After arriving at his destination, Panagos jimmied the skylight in the loft conversion and made his way downstairs. On the landing, a cat’s cradle was hooked over a radiator and, as he stroked the tabby in passing, it stretched and purred loudly. By torchlight, Panagos made his way into the hallway and towards the front door, where the alarm box was situated. He got his toolkit from his pocket and . . . suddenly the hall light flicked on.

Stanford stood tall in the kitchen doorway, PC McGinty at his shoulder.

A key opened the front door and Jack stood in the porch, flanked by four more officers. Panagos froze in silent shock for a second, then, with a banshee wail, he dipped his head and charged at Jack. Panagos’s broad shoulder hit Jack in the ribcage, lifted him off the ground and out into the front garden, knocking the four officers over like skittles. Panagos dumped Jack hard onto the lawn, flat on his back, knocking the wind out of him. The four officers scrabbled onto Panagos, grabbing any moving limb and holding it to the ground. Panagos roared and fought as the officers held on for dear life, making no attempt to cuff him until he’d completely run out of steam.

Upstairs lights from neighbouring houses flicked on and faces appeared at windows. As Panagos finally slowed to a stop and sank back onto the grass panting for breath, Jack crawled out from underneath the scrum of sweaty bodies. McGinty stepped forwards and, using two sets of handcuffs to stretch across Panagos’s broad back, he finally secured their man.

*

Stanford walked calmly past the mayhem, towards Mr Liam Newark-Bentley, the owner of the property, who was now standing in the middle of the street. He and his family had not gone away for the weekend as planned; they’d got as far as the end of their street before being pulled over by Stanford, who’d explained the situation. Newark-Bentley had quickly agreed that the Met could use his house as bait, as long as not one single carpet fibre was left out of place. ‘Thank you very much, sir,’ Stanford now said politely. ‘We’re grateful to you for agreeing to allow us to use your home like this. The skylight will be fixed now. If you’re happy to stay in the hotel we’ve provided, just for tonight, you’ll be able to come back tomorrow.’

And then Newark-Bentley said those words that Stanford had waited five years to hear. ‘We’re very happy to help, DS Stanford. And thank you for keeping us safe. You have a very difficult job.’

On the periphery of the action, Mike got out of an area car and walked towards Jack, who was still seated on Newark-Bentley’s front lawn trying to breathe. ‘Well done, Jack. I love the way you distracted him so the uniforms could pounce.’