‘Did you take a charter flight out of Luton airport to Dubai on Wednesday 24th January?’

Porter said nothing.

‘Who did you meet with out there, Mr Porter? Was it someone you don’t want us to know about? Is that why you’re hiding it from your own government?’

For the next twenty minutes, the DCI asked her questions and did her very best to tease and then goad him into replying. She was good, too. He could see why she’d made it so far in the police. Her ability to switch from helpful advisor to powerful threat was skilful, elegant almost. But he said nothing.

‘Mr Porter, as you are unwilling to cooperate, I have no choice but to detain you for longer.’

‘Good.’

Mirza’s eyebrows rose at his response.

‘Hold me under the Terrorism Act. That gives you fourteen days to interrogate.’

‘Are you confessing to working with terrorists, sir?’

He waved his hand to communicate that her need to know was irrelevant. ‘You have no idea what you’re dealing with here, Detective Chief Inspector. So, detain me for fourteen days. No charges, no bail and I will speak to only one person about this matter.’

‘And who might that be?’ The policewoman straightened her elegant neck.

‘Dr Augusta Bloom. And I suggest you get her here ASAP.’

3

Augusta Bloom let the others stride ahead as they reached the summit of Ingleborough mountain in the Yorkshire Dales. She wanted to take in the view. It was the kind of crisp cold winter’s day that provided clear skies as far as the eye could see, from the snow-capped peak of Whernside to the north, then across the valley towards her childhood home of Harrogate. Following her mother’s move into a care facility, Bloom had recently bought a small cottage just outside the town with the proceeds from the sale of her family home. She needed a base for when she visited from London; she enjoyed the escape to the fresh air and hills.

The walking group she had joined today was new to her. The people were nice enough, although the pace was a little slow for her taste. She had made the mistake of mentioning she was a psychologist to the older man with the walking poles and flat cap, and found herself deluged with details of his wife’s battle with depression. She repeated that she was not a clinical psychologist, so had little insight into mental health, but the man was in transmit mode. Sometimes it was better to say she worked in research.

Her phone was on silent but she felt it vibrate in her jacket pocket. She was surprised she had signal up here. The number was blocked, which usually meant the police were calling.

‘Dr Bloom, this is DI Bristol of Westminster Police. Can I ask if you’ve ever had any professional dealings with Gerald Porter?’