‘Decent coffee. I’ve been stuck on American instant for too long.’

‘Sounds rather joyless.’

‘It is, but it gets the job done.’ Bennett savoured another mouthful of the rich, dark liquid, then added, ‘Are we going to talk about Regent’s Park?’

‘We probably should,’ Knox replied.

‘Where is he?’

‘Who?’ Knox asked.

‘You know who. Jack Williams.’

Knox took another sip of his coffee. ‘I have no idea.’

‘That’s bull, Richard,’ Bennett said, her tone not quite as light as it had been a few moments before. ‘I just want to know he’s okay.’

‘I’m surprised you’re so concerned for his welfare.’