He turned slightly to regard Abbott in the back seat. Those hooded eyes taking him in as though assessing prey. ‘And you, supposedly our employee – a man about to be in receipt of a great deal of money from Lady Norton – were about to let it go into the wild.’

‘Watch it,’ said Abbott. ‘Watch it and see what kind of woman you’re working for.’

‘What kind of woman we’re all working for,’ corrected Kilgore. ‘A woman who pays handsomely, as you well know. So tell me, Mr Abbott, who were you planning on sending this to, and why?’ asked Kilgore.

‘Look, why would I want to endanger my fee, eh? It was just a bit of insurance. You think I’d want to blow the gaff?’

Once again Kilgore turned in his seat to regard Abbott. ‘Well, this is the thing. We know very little about you. One thing we do know, for example, is that you turned up in Derby wanting to deal with some red in the ledger regarding your brother. Perhaps what I might take from that is that you are a man of principle. Perhaps the money is of no interest to you.’

Abbott shook his head. ‘Well, imagine how much good I can do with all that money. I mean, that’s a lot of principles I can work out, yes? A lot of charities I could donate to. Plenty of folk I could help out of the gutter. Is that what you mean?’

Kilgore turned back. ‘No, I don’t think it’s what I mean. Where were you planning to send it? Address in Bedfordshire, according to the courier.’

Abbott reflected on how lucky it was that the Norton men had made their play before he’d had a chance to brief the courier. Chain of events was that the receptionist, having been paid off by the Nortons and told to report back if Abbott did anything unusual, gave them a call when he ordered the courier. Sure enough, they’d turned up mob-handed but showed their hand too early.

‘My own address,’ said Abbott. ‘I was going to post it to myself as a form of insurance.’

He saw Kilgore’s eyes in the mirror. Saw that he didn’t believe him. And yet somehow it didn’t seem to matter. Abbott had the distinct feeling that things were moving forward whether he liked it or not.

McGregor’s phone rang. ‘Aye?’ he said, and then, ‘Thank you.’ He ended the call and said to Kilgore, ‘Abbott made a copy of the movie but according to Morris he hasn’t sent it anywhere. Not from that laptop anyway.’

Kilgore turned again. ‘Did you?’

‘Would I tell you if I had?’

‘Probably not.’