‘Where was your drop-off last night?’ she said.

‘A car park,’ Hill said. ‘If you’re doing a planned run, it’s always done in car parks. Over there and over here, pick-up and drop-off. It’s all car parks. Car parks make the smuggling world go round.’

‘And where was last night’s car park?’ I said.

‘Behind some gaff on the motorway,’ he said. ‘Nice and quiet car park, same as always.’ He thought about it for a moment. ‘All I had was a postcode tapped into Google Maps.’

‘What was the postcode for last night?’

He told us and I tapped it into my phone.

Google Maps honed in on planet Earth, Europe, England, Essex, the roads and streets all as delicate as veins.

I stared at the result for a moment and then showed DCI Whitestone.

‘The car park of the Champagne Room,’ I said.

12

So Billy and I went back to the Champagne Room and this time we sat in the BMW X5 and looked beyond the red neon lips and the yellow neon champagne flute and the squat ugly building, and we stared into that dark expanse of car park that stretched on forever behind the club.

And now I saw that dark space for what it was – a bazaar.

Figures in the far shadows leaned into car windows. Hands slapped together as cash transactions were done. There were still men – and they were all men – emerging from cars and cabs and heading for the Champagne Room, in groups and alone. But there were many more little piggies who had simply come to market. And they were doing a roaring trade in the car park of the Champagne Room.

‘A lot of buying and selling out here,’ Billy said beside me, splashes of red and yellow neon on his face.

On the far side of the car park a cellophane package caught the moonlight for a moment as it was exchanged for a fistful of notes.

‘But all I see are drugs,’ I said. ‘This was meant to be Lee Hill’s drop-off spot for his cargo. But I don’t see any evidence of people smuggling.’

We watched the figures trading in the darkness. Eyes on faces hidden by beanies and hooded tops checked us out, in suspicion and anticipation.

‘We can’t park up here forever,’ I said.

‘Could all this go on without the nod from Steve Warboys?’ Billy said.

‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘Most club owners are happy to keep dealing out of the house. But it’s harder to swallow that lorryloads of Afghans are being dropped off here without Steve Warboys noticing.’

‘So are we going to have another word with him?’

‘I’m going to have another word with him. You’re going to stay in the car.’