He scanned the area with practised efficiency, looking for signs of any watchers. It was unlikely that the call had been intercepted but he wasn’t taking any chances. He also wasn’t sure if he could trust Ivan, but he needed to speak to him; there was no telling what he knew and where it might lead.

‘So, is there a Mrs Novak?’

Tom moved his gaze to meet hers, the question hanging in the air.

‘No. I don’t do so well in relationships. I’m not so easy to live with.’

‘Always put career first, yes?’

‘Something like that. Work complications I can handle; relationship ones, not so much. Still no movement?’ he added quickly.

‘Way to change the subject, Detective.’ She smiled. ‘No, no movement.’

‘It’s five-past, he should at least be moving by now.’

‘Maybe he fell asleep?’

Tom grabbed the satellite phone and redialled the number for Ivan. The phone rang and rang with no reply.

‘I don’t like this. Something’s up.’

‘GPS puts him in a house in Melrose Avenue still. Maybe give him a minute?’

‘No. Something’s wrong. Can you isolate an exact house?’ he said, starting the car’s engine.

‘It’s about halfway down on the right-hand-side if we go from here.’

Tom drove steadily along Anson Road adjacent to the park and turned right into Melrose Avenue.

‘Talk to me, Pet. Where’s the signal?’ he asked, his voice still calm.

‘On the right any time now.’

Tom strained his eyes as the car crawled down the suburban street with its Victorian terraces, looking for anything to give him a clue as to where Ivan might be.

‘It has to be this house here.’ He pointed to a dilapidated terrace with an overgrown privet hedge and an overturned bin in the front garden, the bin’s contents strewn across the decaying concrete in front of the bay window. A light shone from within, obscured by grimy curtains. Two bell-push buttons to the right of the door indicated that, like most of the properties in the area, it had been divided into two dwellings: one upstairs and one down, with a shared front door leading to separate doors where the hallway had once been.

Tom pulled the Passat over into a vacant space on the other side of the road, a short way from the address.

‘Wait here,’ he said. ‘I’m going to check it out. Get in the driver’s seat. If you hear shooting or any other significant commotion, drive off, dial 999 and get the police here. Understand?’