Abbott took two smart steps, peered quickly around the door, levelling the gun at whatever was inside.

Just a regular lounge. Armchair, sofa, coffee table.

And Scutter, who sat in the armchair facing the television, although it was off. He sat upright, neck straight, chin slightly raised. In his track pants and T-shirt, he looked like a disgraced PE teacher about to accept with good grace whatever punishment was meted out to him.

Gun held, Abbott scoped the room in sections, checking out likely entry and exit points just in case things got a little turbo. He saw an empty kitchen at the back of the house, and then French doors that looked out onto a patch of green grass with empty, untended flowerbeds either side. A tiny garden waiting for somebody to fill it with love, care and attention.

Abbott turned his eyes back to Scutter. ‘I haven’t interrupted anything, have I?’ he said, indicating the TV, thinking of what Tess had told him about Scutter. The films. We didn’t call them child pornography anymore. That was something Abbott had learned during his time in Thailand. We called them what they were. We called them images of child sex abuse.

‘No,’ said Scutter. He pointed at the coffee table in front of him, on which sat a Fast & Furious box set. ‘Just that.’

Aside from the box set there was a tin of lager, but otherwise precious few signs of life or personality in the room. Nothing on the neutral-painted walls. No photographs in frames, books. ‘This doesn’t bother you?’ said Abbott, indicating with the gun.

‘No, not really. I’m glad it’s not a knife or, worse, a garrotte. I often worried that somebody might come with a garrotte. I didn’t want to be burned, either, and there was always the fear that somebody might decide to torture me first.

‘No, all things considered, and when you take into account how much I deserve whatever comes my way, then I’ll take a bullet.’

‘Except that I didn’t come to kill you, Scutter.’

‘I see. Then what did you come for?’

‘We’ll get on to that. First of all, how did you know to expect me?’

‘McGregor called to say you were on your way.’

‘Who’s McGregor?’

‘You’ve been in Derby a few days, have you heard of the Doyle crew?’

‘The name’s come up.’

‘Head of the family is Raymond Doyle. My uncle, as it happens. McGregor is Ray Doyle’s right-hand man. They’ve been trying to put eyes on you but have so far failed. Lucky for them, you’ve been chatting up the local barmen. What you have to understand, though, is that if you’re here, then the other guy won’t be far behind.’

‘Other guy?’

‘Yes. There’s another guy.’ Scutter smiled wanly. ‘Another hitman.’