I thanked him and went to pull the plug out of the bath, counting the cost of my wasted bubble bath and time, and then dressed in my leathers. I left the flat and mulled over what was happening on my way to the scrap yard. What the hell was going on? Had Marshall known exactly what was going to happen when he contacted me? Who was this DI Jones anyway?

The scrap yard was filled with car wrecks, tyre mountains and old fridges. It was pitch black. I was glad I was wearing my bike gear. The leather trousers protected my legs from the stinging nettles and I’d had the foresight to bring an industrial-sized torch that marked out the territory before me and showed just how steep the terrain was. I flicked the torch over to my right and caught Duncan Bancho in its full beam.

He stumbled, squinted through the glare, and bore an expression of both surprise and anger when he recognized who was on the other end of the torch. ‘What in hell’s name are you doing here?’ he growled. Bancho being one of those detectives with whom I was often at loggerheads. Actually, chief adversary would be more like it. We hadn’t so much crossed swords as buried them in each other up to the hilt. Clearly Sergeant Murphy hadn’t mentioned my involvement, and I was about to try and justify my presence when a shout came from a female officer that drove any questions about why I was there from Bancho’s mind. ‘Sir! The dog’s on to something!’ She was up ahead with the handler and Bancho pressed forward to join them, leaving me in their wake. They were heading down into the centre of the scrap yard where the going was easier–there was a definite, albeit narrow path between the fridges and exhaust pipes. The night was quiet. There was no traffic on Bernard Street and the sound of the other folk breathing behind me carried easily in the air. So did their voices–not that they made much sense.

‘Christ, what a godforsaken place,’ said one of them. ‘Why do we think the DI’s here?’

‘She left a voicemail from a public phone just before she went off the radar. Said if she went incommunicado, these coordinates should be searched,’ said another, adding to my confusion.

‘Why did Bancho wait so long then?’ asked the first voice. ‘He’s been looking for her since first thing this morning.’

‘It wasn’t Bancho she rang. It was the bloody Lord Chancellor of England.’