McGregor nodded. ‘Fair enough. But look, Flyte, if anybody’s revealing details of the operation, it ain’t me. Mr Doyle will tell you what he wants you to know when he wants you to know it. In the meantime, you’re my assistant, which means standing around, looking like a hardnut. Think you can do that?’

‘I think I can do that.’

Abbott left it as they drew up outside their first port of call, a terraced house in the back streets. Although parked cars lined both sides of the street, there was one particular space free – deliberately so, thought Abbott – and McGregor pulled into it. They got out and Abbott looked around. Across the street an old woman watched them from the window of her house, a look of undisguised hatred on her face. Abbott knew why. He knew that after a career of chasing down drug dealers and people traffickers he had suddenly joined the other side. He saw himself through her eyes.

No, you haven’t. You haven’t joined the other side. Remember why you’re here.

McGregor knocked. A shirtless kid in jogging bottoms answered. He led the pair of them through to the front room.

‘May I speak to the drug dealer of the home,’ drawled McGregor sardonically. The kid was about to call through when another, older kid – but still a kid – appeared, this one also wearing what appeared to be the regulation outfit of no shirt and jogging bottoms, although he had shown a little flair by teaming it with a flat-brimmed cap.

‘McGregor,’ said the kid, coming forward. He went to give McGregor a fist bump, but McGregor, to his eternal credit – shooting up in Abbott’s estimations at the same time – placed his hands firmly behind his back.

‘Money,’ he said.

The guy tried to save face by snapping at various underlings, even clipping one of them around the ear until the money appeared. A sandwich bag was handed to McGregor, who in turn handed it to Abbott. The kids in the house looked at Abbott with new eyes.

Moments later, Abbott and McGregor were back in the car.

‘So that’s it, is it?’ asked Abbott. ‘It’s drug money?’

McGregor shrugged. ‘We’ve got our fingers in lots of pies.’

‘Drugs, prostitution . . .’ Abbott paused. ‘People? Kids?’

‘We’re back to that, are we?’

‘Just that I saw a kid back at base, a little girl.’

‘Just a kid doing a bit of part-time work for us. You got a problem with that?’

‘Moral judgements don’t figure high on my list of hobbies.’

‘Good to know that you’re not the squeamish sort. Unless you’re just saying what you think we want to hear, that is.’

Abbott gave a sigh. ‘McGregor, you don’t know me, but you know me better than that. Besides, if I was worried about anyone in the operation where that’s concerned, I’d be worried about Marky.’