‘He’s got a mate to pre-record the 999 call for him. Cute bastard. I ain’t so sure about the Guy Ritchie impression though. Sounds a bit Mockney to me.’

Joe grunted agreement. Gestured for him to press play again.

‘I’m reporting the presence of several trafficked women at 37 Walcott Road. There are a number of incapacitated traffickers too. They will need medical attention.’

That was true enough. Whoever had hit Number 37 had left all three with a mix of concussion and heavy bruising. One poor bastard with a hairline fracture of the jaw and a ruptured testicle. And Taser wounds. Punctures and burns. Still seeing double the next day.

‘The women will need medical attention too. They will all have suffered multiple rapes.’

Joe reached out and pressed the stop button.

‘We’re looking for a clever bloke with a not quite so clever friend. Did you hear how he stumbled over the word incapacitated?’

Eddie nodded, wondering what sort of starting point that was. But making a point of looking both thoughtful and purposeful. Braced himself for Joe’s reaction when he heard the next sentence again. Not having been all that happy the first time.

‘And when this message gets leaked by one of your bent filth, here’s a message for Joe. Joe mate, I know you’re looking for me. But here’s the thing…’

A pause. A new voice. Freighted with promise. Menace.

‘I’m closer than you think.’

Click of the phone’s disconnection. Joe looking unimpressed at the threat. Definitely preferable to the rage Eddie had been half-expecting.

‘So, what do we know?’

Eddie glanced at his notes. ‘There’s no known voice match on any database Felgate can access. Too distorted. No traces left at the scene. Nothing at all. He even took the Taser wires with him. And the filth didn’t even look for any forensics on him. Too busy gathering DNA to prosecute our people with.’

‘Yeah. Our people.’ A grimace from Joe. Somewhere between disappointment and anger. ‘They solid, Richard?’

‘Rock solid, Joe.’

Not entirely true, as it happened. Eddie having had to talk one of his men down from grassing. Terrified of what Joe would do to them when they were released. Doubts seemingly introduced by his assailant. Capitalising on Joe’s threats to bury the next cash crew to allow themselves to be robbed. He’d pointed out in graphic detail how much worse it would be for a grass. Then soothed the man’s fears with some reassuring lies. That nobody could have predicted the maniac would change his approach, for one. Joe a man to keep his promises, for another. Families would be looked after. Yadda yadda, as Eddie well knew. Because if Joe decided to make an example, that example would be biblical in its ferocity. Living by one of his favourite catchphrases: don’t get mad, get medieval.