‘Not that they were much use.’ Freya refers back to her notes. ‘Left-hand side, number six, were away. They do the same every week and are never around Thursday to Monday. Right side, number ten, is vacant. Rented. Last people left two months ago. No houses built opposite, yet.’

‘So nobody saw anything?’

‘No.’

‘Hmm.’ Robin closes his eyes and leans his head back against the seat. The thought about the backwards belt still echoes in his head, but he’s tired and the movement of the train is lulling him into a stupor. Next to him, Freya seems to have taken the hint and is quiet. He feels her leg resting against his, knows he’s probably taking up more than his allotted space on their seats, but he’s warm and sleepy and can’t be bothered to move.

He wakes with a jolt as the train gets into Waterloo. He glances at Freya; she’s staring at him with an amused smile.

‘Was I snoring?’ he asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

‘Only mildly,’ she says, swinging her bag over her shoulder as they get off the train, setting off at a brisk pace down the platform to the Tube.

It’s a simple journey and they arrive in plenty of time. Robin looks up at the shiny glass building.

‘So this is the private sector then?’ he observes.

‘You’ve never fancied it?’ Freya asks.

‘What would I do?’ Robin points to the security guy in black, outside the main entrance. ‘I’d be that guy. Hardly going to be one of the bankers, am I?’

Freya pauses, watching a man leave in a smartly tailored pinstriped suit. She looks back at Robin. He didn’t even iron his shirt this morning.

‘I guess not,’ she says, quietly.

They approach the building and show the security guy their warrant cards. He lets them inside and they walk up to the massive reception desk, where a woman smiles broadly.

‘We’re here to see Khalid Riaz,’ Robin says, showing his badge again. ‘He’s expecting us.’

She prints out ID, points towards the bank of lifts. ‘Twenty-first floor,’ she says. ‘I’ll call up.’

The lifts are see-through and open, and Robin watches as Freya presses her nose to the glass as they ascend, looking out across the vista of London. It’s impressive, he can’t deny that, but he’s happier standing against the back wall. He resists the urge to hug the floor, choosing to close his eyes instead, trying to pretend he’s not miles up in the air.

The doors open silently; another woman is waiting for them. She doesn’t check who they are, obvious in contrast to the corporate suits and grey shift dresses, and hurries them along the corridor.

‘Kal has a meeting in half an hour, so he can’t talk to you for long.’