Michael lit a cigarette and, after drawing on it a few times, he said helplessly, ‘You’re not going to fucking believe this, Declan. That was John Freed of all people. It seems there is another CCTV on its way here. This time Golding was spied in a Tesco Express in Kent. He bought the same things – forty Lambert and Butler and a bottle of cheap vodka. He was recognised by the woman working the till. She rang John, and he’s looked at the CCTV for himself. He reckons it is definitely Golding.’

Declan was silent; this was getting a bit too creepy now. It was as if the man was goading them, deliberately sending them on different trails. It was a good tactic, but it was guaranteed to make Michael Flynn angry and vicious.

‘He’s fucking laughing at us, Declan! This mentally retarded fucking headcase is laughing at us, for fuck’s sake! He is telling me that he has the upper hand. I get that – it’s standard procedure to keep the enemy guessing. But what is happening to my Jessie while this is going on? Is he hurting her? Has he already fucking murdered her?’

Declan waved his hands in despair. ‘You mustn’t think like that, Michael. For fuck’s sake, if he hurt Jessie, he wouldn’t have a bargaining chip any more, would he? Think about it. Plus, from what we know about him, he isn’t a violent person. He’s a fucking nutbag granted, but there’s no history of violent behaviour.’

Michael jumped up out of his chair. He was feeling so angry and so impotent. How was it possible this fucking Golding could operate under his radar? It was a nightmare. This man couldn’t be underestimated, he knew that much – he was far more intelligent than anyone was giving him credit for.