‘No. And each of those prospects makes me very uneasy.’ He paced over to one of the large windows and stared out over the Docks. ‘It could be carelessness. Someone goes to the bathroom and leaves a drawer unlocked? Someone’s bag is stolen, and it has their ID in it? I’m not making excuses, simply acknowledging that those things are possible.’ He faced us again. ‘What bothers me far more is whether either of these men have been on the company payroll.’ He was clearly shaken.

Dan spoke. ‘Have your staff been debriefed and told to report anything suspicious?’

‘I was just discussing the best way of doing this with my team.’ He placed his hands on the table. ‘With the site closed, everyone is at home. We have a company website and portal, and all our personnel have work email accounts which they are required to check. Perhaps the Met can give us some input on what to do?’

‘Of course. I’ll put you in touch with our Incident Management team.’ I appreciated his cooperation. ‘Many of your staff will have seen the news on the television, including our appeals for information. The key thing to convey is that each person’s input is invaluable, however insignificant it may seem, and each person has a responsibility to say if they’ve been careless or lost their ID.’

He was nodding.

‘How you deal with the consequences is none of our business, but someone must know if they lent their card, left a drawer unlocked or had their bag stolen.’

Dan watched Yves Mertens. ‘I agree with Detective Rahman. I’d say there’s a high probability that one of your employees knows something. Wouldn’t you?’

Maya, 6 p.m.

Maya, 6 p.m.

As long as Kenny Hayes was on the streets, people were in danger.

And we still hadn’t found Ali.

After my shift finished, I was determined to keep checking places where someone might recognise one or both of them, in the hope that they would know where I could find them.

This was my third Whitechapel hostel. The two previous ones had drawn a blank. Nicola had told us her husband had stayed here on many occasions. From the outside, it looked like an ordinary red brick building. A house, or small block of converted flats. I pressed the buzzer and was let in. Straight ahead was a glass-fronted reception and a melee of voices floated towards me. A male staff member was having a conversation with an irate male client a few metres ahead.

‘No, it isn’t alright,’ the man was saying, his expression intense and agitated. ‘I’m not leaving my stuff. Last time it got nicked.’

The staff member saw me, and gestured to the door to the left of reception.