She stepped away from the group. ‘As in the Foreign Secretary?’

‘Yes. He’s asking to speak to you and we would like to know why.’

Bloom had no idea. She had only ever seen the man on the news. And why were the police calling? ‘Is he in custody?’

‘What makes you ask that?’

‘I assume you’re not in the habit of managing an MP’s diary, Detective Inspector.’

‘He is refusing to speak to anyone but you. Why would that be?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve never met him. What is he accused of?’

‘I’m afraid that’s classified.’

‘I see. So what do you want me to do?’

There was a pause before the DI said, ‘How quickly can you get into central London?’

Bloom hung up after agreeing to make her way to the capital by early evening. It meant she would have to dip out of the walking group and start heading there immediately. She had intended to stay in Yorkshire for a week and have a well-deserved break. It had been a rough year. An old client, Seraphine Walker, had resurfaced, intent on impressing Bloom with an elaborate game she had designed to recruit fellow psychopaths. Bloom’s closest friend and business partner Marcus Jameson had been caught in the crossfire and their relationship changed for ever – a fact that brought her great sadness.

Several hours later, Bloom arrived at the Ministry of Defence’s Whitehall building in London as instructed. Once she had passed through security she was met by DI Bristol and escorted to the lifts. He selected LG4 and they descended into the basement. She knew this building was reported to have as many floors below ground as above. It contained Churchill’s war rooms, where he and his advisors had worked during the Blitz.

Once out of the lift, the Detective Inspector followed signs to zone seven and eventually came to a stop outside room thirty-one. He made small talk along the way about the cold winter they were having but gave no details of what she should expect behind the door and so she did not ask.

Foreign Secretary Gerald Porter sat at a small table in a windowless room with a smartly dressed woman who introduced herself as Detective Chief Inspector Mirza.

‘Mr Porter. I’m Dr Bloom,’ she said, holding out her hand.

‘Thank you for coming,’ he said, taking her hand in both of his as if there was a long-standing affection between them. His trademark red hair was brushed back neatly from his face and his green eyes held her gaze for a second or two longer than was polite.

‘I’m not sure how I can help,’ she said to both Porter and Mirza as she took the seat next to the DCI.

‘That makes two of us,’ said Mirza. ‘So, Mr Porter, you have what you wanted. Shall we begin?’