As she pulled off onto Greenway Lane, however, Lucy became distracted. She wondered if she was being tailed. It was a metallic blue Subaru Legacy, and she’d first noticed it about a mile back along Adolphus Road, never more than a couple of cars behind. When she turned into St Clement’s Avenue, a much lesser used route, it copied the manoeuvre. She cut a sharp left onto Woodland Way, which, now that she was on the edge of the warehouse district, led only to a minor lorry park and a scrapyard. The Subaru also turned left.

Lucy wasn’t particularly concerned. He was making no effort to conceal himself, so his intentions were unlikely to be totally villainous. When she pulled into a layby, the sole other occupant of which was a hotdog vendor now packing in for the day, the Subaru slid smoothly in behind her, braked and switched its interior light on. She glanced into her rear-view mirror and recognised the hulking form of Mick Shallicker behind the Subaru’s wheel.

She climbed out and strolled back, more than a little irritated.

He remained in his seat but powered down his driver’s window. He was wearing his usual outfit of specially made black suit and black turtleneck sweater.

‘You followed me all the way from Robber’s Row?’ Lucy said.

‘Seemed the best way to get you on your own,’ he replied. ‘Frank can see you now if you’re free.’

‘I’m not free.’

‘It’s up to you. But you’re the one who asked for the meet.’

Twisted with frustration, Lucy hovered alongside his car. ‘I’d rather you’d just texted.’

‘Yeah, but you don’t get to call the shots.’

‘No, but I have to put up with your ugly face.’ She backed towards her Jimny. ‘Next time, text me.’

Lucy followed Shallicker’s Subaru along Tarwood Lane and into Salford, but first of all had to pass Robber’s Row, which was no fun. She doubted that anyone in the divisional HQ would notice her, much less notice that she was being guided to whatever destination she was bound for by a vehicle traceable to a man with a serious criminal record.

But it was the guilt factor.