Jonny was carrying a black leather backpack, not on his back but with one of its straps hooked over his shoulder. He said hello to Silver and called him mate. Silver asked if they could talk and, after a momentary hesitation, Jonny nodded. They went upstairs through that dilapidated house which smelled of grass and tobacco and curry but most overpoweringly of decay from the wheelie-bin in the hall. If they left it outside, someone would nick it, Jonny said, as if stealing garbage containers was the most ordinary thing in the world. His room was at the top of the house. Silver noticed that access to the flat roof would be easy through the single sash window.

The coffee had done its work and he felt wide awake and very aware of his surroundings. He suspected the black leather backpack was Håkan Almquist’s, yet he couldn’t have positively identified it, not if, for instance, the police had asked him. Nothing in the room gave any clue to Jonny’s affluence, if affluent he was. He was dressed much as usual, the room was furnished as such places are, drearily and sparsely. It was dirty and untidy. For Silver to make that comment meant it must have been in a bad state. Since it looked as if he wasn’t going to be offered anything, he asked if there was any tea or instant coffee. Jonny looked as if about to say a blunt no, but eventually produced an electric kettle, two mugs and, in the palm of his hand, two teabags.

“Liv been out in the street yet?”

Silver shrugged, taking the mug of milkless tea.

“Because when she does I’m fetching her back here. I’ll be over to fetch her in the van. You can tell her that, so as she’s ready.”

Silver made no reply to that. He went straight into the middle of things and asked Jonny about the passports. Could he get passports for a man, a woman, and a child?

“I might be able to.”

Silver wanted yes or no but he knew better than to ask directly.

“It’ll cost you,” added Jonny.

“How much?”

“Couple of K each.”

Silver had no means of knowing if this was, so to speak, the standard rate for false passports, if it was too high or even too low. The trouble with dealing with criminals if you’re not one yourself is that the language is unfamiliar to you, the country they inhabit, all the terms of reference. Would Andrew Lane be willing to pay this sort of money? Would his wife agree? And if they weren’t willing but still wanted to leave the country, would he pay it out of his own pocket?

“Would you?” I said.

“If I have to.”