Stuart and his colleague had brought her to a derelict unit beneath the dark arches of Leeds station. They hadn’t said a word. They’d ignored all of her questions. They’d taken her phone, tied her up and then left. Some of the arches facing out on to Granary Wharf had been converted into trendy bars and restaurants, but this was an internal arch, used only for parking. Its walls and ceiling were bare brick and there were sections missing from the concrete floor, revealing the cobblestones below. It was cold and the place smelled dank. To Bloom’s left were six large window panes, cracked and with blackened glass from years of neglect. The sun setting behind created a mustard glow. The opening to her right, where cars entered and exited, bore wooden double doors, painted black and bolted shut. She had shouted for help, hoping a passer-by might hear, but no one had responded.

The door opened again now and Bloom locked eyes with Jameson. The fury on his face melted into concern as he scanned the rope that tied her to the chair. Behind him was a woman with long blonde hair – presumably his new girlfriend, Sarah. A man in a grey suit accompanied them and they were followed by Stuart, the elderly gentleman and a small plump lady of mixed race. Denise.

‘Sit,’ the grey-suited man said to Jameson. He pointed to the chair on Bloom’s right.

Bloom thought he might refuse, but he did as instructed. Sarah was directed to the final wooden chair, where Stuart began to tie her wrists, just like Bloom’s. Sarah avoided looking at Stuart, keeping her focus on Jameson. She didn’t look scared. Bloom knew Jameson would be impressed by her bravery.

‘You OK?’ Jameson glanced briefly at Bloom.

‘Yes. You?’ she replied.

He didn’t answer. His attention had moved on to Sarah. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘You’re only here because they’re using you to get at me. You’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it.’

Jameson was speaking with such confidence.

Bloom felt a crushing sadness.

The grey-suited man secured Jameson and joined the others on the velvet chairs.

‘Surrounded by a circle of psychos. Lucky us,’ said Jameson. He glanced at the two empty seats, one behind Sarah and one behind Bloom. ‘Someone can’t keep time.’

Their observers didn’t speak.

‘Sarah, is it?’ asked Bloom.

‘You must be Augusta. Not the best circumstances in which to meet, but … hello. Marcus tells me great things.’

Bloom smiled. ‘We’re something of a mutual appreciation society, aren’t we, Marcus?’ She was being childish, but she couldn’t help it. Maybe it was because she was tied to a chair. Or perhaps it was the brutal reality of someone else receiving all of Jameson’s attention.