Whilst the closure of British institutions in Morocco makes it difficult to obtain accurate police reports from the era, an inside source from the embassy – who did not want to be named – revealed that before his untimely death, Mr Arthur Langham may have been wanted by the British authorities on serious charges, in an investigation which was never fully concluded. This new information regarding Alejandro del Potro’s connection to Langham and possible involvement in his murder, as well as the location and existence to this day of a mansion safehouse in the casbah named ‘Dar Portuna’ – which was discovered by Interpress journalist Ellis Norton – has now been shared with Moroccan and Spanish authorities, as well as customs officials. It is Tangier Today’s understanding that the police will use the information in their ongoing efforts to apprehend and prosecute the individual known as ‘Alejandro del Potro’ for contravention of customs law.

‘The bastard,’ Sam muttered, his throat tight. ‘Why did he have to do it?’

‘He’s trying to write himself out of here,’ Bet said, looking down her nose at the paper. ‘Making the news, so that he can report it.’

Sam stared down at the article, wishing he could scrub the words out of existence. ‘Zahrah, the woman I told you about who lives at Dar Portuna, she said something like this could put Ale – Alejandro – in danger. Do you think it will? Do you think the authorities will act upon it?’ He shoved the paper away. ‘It’s all my fault.’

‘No denying you had a role to play.’ Bet’s blue eyes were kind. ‘But you didn’t publish it, did you? I’ll hazard a guess that your version would be a bit more nuanced.’

He just shook his head. She let him sit in silence for a while, before tapping the paper.

‘Norton’s “embassy source” is old Giles, I’d bet my hat on it. I saw the pair of them in the El Minzah the other night, getting cosy over the Benedictine.’ She smiled darkly. ‘I’ll have to have a chat with him, too.’

Sam folded the paper over, not wanting to look at it any more. ‘What if Norton tries to use those photos of you?’ he asked quietly. ‘What if he writes something about your … past?’

‘About me?’ Bet raised her eyebrows. ‘What could he possibly write? I’m just a pensioner, spinning out her retirement in a nice warm country. And anyway –’ she slid him a look ‘– he’d never be able to prove a thing.’

Outside in the street, she re-tied the scarf over her cropped grey hair, becoming a little old woman once more.

‘Well?’ she asked briskly. ‘What are you going to do? I’d suggest a bath, for starters.’