He got up from his desk and strode down the corridor, descended the stairs and emerged into the sunlight of the police station backyard. He didn’t want to make any more calls inside. He didn’t think anyone would be listening, but he felt he couldn’t be too careful, and his car was as secure as anywhere. Fishing in his pocket for his car key, he unlocked his Jaguar F-Pace SUV and climbed in. He’d been forced to use his own personal car since Stan had taken the Passat he normally used, which had annoyed him intensely. Nestling into the plush cream leather seats, he keyed a number into his phone. The call was answered almost immediately.

‘Hello, my little policeman friend,’ said Zjelko Branko in his low growl. ‘I hope you have some information for me?’ Taylor could picture the unpleasant grin on the Serb’s face.

‘Look, I have the address of Novak’s foster family here now. I can send it to you, but you must keep my name out of this, and you must promise they won’t be harmed. They’re innocents in all this.’

‘Mr Policeman, I’m hurt you think I’m such a monster who would hurt the innocents. But you’re giving us nothing to catch Novak, so we have to go proactive on him. We won’t hurt a hair on their heads, my friend. As long as Novak comes up with the goods.’

‘Okay. I’ll send it to you after I finish this call. Novak is too careful, and I can’t see him popping his head up for you, so you’ll have to see what this brings. By the way, they live miles away: in Scotland.’

‘Never mind that; we have associates in Scotland who can at least get proceedings underway while we get up there. Give me the address and keep us informed of any developments. Your career and your liberty depend on it.’ The line went dead.

Taylor felt he had no choice. His fingers hovered over the smartphone in a last vestige of hesitation before he pressed Send. He placed the handset back in his pocket and sat with his fingers massaging his temple, utterly ashamed at what he’d become.

*

Zjelko Branko sat with his sons in an empty café in the centre of Islington, eating a large breakfast of eggs and bacon as he contemplated the message that Taylor had just sent. He smiled to himself, realising that this was the way to tip the scales back in their favour. Novak’s only family had to be good leverage to get him out into the open and finish it all for good. He’d been involved in organised crime long enough to know that it could only end one way. Novak had to die and, by involving the foster family, Taylor had just signed their death warrants too.