Sevvy was still worrying. ‘Hurry up and get those trucks started! It’s gonna be light soon. I don’t like doing this sort of job in daylight. You should have told him we’d do it tomorrow instead.’

‘He’s not the sort you tell. Anyway, he’s paying us good money an’ it won’t take long now. No one will see you. People are still in bed, not on their way to work yet.’

They drove both the big trucks away but Raff parked his on the edge of an industrial area and waited, engine still running, but with the window open so that he could listen carefully. When he heard the sound of police sirens in the distance, he waited. Then his mobile phone rang just once. Raising his fists in a victory sign, he set off again. He was going to enjoy doing this little job. He really enjoyed smashing things up.

The job itself didn’t make any sense but who the hell cared? The money promised was good and it’d be fun. What more could you ask?

Angus heard the sound of a truck approaching and ran upstairs, staring out of the back window of Number 2, from which he had the best view of the approaches to Saffron Lane from the nearby street.

To his dismay he saw a truck barrelling down the street towards the entrance. It came straight through it, tyres screeching a protest as the truck was swung to the right into a screeching semi-skid by a very skilful driver.

Angus groaned and thumped his fist on the windowsill, helpless to do anything but watch as the truck smashed into the rear wall of the first house.

The vehicle had barely come to a halt before a youth jumped down and ran off into the distance, shrill, hysterical-sounding laughter trailing behind him in the still night air.

He’d left the engine running but it was making rough coughing noises, and after a moment it stopped completely, steam and dust clouding the air.

Angus closed his eyes in anguish, knowing he couldn’t catch the guy. In spite of all his care, he hadn’t saved the first house. The only tiny consolation was that the truck hadn’t pushed on through the wall to do more damage. Strange, that. He would have expected such a big truck to smash right through such a small house.

This must have been organised on purpose, and whoever had done it had unerringly hit a weak spot in their defences. But then, who would expect someone to ram an expensive truck into a row of houses? It must have been stolen. He peered at the logo on its side, crumpled but easily recognisable: a council truck.

A skinny youth had leapt down from it, not a grown man, so it must have been a joyrider, damn him!

He rang 999 as he ran down the stairs and out into the grey, predawn light. While reporting the incident, he suddenly smelled petrol and told the emergency services responder about that, which had the woman promising rapid attendance.