‘You’ve gone too far,’ he said. ‘I warned you, crackhead fuckers … you’re seriously gonna regret this.’

‘What did I say about that yap of yours,’ the taller bandit retorted, lifting his sub-machine gun and gazing through its sights. ‘You fucking plankton who thinks he’s a whale …’

‘All right!’ Northwood shouted, raising his hands, shifting over to the bullet-riddled sideboard, where his other guests stood bunched together.

‘What’ve you separated us for?’ Drinkwater asked, tears coursing down his sunbed-bronzed cheeks. Even his right eye, which had swollen like a purple plum, blinked frantically. ‘You’ve got what you wanted … why don’t you just leave?’

‘You don’t need to do this!’ Klinsman stammered, in growing terror of what he suspected was about to happen.

‘They don’t need to, but they’re going to do it anyway,’ Northwood said in a low, tight voice. He hoped the blaggers hadn’t noticed that both his hands were behind him. ‘Because now I’m suddenly thinking this is what they’re really here for!’

He shouted those last few words hoarsely, as he yanked a Walther P99 out from the shattered drawer behind his back, and dashed diagonally across the room for another door on the far side of the sofa. He opened fire as he did, pegging wild, uncoordinated shots at his captors.

Two rounds punched the curtains behind the podium, but several feet above the heads of the two blaggers. They barely even needed to duck, and when they returned fire, of course, it was far more accurate, cutting Northwood down before he’d even made it halfway.

Gobbets of flesh and blood flew in a vortex as he spun to the floor.

The shorter bandit cursed aloud, though it was lost in the dirge of screams.

‘Not what we planned,’ the taller one said, as they advanced into the centre of the room. ‘But shit happens.’

They turned to face the rest of the huddled, cowering men and, resuming the plan they’d first come here with … shot the legs off the lot of them.

Chapter 17

Harry glanced at his watch, and groaned to see that it was nearly ten o’clock at night.

‘Jesus, I’ve wasted some hours in this job. But this has to be the worst ever.’

‘It’s still the best lead we’ve got,’ Lucy replied.

‘What’s his bird’s name again … Janet O’Dowd?’ Harry was behind the steering wheel of his BMW, but as they were parked on a stretch of muddy waste-ground, he’d been able to push his seat back in order to accommodate the various print-outs on his knee. He leafed through them. ‘Are we actually sure this lass is Burke’s girlfriend?’

‘All we’re sure is that she’s one of them,’ Lucy said. ‘At least, one of the most recent.’