‘And here’s the problem, mate,’ growled Doyle, leaning forward and snatching a packet of Benson & Hedges, pulling one out and lighting up without offering them to anybody else. ‘That is literally all I know. And do you know what? I don’t like that. It pisses me off. You staying in the city?’

‘Close enough.’

‘Where?’

This was good, thought Abbott. Whatever surveillance they’d mounted hadn’t extended to discovering his room at the Travelodge. ‘I’ll be keeping that information to myself for the time being, thank you.’

‘Suspicious, eh?’

Abbott shrugged. ‘This is the bit where I say that being suspicious keeps me alive.’

‘Very wise.’ Doyle leaned back. ‘All right, we’ll let that one go. A man needs his privacy. But just you make sure that I get answers soon, or the next finger you break will be your own, got it?’

Abbott swallowed, knowing that now, more than ever, this was a trip into the unknown. What were they doing? Testing him? Interrogating him? Either way this could end badly if he said something that met with their displeasure.

‘What are you doing in Derby?’

‘You know what I’m doing in Derby. I’m doing a job in Derby. Correction. I’ve done a job in Derby.’

Doyle’s eyes squinted as he took a deep drag, smoking it like he wanted it to kill him. ‘I want to know why.’

‘Would you believe I don’t know?’ said Abbott.

A silence hung in the room. Abbott kept his face neutral but his mind raced. Was this the right answer? ‘I was given names,’ he continued carefully. ‘Provided with pictures and told that McGregor would be in touch. That’s all.’

Doyle’s face darkened. He stubbed the cigarette out angrily in an already overflowing ashtray. He reached for another.

‘I’m sorry if I give offence,’ said Abbott neutrally, ‘the fact is . . . Mr Doyle . . .’ At that Doyle looked a little appeased, nodding approvingly at Abbott’s newfound show of respect, ‘the fact is that the only details I was given are the ones we’ve already discussed.’

‘Well, in that case, I do have the edge on you,’ smiled Doyle, losing a little more of his sore-headed bear demeanour. ‘I happen to know that what you did today was some form of a test. Reckon you’ve passed with flying colours.’

‘What sort of a test?’ said Abbott.

‘Kilgore didn’t mention it?’

Kilgore? Who was Kilgore? And why did Abbott feel like he’d just been given a glimpse into the higher echelons? He felt his palms moisten. ‘Not in so many words, no,’ he said.

‘You like to play things close to your chest, don’t you?’ Doyle reached to scratch at his faded sweatshirt. Chest hair sprouted at the collar.

‘It’s kept me alive so far.’

‘How about if I tell you that Kilgore wants me to keep you here for the time being?’