Two minutes later the door opened and Tom recognised Emmanuel straight away. The first thing that struck him was that the other man was bigger than he was expecting: at least four inches taller than him and probably four stone heavier. He was wearing a slim-fit polo shirt that stretched across his muscles, his wide expanse of back testing the strength of the fabric everywhere. His biceps forced the sleeves wider than the manufacturer had clearly expected, giving the man an intimidating look. It had the look of chemically-assisted muscle and Tom couldn’t help but notice the layer of fat that caused the shirt’s fabric to stretch in a less flattering way across the stomach. All that was topped by a scowl in a face that may have been described as ‘striking’ or ‘ugly’, depending on your point of view. His hair was cropped close to a scalp which was shiny and reflected the evening sun. The big man nodded at Tom and jerked a thumb, indicating that they should follow him.

Once upstairs, they followed Emmanuel through the reception area to a closed door that bore a brass plate: ‘Michael Adebayo, Solicitor and Principal’. There was no doubting who was in charge in that little empire.

Emmanuel knocked once on the door and stepped through, leading the way. The three of them entered a large, well-furnished office where Michael Adebayo sat behind an ornate, teak desk. The knot of his tie was pulled down from the collar of his pink shirt, sleeves rolled up to show slim, hairy arms, one of which was adorned with a thin, gold chain. Tom saw the family resemblance immediately: only the disparities in size and hair set them truly apart.

The lawyer did not look at them but continued to talk on the phone in a language Tom suspected was Yoruba, a half-smile on his face.

Sat in the corner of the office was a middle-aged, Asian man with a long beard, wearing Islamic Shalwar baggy trousers. He looked nervous and was clearly intimidated in the presence of Adebayo.

Adebayo finished his call and fixed Tom with a steady gaze. ‘You must be Tomo. Mira told me you were coming with the girl,’ he said in barely accented English, a half-smile touching his broad lips, more condescending than genuine. ‘Where are the brothers?’

Mindful of the recording running, Tom replied, ‘You mean Aleks and Luka?’

‘Of course, who else?’

‘Overseas looking for more girls for you, I imagine.’

Adebayo smiled. ‘They’re good boys, their mother must be so proud. I have many prospective husbands waiting for beautiful Slovenian girls.’ With his fingers he mimed over-exaggerated quotation marks either side of his head, his over-pronunciation of the words making his meaning clear.

Gold dust, thought Tom as he laughed along. This is too easy, and all caught on camera as well. With the evidence they had gathered already, that was almost enough. He just hoped that the video was recording everything.