‘They never said he was in danger. They only asked if he was safe.’ It wasn’t the first time Karene had pointed this out. ‘How were we supposed to know?’

Jameson overtook an elderly woman driving at fifty miles an hour in the middle lane of the motorway. He had warned the Head of Security at Stanford Hall Rehabilitation Centre. They couldn’t have done anything more. He’d explained this. But Karene wasn’t hearing him.

He moved back to the inside lane. ‘Let’s focus on who’s sending the emails. We thought someone was trying to tip us off, which now seems to be on the money, so why aren’t we discussing that?’

‘Do you have a theory?’ asked Bloom.

‘It’s clearly some sicko who’s getting a kick out of pushing my buttons,’ said Karene.

Jameson continued, ‘The Head of Security is a friend of a friend. That’s how I heard about this so fast.’ Bloom caught his eye and he shrugged. ‘The world of warfare is small. I’d tipped him off to a possible threat; he returned the favour.’

‘But you’re wondering how our emailer knew?’ said Bloom.

‘They must be an insider.’

‘Or even better connected than you are.’

‘Have we looked at where the emails are coming from?’ asked Jameson.

‘Do you mean have I looked at where the emails are coming from?’

‘All right,’ said Jameson. ‘Have you looked? Or do you need me to do it?’

‘No, no, I’m perfectly capable, thank you. I’ve asked Lucas to check it out, but all he found was the Gmail account and the IP address of a London hotel and other public wifi spots around the city.’

Jameson had heard all about their new technical wizard Lucas George. He was a freelance cyber-crime consultant recommended to Bloom by a police constable they had worked with earlier in the year. And by all accounts, he was impressive.

‘So, whoever it is, they’re in London.’

‘And smart. Lucas said it could literally be anyone with a laptop,’ said Bloom.

Great. Another dead end. This case was going nowhere.

Jameson parked outside the entrance and called his contact. A few minutes later a security guard drove out to meet them and they moved into his vehicle to be driven on-site. When they reached the gated military area they produced their passports and were handed red lanyards with the word ESCORTED written on both the pass and the fabric. The Head of Security, Greg Taylor, met them just outside the redbrick building. He was a short man with thick grey hair and a muscular frame, probably in his fifties.

Jameson had said to let him lead the conversation so Bloom and Karene stood silently as the men exchanged hellos and briefly discussed their friend in common. Finally, Jameson said, ‘So what happened here?’

‘It looks like they posed as porters. Came in on this afternoon’s shift change.’