Mallet exchanged a quick look with Studley. ‘The security services are looking into it,’ he said. ‘But I wouldn’t get your hopes up. Whoever did this will be out of the country before we can identify them.’

‘Someone needs to get hold of that CCTV footage. Find that, and you’ll find the blokes responsible.’

‘We’re looking into it,’ Mallet repeated coolly.

His phone rang again. He took the phone call and beelined towards the emergency exits. Studley watched him walk away and made a grunting noise deep in his throat. ‘Looks like you made a good impression,’ he said.

Bowman rubbed his jaw. ‘It didn’t seem that way to me.’

‘John only takes an interest in people he likes,’ Studley replied. ‘People who interest him. Everyone else is invisible. Take it from me, pal. You caught his eye.’

‘He’s got a funny way of showing it.’

He watched Mallet disappear through the exit and thought: The guy is a crafty operator. I’ve spent the last few minutes telling him my life story, and he didn’t reveal a thing about himself.

Studley said, ‘Those officers from the Met will be here shortly. They’ll give you a quick interview. Stick to the plan and you’ll be fine.’

‘What then?’

‘Get yourself checked out by one of the medics. Make sure you’re not at risk from whatever crap they gave Freddie Lang. The last thing we want is your scruffy arse wandering around town, smearing deadly chemicals all over the place.’

‘What about the other guys?’

‘They’re staying with the bodyguards and Seguma’s assistant. Officers from Five are on the way over there to question them.’

‘They won’t know anything,’ Bowman said. ‘They’re just flunkies.’

‘You’re probably right. But it’s worth a shot. They might have seen or heard something about this top-secret meeting.’ Studley sighed as he looked round the ballroom. ‘What a fucking mess.’

The floor was littered with broken glass, hastily abandoned stilettos, jackets and jewellery. Amid the clutter Bowman saw Freddie Lang’s trampled thick-rimmed glasses.

‘I’ll be in touch later,’ Studley added. ‘Once I’ve finished briefing the head shed on this clusterfuck.’

*

Studley left to make some calls. Bowman sat and waited. At around ten thirty, a pair of plain-clothed figures swept through the fire doors. A man and a woman. The man looked like the deputy manager of a suburban bank branch. He wore a jacket the size of a circus tent, a pair of badly scuffed shoes. His face was soft and doughy, his body a shapeless mass of flesh. The woman was perhaps ten years younger, thirty-five or thereabouts, dressed in a dark pencil skirt, white blouse and a black jacket. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. She looked unfussy, businesslike, and a lot healthier than her partner.