Doyle stood unsteadily, grasping onto the edge of the desk for support, the effects of the booze clearly hitting him with more force than he had anticipated. ‘Perhaps you’ll never find out,’ he said to Abbott. ‘Better for you that way.’

That night, back in his hotel, Abbott spoke to Cuckoo. ‘I got three names for you to look at in conjunction with Doyle. A bloke called Sweaty. Don’t know the real name. Another guy, Kilgore. Presumably a surname. Somebody else, the name’s Juliet.’

‘I’ll see what I can do, Abbott,’ said Cuckoo. ‘How’s it going up there?’

‘I’m still alive, mate. Only just. But I’m still alive.’

Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

In order to employ a suitable security consultant, which is to say, a security consultant with the necessary ethics, or lack thereof, the ex-husband of Montana Norton, Clifford Levine, had approached the firm retained by Norton Gaming, spoken to his contact there and explained that he needed a more, shall we say, ‘specialised’ service, a service that was to be strictly off the books.

He had been given a name – Monroe – and a meeting had been arranged. During the meeting, Clifford had looked across at Monroe, who drank a sparkling water as Clifford nursed a G&T. This guy looked like a hard nut made good. He was, in short, just the person that Clifford Levine needed.

Clifford had hired him on the spot.

The two met now, in a branch of All Bar One in Canary Wharf in London, Clifford having dived out of work for fifteen minutes; Monroe looking like a work contact in a smart single-breasted suit.

The only other people in the place were two women having what looked like a business meeting over coffee. Clifford and Monroe took a table well out of earshot.

‘What do we know about the proxies of the others?’ asked Clifford.

‘Nothing. Your opponents have conducted themselves with absolute secrecy, just as we have. All I know is that your mother-in-law, Juliet—’

‘Ex-mother-in-law.’

‘Of course. It appears that her first choice fell through for some reason. I’ve no news of a replacement.’

‘Oh, well, that’s good news. Juliet Norton in disarray. Poor old mother-in-law. Ex-mother-in-law.’

‘Which still leaves you, Mr Levine.’

Clifford nodded. His tongue darted over his lips.

‘I trust you have reviewed all the material I sent you.’

It had all been uploaded to a protected hosting site, and, yes, Clifford Levine, sitting in a penthouse flat with the glittering lights of London as a backdrop, had reviewed it all. ‘I read everything you sent. Looked at all the videos. I’ve made my decision.’ He slid his phone across. On it was displayed a picture of a woman. ‘What do you think?’