The next message, with Warren dead, had been a detailed briefing as to his second target. The date, time and place. Which explained the car he’d been instructed to pre-position.

‘You’ll have to kill low-level gang members to do this one. Decide if you have the stomach to kill so-called innocents. But remember, once you’ve done this, the clock will start counting down to a death. Either Joe’s or yours.’

The result: the Car Park Massacre. As the press had dubbed it.

And now he found himself looking at a third set of instructions. Reading the first line and wondering what lay behind it.

‘37 Walcott Road.’

19

‘So did you take my advice?’

Mickey sipping on a beer, Tamara watching as the barman finished putting her margarita together. They’d agreed to meet in a bar on the Strand, handy for Mickey’s commute home. Service commendably swift, driven by the continued lack of the sort of debit-card-waving crush at the bar that had typified a happier time. She waited to answer until her drink had been poured. Smiling her thanks and raising it in salute.

‘Sort of.’

‘Sort of?’

She grinned at the disgust in his voice.

‘I’m a covert snapper. All that pushing cameras into people’s faces is just so…’

‘Boring?’

‘That, and… well… common.’

‘Common.’

‘It has all the flair of a microwave meal. And besides, when the subject knows it’s coming they tend to be ready. Which makes for a picture that’s about as illuminating of their interior life as a Mickey Mouse mask.’

‘Illuminating of their interior life?’

She took another sip. ‘Good margarita.’ And waited ten seconds before speaking again. ‘I just thought I’d see if you were going to repeat that as well.’

Mickey was unable to avoid a smile. Despite his intense irritation at her lackadaisical attitude to her own safety.

‘I gave you an excellent piece of professional advice. Whether you choose to use it is up to you.’

‘You warned me off the best story there is right now. Not what I’d call “excellent advice”. More like “here’s how not to have a career”. My editor has a raging hard-on for this Castagna thing. And she’s not going to thank me for bottling it just as it’s getting real.’

‘So you’re still sneaking around with a 400mm zoom and hoping not to get caught.’

‘No.’ A shake of her head, long hair accentuating the gesture. ‘I’ve upgraded to better glass. Nikon 1000mm. If I’d had the kit I’ve got now back in Beaconsfield you’d never have seen me.’

Mickey drank from the bottle.

‘Same risk though. What if he thinks to have the ground around his house searched?’

‘I’ll see them coming. And exfiltrate like a pro.’

Mickey sat back for a moment, thinking. ‘So why is your editor so keen on Joe?’