I studied the photo in detail, trying to burn his image into my head. A quite portly gentleman stared back at me from the picture and I took careful note of his features, including his receding hairline, large nose and heavy jowls. After ten or fifteen minutes, I was confident that, despite his now being two years older, I would recognise him again, even without his smart white shirt and bow tie.

‘So what do you want me to do while you’re chattin’?’ Chico asked.

‘I want you to be with me and to look menacing.’

‘But I’m really a pussycat.’

Yes, I thought, but one with sharp claws.

Jimmy Shilstone’s driveway in Hill Street, Malton, was empty as we pulled up across the road at ten to nine.

‘What do we do now?’ Chico asked.

‘We wait. If he’s not back here by eleven thirty, he’s not coming.’

I manoeuvred down the road about thirty yards, so that we were not too obviously waiting right outside his house, but we could still see his gateway clearly.

On this occasion, we had come north in Marina’s Skoda. There were times to be ostentatious and times to be covert. This was one of the latter. I was sure that if Jimmy spotted MY S1D waiting on his road, he would drive straight past, probably at high speed.

‘Where’s he ridin’ out?’ Chico asked after we had been there for forty minutes with no movement.

‘In a village called Amotherby, just outside Malton. Albert Frost’s yard.’

‘Why don’t we go and see if he’s still there?’

‘Because we might miss him. And I don’t know what car he drives.’

We went on waiting. And waiting.

At quarter to ten, with still no sign of him, I made a series of calls to local Malton numbers.

Ten o’clock came and went and there was still no sign of Mr Shilstone.

Then, at ten past, a silver Audi drove quickly along the road towards us and turned into his driveway. Jimmy was back.

I gave him a few minutes to get into the house, then drove the Skoda over the road and parked it in the middle of his gateway. There was nowhere near enough room on either side for him to get his Audi out.

‘You stand by the car,’ I said to Chico. ‘I’ll go and ring the doorbell.’

I leaned on the bell and didn’t take my finger off it for the next two minutes, not until the door finally opened. Jimmy’s hair was dripping and he was wearing only a towel round his waist. I had caught him in the shower.

‘What the bloody hell …’ He was shouting as he flung open the door, but he tailed off when he saw who it was ringing his bell.

‘How the fuck did you find out where I live?’