‘I made some calls and called in a favour or two. The warrant card was issued first thing this morning. My mate knows the main man at the Passes and Permits Issue desk at the Yard. He’s let me know that a guy came in with all the paperwork present and correct and a temporary pass was issued. He can’t remember where the temporary pass was issued or who countersigned the paperwork. This stinks, Tom. Someone with a bit of clout has organised a genuine pass to be issued to a fucking imposter. I could find out more: my mate is the head of security at NSY. You want me to?’

‘No. I want to keep this tight until I know more.’ The more people who got involved, the greater the risk of him being exposed, especially if they got New Scotland Yard involved. ‘Any luck with a car?’

‘Of course. I thoroughly enjoyed relieving our favourite DCI of that car he likes to monopolise. He wasn’t pleased, but I convinced him it needs servicing. It’s yours for a few days at least; just don’t crash it.’ Tom could almost hear the delight in Stan’s voice. ‘Where do you want it? I can leave it anywhere. It’s a newish VW Passat with covert blues-and-twos. It really irritates me that Glenda monopolises it.’

Tom knew that Stan lived in Greenford, not that far from his hotel.

‘Can you park it in McDonald’s car park at the roundabout off the A40? Leave the keys in the exhaust pipe and I’ll get a cab up to it,’ said Tom.

‘Consider it done, dear boy. You take care and call me if there’s anything else I can do. Some bastards have it in for you and I don’t want you coming to any harm.’

Tom smiled to himself at his friend’s concern.

‘Just give me the heads-up on this number on anything you hear, mate. And mention to no one that we’ve spoken. I’ll call you soon.’

16

The senior police officer sat in his office with the door shut, worry etched across his features. He reached into his bottom desk drawer, pulled out a half-bottle of Jameson’s whisky, and poured a large measure into his empty coffee cup. He took a sip and felt the comforting burn of the liquor sliding down his throat and into his stomach. The stress of the last day had been unbearable ever since the Brankos called him about Novak’s activities. They wanted help, and lots of it. They wanted evidence stealing and information about Novak. He initially refused, told them to fuck off and no mistake.