The Archways estate, which comprised ten long, parallel rows of 1930s terraced housing, was long overdue for demolition, not least because of its incongruous location at the foot of six towering, Victorian-age railway arches. Only now, a decade after the houses were left empty, was a plan at last in place to create an inner-city park, and the demolition orders coming through. In fact, the bulldozers were due in the next few days. As such, the whole of the Archways had been fenced off with corrugated metal, though that hadn’t stopped the usual skirmishers from breaking in: curious kids, squatters, vagrants and the like. So, there were lots of ways to gain access, though the most obvious one, as Tucker had said, was at the north end of Jubilee Gardens. Here, about three sections of fencing had been flattened.

Lucy pulled up on Felton Lane, just alongside it. Concerned that she was now very late for the meeting, she jumped out and zipped up her anorak as she darted through the gap onto the top of a rugged dirt slope, from which in daytime you could see the whole of the estate, though much of it at present lay in total darkness.

That said, there was at least sufficient light diffusing in from nearby street lamps to show the cobbled surface of Brockle Street running west to east, and the entrances to all the other streets, one by one as you progressed along it, leading north to south. All the place names here sounded more rural or suburban than they actually were: Taberner Drive, Dunwood Road, Brookhill Avenue, Clearwater Way, and of course here, at the point closest to where Lucy now stood, Jubilee Gardens.

In truth, the Archways looked horrible – a sprawl of soulless brick terraces, with tiny yards at their rears and dismal alleys between them – but when in use, it hadn’t been hugely different from the neighbourhood she herself had grown up in. She didn’t feel out of sorts here as she walked down the slope and crossed Brockle Street. But only when she reached the corner with Jubilee Gardens, already having seen that no one was waiting there, did it strike her as odd that she hadn’t seen Tucker’s Vauxhall Passat, or indeed any other vehicle, up on Felton Lane. She pivoted around, and squinted down Jubilee Gardens. Her eyes were attuning, and she was able to see a considerable distance, only its farthest depths hidden in the inky caul under the viaduct.

No one was around, and Lucy was puzzled.

According to her phone, it was now 5.30 p.m. By her estimation, fifteen minutes had elapsed since she’d been supposed to rendezvous with Tucker and his contact. That was enough time, if the RV was indeed over by now, for them to have departed, but she’d still have expected Tucker to hang around here to speak with her.