He shook his head. ‘Not to my knowledge.’

‘OK. But I’d still like to talk with your immediate staff. I’ll be in touch to arrange a time we can all be there together.’ She thanked White as he showed her out, and stood on the steps outside the building, staring up at the intimidating grey clouds over Cavendish Square, turning things over in her head.

Her choice to focus on John Mardell was largely a case of having no better leads. But he’d been here, outside Joseph White’s office, for a reason. Something told her he was involved.

They just needed to work out how.

For a moment, she considered going back to Southall station, to continue probing Mardell’s associates for clues to where he might be, although if Byford was telling the truth about him keeping a low profile in the group, she’d probably be wasting her time. And her team was already out there, chasing down information about their suspect.

But perhaps there was an avenue she’d overlooked …

She leaned over and dug out her phone, calling up the email function, opening an attachment sent over by the forensic team earlier in the day. The list gave the contents of every car left at the abandoned factory. She’d scanned it when the mail first arrived but, having picked up no anomalies, she had taken no further action at the time. Now, however, with other lines of enquiry covered, perhaps it was worth taking a closer look.

A quick phone call as she walked back towards the car park established that all the vehicles, including Mardell’s, had been transferred to Perivale Vehicle Pound, not far from Hawkins’ Ealing home. Her mobile rang as soon as she ended the call, fast enough for her to think it was the constable at Hendon calling her back.

But caller ID showed it was Mike.

For a couple more rings she found herself hesitating, before remembering how positive their last encounter had been.

She answered. ‘Hi.’

‘Hey.’ He sounded upbeat. ‘I just got off for the day. Was wondering if you’re heading home anytime soon. We need to talk, and I thought it’d be less awkward if we dressed it up as a night on the tiles. Dinner, a little late-night Christmas shopping, maybe a show.’

‘Sounds nice, but I’m still up to my neck in this case.’

‘Figured it was kind of a long shot.’ He gave a theatrical sigh. ‘No consideration, these murderers. Any progress?’

‘Slow but steady; you know how it is. Where are you, anyway?’

‘North Circular. Why?’

‘I need to pay a quick visit to Perivale. Why don’t you keep me company? If nothing breaks by this evening, perhaps we could catch a show after all.’

52