‘Do you think Mr Reid could tell me more?’

‘Definitely. Derek’s got a mind like a safe. A bit like your own, Joelle.’

Levy smiled. It made Michael smile in return.

‘You should do that more often,’ he said. ‘It makes you look a lot less intimidating.’

‘Maybe I want to be intimidating,’ Levy laughed.

‘Just take the friendly advice!’ Michael was still laughing as he reached into his suit pocket and took out a white business card. He handed it to Levy. ‘My number’s on there, Joelle. If I can help with anything that comes up, then just call. For now, though, I have to go. I’ve a trial starting at ten and I’m almost late.’

‘Understood.’ Levy took the card. She swapped it for one of her own and handed hers to Michael. ‘Sarah already has my number, but in case you need it.’

‘Thanks.’

‘No, Michael. Thank you. It’s been helpful.’

Michael smiled a final time. Levy did the same. She then stepped aside, giving Michael room to pass. He took it and Levy watched him go. She was still watching when Michael stopped at the end of the alley and turned to face her.

‘Something just occurred to me,’ Michael said. ‘If Wisdom Penfold is your man, and he’s come after both the judge and the defence solicitor, doesn’t that make Derek a target? As his defence barrister?’

‘Potentially,’ Levy replied. ‘But don’t worry, he has protection. I’ve already authorised a team outside his house from tonight.’

‘You might need to send them a little earlier,’ Michael suggested. ‘Because once this is over and Phillip Longman is buried, Derek’s heading home to drink himself into a stupor.’

‘Understood. Then they’ll be there from this afternoon.’

Michael nodded. Satisfied.

‘Thanks, then, Joelle. Again.’

Michael turned as soon as he finished speaking. In a heartbeat he was on his way. Left from the archway. Towards Fleet Street and the Old Bailey.

Levy reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her mobile phone. If Michael was right – if Reid was going to be home earlier than the evening – then she needed to rearrange his protection detail.

She tapped ‘work’. The call was answered before the phone had reached her ear.

‘Dylan, it’s Levy. I need you to revisit the arrangements for a protect—’

‘Ma’am, we were just about to call you. We’ve found him. We know where Penfold is.’

‘Where?’

‘In the middle of the North Sea, ma’am. He’s booked on the 7 a.m. Harwich to Hook ferry.’

‘Hook?’

‘A port in the Netherlands, ma’am.’

‘How did we find him?’ Levy felt a mixture of satisfaction and concern. ‘Is he travelling under his own name?’

‘No, ma’am. He’s travelling under the name Clive Fountain. That’s why his passport wasn’t flagged up on boarding. But the e-ticket was sent to his personal email address. We found his email address on a separate data sweep, which led us to the ticket.’

Levy hesitated. It seemed a sloppy mistake for so meticulous a killer. But then Penfold had missed the explosion of email use that had occurred while he was in prison. Perhaps the mistake was explicable.