‘Where does the van go from Stepney?’ I asked. ‘If we can find that, it might lead us to the two men.’

‘The techs are still checking the footage,’ Alexej explained. ‘We’ve got them going east along Ben Jonson Road and south into Aston Street, but then they turn into the unoccupied part of the Ocean Estate and we lose them. The cameras aren’t maintained regularly there, and keep being vandalised. Lots of them on that part of the estate are badly positioned and out of focus.’

‘Bugger. That’s so frustrating. They must’ve known the CCTV’s bad there. Can the technicians enhance the images?’

‘They’re doing their best but they’re really blurry.’

‘Thanks, Alexej. Can you start comparing the photos of the men on the CCTV with Kenny and John’s photos? Keep checking other CCTV hosts for a clearer picture of their faces and the van.’ I turned to Jackie. ‘Dan and I will get over to the Manor House site and find out who the swipe card was issued to. If the photo-comparisons match up, can you do a media appeal for information on the whereabouts of Kenny and his brother?’

‘Of course,’ she said.

‘If that’s them on the CCTV, chances are, they’re linked to the arson too. We’re close to getting the full picture, I can feel it.’

Finally, the net was closing in.

Maya, 4 p.m.

Maya, 4 p.m.

When Dan and I arrived at Manor House HQ in Docklands, rain was bouncing off the pavement. Wind came across the Thames in an icy wall and tore through the gaps in the buildings. Headless bodies crouched under flimsy umbrellas, and scuttled to their destinations.

‘It’s inevitable that Ryan’s body would trigger an internal investigation,’ Dan shouted over his shoulder as we entered the revolving glass doors. ‘So it bloody should.’

We reported to security and signed in. The lift took us up to the sixth floor, where a twenty-something assistant was waiting for us as soon as the doors dinged open.

‘Hi. I’m Kirsty,’ she said with a very white smile. ‘Mr Mertens is waiting for you.’

‘Who’s he?’ I asked her.

‘Yves Mertens is our Group Director of Security. He flew over from Brussels yesterday because of the recent breach.’

That sounded promising.

When we arrived at his office, Kirsty showed us in and introduced us. Yves was a slim man in an understated navy suit and expensive black shoes. I recognised him as the person I’d seen talking to the media. ‘Detectives, please come in.’ He motioned towards a boardroom-type table which sat at the far end of the room, facing a bay of floor-to-ceiling windows.