I didn’t doubt that. It was clear too that I was going to get nothing more from him. ‘Thank you. Goodbye,’ I said. The words seemed strange and self-mocking under the circumstances.

I thought it over. I had no influential friends in London – hardly any friends at all, in truth. But I remembered one man who had seemed kind, who might be able to help. Once again, I requested a line from Number Enquiries.

‘Borough Police Station.’ There was no love lost between the regular police and NatSec, and I was banking on that.

‘Hello. I hope you can help. I wanted to speak to an officer I met yesterday.’

‘His name?’ The accent was Cornish, I wondered how he had ended up in South London.

‘I don’t know.’

‘It’ll be hard to find him, then, won’t it?’

I remained as polite as I could. ‘He’s about sixty, thin, white hair. A sergeant, I think. Detective. And he attended a death yesterday in Eastcheap.’

‘Eastcheap?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘Won’t be us, then. You want Tower Hamlets Central.’

‘Oh. Right. Thank you.’

I hung up and went through it all again. Repeating my request to a man at Tower Hamlets Central Station. I heard him mumbling to someone else in the background. Then he came back to the telephone. ‘Well, we don’t know who it was. But most of CID’s not in till eight. We can try them when they get here. What’s your name?’

Half an hour later I made breakfast for Hazel. She looked even more wan than yesterday. ‘You have to eat something. Your dad would want you to,’ I said, persuading her to take some bread and butter and a glass of milk. ‘It’s going to be all right now. Today’s the day he comes back.’ I squeezed her hand in mine. She didn’t squeeze back but neither did she immediately pull her hand away, which was something. Six years of war had taught us how resilient kids could be: they had seen their families buried in rubble or graves and still those children managed to survive. I just hoped she could find it within herself to keep going until her father was free.

When the telephone rang, I jumped and hurried to it. ‘Hello?’ I said, lifting the receiver.

‘Mrs Cawson?’

‘Yes, that’s me.’

‘This is Detective Sergeant Tibbot at Tower Hamlets Central. We met yesterday.’

The relief washed through me. It was a step towards getting Nick back. ‘Oh, thank you so much for calling,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

‘I haven’t done anything yet,’ he replied. ‘Why did you want to speak to me?’

‘My husband. You know who took him.’

There was a pause. ‘Yes, I know.’