George’s neighbour who’d spotted the van hadn’t managed to get a number plate, and there were probably twenty thousand white vans cruising the streets of London, legitimately or otherwise. But they both knew it was only a matter of time. They’d already had a result from one of Alexandros’s neighbours. Alexandros’s flat had been abandoned just like his car, but this time possibly with good reason. The place had been turned over, and forensics were busy processing for fingerprints and clues as to who had been frantically and destructively searching it.

The neighbour reported that he’d actually had a chat to some workmen in a white van parked outside at around midday; the same time Alexandros was in the area but seemed to drive through. The neighbour had given some good descriptions but he hadn’t taken the number plate either: law abiding citizens rarely did. Stratford boasted many CCTV cameras, being effectively an A road through a residential area, and they got a hit from some traffic lights close to Alexandros’s address at 12.40 p.m., but it would have to be cross-referenced; they needed more sightings to follow the lead.

In all, between the hours of 11 a.m. and 1 p.m., seven white vans were recorded in the area. Four contained only a driver. Two contained a driver and a passenger, but one had three men squashed into the front. Usually the demeanour of workmen ticked one of three boxes: eating, hunched over the wheel looking tired and bored, or shouting and gesticulating at the driver in front. These three didn’t fit in any of those categories. They looked sullen and uncommunicative. The number plate was put into the ANPR, and the van came up as unregistered. However, hit after hit came back from CCTV around London, and they were able to begin to map out possible routes for the trio.

Matt tapped instructions into his iPad to send the details to the PNC for every force to be on the lookout but not to approach the vehicle or the men.

‘I’d forgotten how much of a whirlwind city investigations are,’ Kelly said.

‘What’s it like up north?’

Kelly rolled her eyes; she’d let her guard down again.

‘I’m serious, I want to know. You’re famous down here. That trafficking case was mind-blowing.’ Matt put his iPad down and sipped his coffee. He wouldn’t let it go.

‘It’s beautiful for a start, and I wish I didn’t have so much to investigate. There are obstacles – tiny single-lane roads where you can get stuck behind sheep, tortuous journeys through mountains – but local gossip is always handy. There are also a million places to hide, like the city, though instead of glass and concrete you have lakes and fells.’