‘Right.’ Hawkins yanked the plastic chair away from the table, immediately regretting her action as uncapped metal legs screeched across the tiles. She blinked back the headache that paracetamol had failed to shift, cursing the awkward drive across London that had made her both frustrated and late, on top of another largely sleepless night.

The hours that should have been devoted to rest had been largely lost to worry, mainly focused on her team’s continued inability to determine what had killed three apparently healthy young men. Albeit not her direct responsibility in itself, that question was normally answered within hours of a victim’s discovery. The fact that in this case it remained unanswered two days in, despite there being three different subjects for them to study, made the title Detective Chief Inspector feel arbitrary at best.

Any respite she might otherwise have been able to carve out was taken up stressing about her latest fight with Mike.

She still had no idea where he was.

She sat down, fixing the man opposite her with a disgruntled glare. Vladimir Kask stared back, a dark but thinning hairline clearly visible as he maintained his defensive pose, head lowered, arms crossed.

Beside him the duty solicitor, who had introduced herself outside as Eleanor Grange, sat a little too patiently for comfort. The unfamiliar lawyer couldn’t have been more than a year out of law school, but Hawkins knew only too well not to underestimate sharp young women with points to prove.

And to her right, the final member of the interview room quartet took his seat. Frank wasn’t the type to play good cop, but she wasn’t in the mood to pussyfoot around the garage owner any more. Having failed to extract the names of Kask’s self-appointed bosses from Mike the previous night, she was here to make sure the Estonian played ball.

She took a deep breath and nodded at Frank, who started the recording equipment. She noted the time and those present before going on. ‘For the benefit of the tape, Vladimir Kask has been detained for conspiracy to supply illegal narcotics, a charge he freely admits. In our last session, however, he refused to name the men he claims are forcing him, under threat of violence, to do so.’ She eyed her interviewee. ‘Is there any new information you wish to volunteer at this point, Mr Kask?’

The garage owner’s gaze drifted downwards, and he stared at the table for a moment before looking up. ‘I cannot tell what I do not know.’

She countered, ‘If you won’t give us names, how do we know these people even exist?’