He sat back and closed his eyes, feeling the sun warming his face, enjoying the post-exercise burn that he was so used to after all these years of habitual workouts.

‘You’re looking fit, my friend,’ said a familiar American voice to his right on the bench.

‘Getting fitter, Mike, always getting fitter,’ Tom said without opening his eyes.

Mike was sat next to him on the bench, neither of them acknowledging each other’s presence, as was the etiquette in meetings such as these.

Both men remained silent for a few moments as a young mother pushing a child in an expensive-looking pushchair sauntered by, before Mike asked, ‘How’s Cam and Shona?’

‘They’re okay. Cam is tough as old boots and Shona is a proper Highlander: they’re a resilient breed, you know. She’s managing fine with a slightly shorter finger, as well.’ Tom said with a smile.

‘That’s good. Any problems with the police?’

‘None. They told them that three guys turned up masked and held them for a while before getting a phone call in the middle of the night and leaving without a word. Police seem to have accepted it. They seem a bit perplexed about the finger, even with Shona being firm that it was a wood-chopping accident.’

‘What about your corrupt colleagues?’

‘In prison, apart from Albrechtsen who is somewhere secure and secret, being that he’s a super-grass now. There won’t be a trial: all have accepted early plea bargains and they’ll be sentenced next month. Everyone is baffled about how the Brankos got back to Serbia under their noses. It caused a bit of head scratching. Your breadcrumb trail did the job, Mike.’

‘Hey, it’s what we do, my friend. Branko Senior’s death was widely reported in local papers in Belgrade as a gangland killing and robbery between rival Serb mafia factions. Tragic, huh?’

‘Hey, it’s a jungle out there.’

Mike snorted a laugh by way of answer.

‘So, it’s pretty much all over, right?’ Mike asked.

‘Not quite. There’s still Adebayo; he’s lording it up in Nigeria I imagine.’ Tom spoke with just a small amount of bitterness detectable in his voice.

‘Do you believe in fate, Tom?’

‘No, not really, I think stuff just happens. Bad stuff to bad people, bad stuff to good people, and vice versa. It’s just all circumstances and luck, there’s no grand plan. Not as far as I’m concerned, anyway.’

‘I kind of agree with you, but I do believe that bad things happen to bad people more than they do to good people. Adebayo is a bad person; something bad will happen sometime. It’s bound to. Rule of averages. Do more bad stuff then more will come your way, I reckon.’

The two men just stared for a full minute at the morning scene in the London park.