All seemed empty except for one, parked four cars ahead of his own.

He reached into his pocket for his identification as he walked towards it, before leaning down to speak to the driver through his open window.

‘Is she in there?’ Hale held open his ID for inspection as he spoke.

‘She is.’

‘Alone?’

‘No, sir.’

‘What’s the layout?’

Hale looked ahead as he spoke, towards a small terrace house that was one of the narrow homes that lined this side of the cobbled street. None of the properties enjoyed a front garden, each front door opening just feet from the roadside.

‘Two bedrooms, sir.’

The speaker was Sergeant Jim Durham of Greater Manchester Police. Durham was sat in the driver’s seat of a marked police car, a second officer beside him. It was a tried and tested element of civilian protection; Durham and his colleague were not here to be inconspicuous. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, their visible presence would be enough.

Durham continued.

‘Both upstairs, with a small bathroom in between. There’s also a small landing at the top of the stairs. Ground floor, it’s the living room, kitchen and a small toilet.’

‘Rear access?’

‘Same as every street round here. There’s a public alleyway that runs at the back of the house. All the gardens have a gate leading into it.’

‘Have we got people back there?’

‘It’s covered, sir.’

‘By how many?’

‘Just the one, sir.’ There was a note of amusement in Durham’s voice. A hint of a chuckle. ‘Plus two more inside and the two of us right here. All due respect, sir, but I think that’s enough.’

Hale stood up straight, putting a few extra feet between his head and the open car window. He looked around, taking in the geography of the street, a quiet, residential road in Salford, a short distance from Manchester. It had taken Hale over four hours to drive here from Derek Reid’s Islington address. Durham’s security detail had been here even longer. They had secured the address before Hale had left London and had ensured the owner’s safety. So far so good, but there was an image that kept returning to Hale.

Four dead men, slaughtered in a Brixton office.

His mind was made up.

‘I’m afraid we disagree, Sergeant,’ Hale said, his head back level with the open window. ‘I want another man in the house and one more at the back. Within the hour. Make it happen.’

Five minutes later, Hale took a seat at the small kitchen table after carrying out a quick sweep of the house.

Like everything else Hale had seen in those five minutes, the kitchen table was tiny. It had to be to fit into the cramped kitchen. Although a reasonably big man, Hale was no giant, but he felt like one here. Especially in comparison to the room’s other occupant. The woman who sat on the other side of the table seemed so much smaller than him. And she was clearly terrified.