He started to argue. ‘You’re the hero here,’ she said, ‘and we won’t forget it. Shower, shave, an hour’s kip and you can come back. You won’t miss anything exciting. We’ll keep you posted.’

‘What do Fenham and Bright do then?’ Ashworth asked. She was walking fast towards the office building and Joe was trotting to keep up with her, so his question came out in short bursts.

‘Set up phone and Internet services, mostly in developing countries. That’s why Christopher Eliot travels so much.’ She’d googled the company after meeting Eliot in the White House.

‘You think he’s involved in Connie’s disappearance?’

‘I won’t know,’ Vera said, ‘until I ask him.’

They walked through a swing door into the office reception. Two glossy women were sitting behind the desk and talking about the floods, loving the vicarious drama of it. ‘Did you see the local news on the television? That car being washed away? Some places the electric’s down.’ There were plants in big tubs on either side of the desk and they were glossy too.

‘Can I help you?’ The accent was Ashington with a posh veneer.

‘I hope you can, pet. I need to speak to Christopher Eliot.’

The response was immediate and automatic. ‘Mr Eliot’s tied up all day, I’m afraid. Perhaps his secretary can help.’

Vera put her warrant card on the desk. ‘Like I said, I need to speak to Mr Eliot. Just point us in the direction of his office. No need to let him know we’re on our way.’ Swinging through the door into the corridor, she stopped and turned back, enjoyed seeing the look of outrage on the woman’s face. ‘Some of our colleagues will be working in the car park very soon. Teas and coffees all round, please. Much appreciated.’ Hearing Joe chuckle at her side, Vera felt on top of the world.

Eliot’s office was on the first floor with a view of woodland and the hills in the distance. She thought he seemed more at home here than he did in the White House. He could have been a soldier, she thought. An officer, of course. One of those ordered men who can pack up all their worldly goods into a backpack and function equally well in Afghanistan or South Georgia. His passport would have stamps from all over the world. But this was his HQ for the moment. There was a map on the wall, red pins stuck throughout the continent of Africa. On the desk a photograph of two small boys.

‘Is this Patrick?’ Vera pointed to the smaller. He was slight and fair, took after his father more than his mother.