It didn’t take long but his search was fruitless. He stood up and brushed down his trousers before walking over to the closet. Sam Jones had unpacked. He ran his fingers through the work-friendly blouses and tailored dark trouser suits. This could all be stupid–if the briefcase was gone and she was gone, she could very well be on her way to find him. But he had a feeling that wasn’t the case; there was something about Sam Jones that had bothered him. She seemed obsessed by that one case and she appeared to be the sort who would keep to her word and her plans. So where was she?

‘You’re never going to believe who she contacted last night?’ From the awe in PC Tricia Sheehy’s voice it was all too easy for Bancho to guess. He sat down on the bed. Leaning forward, he placed his head in his hands and said, ‘At a wild guess I’d say…the Lord Chancellor of England.’ Sheehy looked at him as if he was Sherlock Holmes. ‘That’s right!’ She looked again, suspicion dawning in her eyes. ‘What’s he got to do with this?’

Bancho stayed silent. He stretched out his foot and kicked away the blouse that had fallen from its hanger–concealing the very thing he was looking for. At the same time his heart sank. A detective like Sam wouldn’t leave her mobile and a briefcase full of sensitive information in a Travelodge, protected only by a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign, in a hotel teeming with housekeeping staff with pass keys.

‘Open it,’ he said.

PC Sheehy’s lips pursed as she focused on the combination lock.

‘It was too easy,’ she said, shaking her head as it popped. ‘If this is important she would never have let it out of her sight.’ She handed the open briefcase to Bancho who laid it flat on his lap. He opened the lid fully. The tan leather interior was obscured by papers, reports and photographs, black-and-white photographs taken by what seemed like a surveillance photographer.

‘Do you recognize him?’ DI Bancho asked. They both stared at the variety of shots of the same man: some were pornographic in nature, and others were more domestic shots of him getting into his car and going to an office.

Sheehy shook her head. ‘The quality’s not great and whoever took the photographs…I’d guess they don’t do it for a living. The number plate? I’ll get that run through the computer. I recognize the hotel, though.’

‘So do I,’ said Bancho. ‘It’s this place.’

‘It’s hard to tell if it’s the same room.’ PC Sheehy looked around Room 243. ‘They’re all designed the same but, if I was a betting woman, I’d lay good money down that she asked specifically for the same room if these pictures were of such interest.’

Bancho nodded his head in agreement.