They showed Bowman their identification and introduced themselves. The guy with the doughy face was DI Rob Hardcastle. The woman was the more senior officer. Detective Chief Inspector Joanna Tatum. Which put her in the senior ranks of Counter Terrorism Command. She looked like she had earned it the hard way, through graft and commitment, rather than anyone doing her favours. She had an honest face, a refreshing lack of front. Bowman liked her immediately.

Tatum asked most of the questions. Hardcastle stood there, sweating and looking uncomfortable. Bowman told them he was ex-job, that he knew the score in terms of the debriefing and what was required of him. Establishing a rapport with the officers. Letting them know that he had once been part of their gang, that they could trust him. Tatum didn’t grill him too hard. She could see that he’d had a rough day. Bowman handed his ID card to Tatum and promised to swing by the following day to provide a full statement. Tatum gave him a pleasant smile and thanked him for his assistance. It was all very civilised. Which was just the way Bowman wanted it. He wished them good luck and headed for the exit.

He ignored Studley’s advice and bypassed the medical teams. If anyone started shining pen torches in his eyes or testing his blood, they’d quickly realise he was on opioids. Besides, if he had been infected by Lang, he would soon know about it.

At the door, he gave his details to an officer with a clipboard. The officer handed him a card and told him to get in touch if he developed any symptoms. Sweating, fever, stomach cramps, nausea, dilated pupils, muscle aches.

Congratulations, he thought. You’ve just described a textbook opioid withdrawal.

He left the ballroom soon after eleven o’clock. Bowman paced down a maze of backstreets, turned left past Bond Street Tube station and continued west along Oxford Street towards Marble Arch. After maybe five hundred metres he turned right again and cut north until he hit the hotel.

The Gold Star Lodge was no one’s idea of luxury. The brickwork was crumbling, the windows were filthy. Bird shit and chewing gum spackled the pavement outside. It had been chosen purely on the basis of its availability, budget and proximity to the principal’s hotel. Bowman assumed the second of these was the deciding factor. But, at that moment, he didn’t care. He just needed to get out of his clothes, clean up and source some more pills. Fast.