He’d tried Sebastian’s private phone with no joy, and Philip wasn’t answering either. Both went to voicemail, and he imagined the two men together, plotting the downfall of the rest of them. Benji, however, did pick up, slurring his words.

‘Where are you?’ Christopher asked.

‘At the club, why?’

‘I’m out.’

‘Good for you, where?’

‘No, I’m out. Finished. I don’t want anything to do with it any more. Have you seen Sebastian?’

‘No.’

‘Is he not at the club too?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘What are you doing, Benji? How can you simply get pissed when everything is falling apart?’

‘Oh don’t be so dramatic!’ The words were barely audible and it made Christopher even more nervous. Benji’s drinking had escalated lately. He was constantly blotto, and Christopher knew why: he couldn’t accept what he knew was coming.

He felt the same way himself.

He went to the bar and ordered a pint of bitter, despite the hour. He gulped half of it down in one. Drinking solved nothing, he knew that, but he needed to think. He had no power over what Philip did or didn’t have. He had more on the dame than anyone, so if he were to go down, she would plunge further, but that was no consolation.

He thought about his wife and kids and understood why men committed suicide, taking their whole families with them.

Calm down! He willed himself. Pull yourself together! You’ve never been caught before. He silenced his worries, finished his pint and went for a walk to clear his head.

It was when he stopped to buy a sandwich that he spotted the car. He’d been in enough precarious parts of the world to know a tail when he saw it, and this one wasn’t very good: they must be police. He broke out in a sweat and decided to test them to be absolutely sure.

If they were spending money on surveillance, it meant two things: they thought it important, but they didn’t have enough to arrest.

Oh Christ.

He went inside another shop. The silver saloon was still there when he came out. He doubled back, walking past it and looking in the window. Two men sat in the front chatting to one another. It didn’t fool him. He pretended to make a call on his mobile and the car began moving again, but this time it carried on and out of sight.

He breathed a little easier; perhaps he’d been mistaken after all.

He walked back towards Victoria, deciding to take the Underground this time. Nobody could follow him down there. He spotted the car again and froze.

It wasn’t a mistake.