‘Think of her like a modern Mona Lisa. That lady has been preserved for more than 500 years in the hearts and minds of people from all over the world. People are born, they live, they die. Wars rage, famines purge and plagues cull. But the Mona Lisa remains as she was created: enigmatic, dignified, beautiful. Your mother will be just like her.’

Jordan didn’t know what to say to that.

The man tossed a plastic carrier bag at his feet. ‘Don’t be frightened. This nightmare will end soon.’ He then shut the door and slid across the bolt.

Jordan felt his blood go cold. What did he mean by that?

He inched away from the bag half expecting rats or spiders to spill from it, but nothing came. Now, after thirty minutes his curiosity has gotten the better of him and he peers inside. There is a cheese and ham sandwich, a packet of bacon crisps and a can of warm Coca Cola. His stomach rumbles and despite his despair he tears open the wrappers and stuffs himself.

Chapter 30

30

‘I’LL JUST SEARCH FOR YOUR details,’ says Rachel, an eager young sales advisor at the Vodafone store in Long Acre, Covent Garden.

Archer’s attention flicks to the muted television broadcasting the news on the wall behind the advisor. The screen shows a shot of Lewis Faulkner’s face alongside another of the Range Rover she and Quinn found late last night. The shot of the Range Rover is replaced by a live interview of an older man resembling the missing MP, talking from the living room of a grand home. Faulkner senior, presumably. On the other side of the screen, Lewis Faulkner’s benign smiling face looks down at her like a fleshy male Madonna without child. Archer appraises him as if searching for a clue to his guilt, or innocence.

‘Sorry about this. System’s a bit slow today. Must be a busy time,’ says Rachel.

‘That’s OK.’

‘Ah, here we go. Found you. Archer. Grace.’ The sales advisor frowns at the computers. ‘It says here your sim card is still in use.’

‘That can’t be right. My phone was broken and I’ve not used it.’

‘Mmm . . . let me see what’s going on.’

Archer glances at the television. The news anchor has moved on to the murders of Billy Perrin, Noel Tipping, Stan Buxton and Herman and Josef Olinski.

‘No calls have been made,’ says Rachel. ‘Perhaps it’s just a problem with the system. I wouldn’t worry about it. Let me get you a new sim.’ She crouches down at the sales desk, opens a drawer, takes out a new sim and inserts it into Archer’s phone before handing it back.

‘Was your old phone backed up?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Do you know how to restore your data from the Cloud?’

‘I do, thanks.’

‘Great. I’ll make the switch on the system now.’