The masked man slid his arm from round Bevan’s neck and grabbed a fistful of her hair. The move took less than a second, but a more experienced field officer would have used it to break free. Instead, Bevan stood stock still, staring at Jack, waiting for him to tell her what to do. She had no copper’s instinct – no survival instinct. She was totally relying on Jack to save her. Jack realised he’d misjudged her and wished she was still sitting at her computer surrounded by pastries.

The masked man pulled Bevan backwards and then, with one violent shove, he threw her forwards, still holding her firmly by the hair. She grimaced in pain as her scalp screamed in agony but she managed not to cry out.

Jack wasn’t close enough to make a grab for her, or to make a grab for the man he now believed to be Alberto Barro. The masked man flicked the extended crowbar sideways, indicating that Jack should move out of the way of his exit. Jack seemingly started to do as he was told, but as well as moving left, he also edged forwards. Once the masked man could see a clear route out, he pulled Bevan fiercely towards his chest before throwing her forwards again, this time letting go of her hair. She lurched into Jack’s arms, forcing him to catch her and giving the masked man time to escape. Jack got Bevan back onto her feet, steadied her, then dashed outside.

The Yardley house was at the end of a short gravel drive which Jack could clearly see down to the street at the far end. No one was running away in that direction. At the back of the house, a locked iron gate juddered as though someone had just vaulted over it. Jack leapt the gate and ran down the dirt track beyond. After running in a straight line for about thirty seconds, Jack realised that he was getting nowhere. He had no clue how far this road went and, to his left and right, the fields were scattered with huge rolls of hay, any of which would make a perfect hiding place. He was chasing ghosts.

Furious with himself, Jack started to walk back the way he came. He heard the rustle of bushes behind him one second too late and, as he turned, he walked straight into the heavy crowbar. Jack fell flat onto his back, staring up at the silhouetted masked man who now stood over him. The man spun the crowbar in his hand. He was playing, taunting – his favourite game. The man got out his mobile, found the name Betina and texted:

It’s a trap. Get out.