He walked across to the quadrangle, entering it through an alleyway from the adjacent side street. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pack of paper tissues. Balling up three, he stuffed them into his mouth and positioned them down between his lower molars and cheek. That had the effect of rounding out his fine jaw and making him look jowly and fatter-faced. He pulled his cap low over his eyes, rounded his normally-square shoulders and walked in a more loping manner than he was accustomed to. Those slight alterations to his appearance and gait, while not significant, had a far greater effect than they had a right to, and would hopefully be enough if Mira happened to be looking out of the kitchen window as he went past.

Tom strode straight up to the stairwell door for the property, one of the new types with entry controlled by intercom buzzers for each flat. This door would be used by residents and visitors to flats 20-40, who could gain access with a magnetic fob or by pressing the correct flat number to be allowed access via intercom. It was a good, secure system if maintained well and not neglected: thankfully, this one was not. The door was slightly ajar, and the graffiti-daubed control panel had clearly not worked properly for some time.

Ignoring the lift, Tom ran up the stairs two at a time, pulling out the stack of business cards as he did so. A golden rule of surveillance is having a reason to be in the location. With the hi-vis on and a stack of business cards in his hands, Tom now had that reason: a delivery guy who would attract no attention and would cause no gossip on the walkway.

Reaching the fourth floor, he began going door-to-door, posting mini-cab cards through letterboxes as he went. Before he reached the Brankos’ flat he came across a fire-break between the flats which was lit by daylight from a corridor window overlooking City Road. He took out his iPhone, still in airplane mode, and quickly took a series of pictures from all angles, capturing the skyline of the buildings around him. He noted a large tower block of modern flats directly in front, just fifty metres or so away.

He returned to his delivery task, putting a business card in each letterbox, including number thirty-seven where the Brankos lived. Stealing a quick glance through the letterbox, he was able to see down the hallway and into the lounge. No one was visible and no sounds came from the flat, but he was able to see the yellow floral curtains of the front room. Satisfied, Tom retraced his steps and descended the staircase, continuing back out into the quadrangle.

*

Pet was sat in a booth in the corner of the Café Nero, her laptop in front of her and a large, empty cup in her right hand.