There was a blurry image of a figure wearing a dark hoodie climbing the verge on the other side of the road. The frame was paused at a fraction of a second before the pile-up.

‘I’ve isolated the image,’ Georgie explained, minimising the internet browser and bringing up another screen. Priest didn’t recognise the programme but it showed the pixelated version of the hoodie thief. ‘This software improves image quality. Its freeware so it’s not great but—’ She clicked a red button at the top of the screen marked APPLY, the computer whirred for a few seconds and the image of the hoodie thief returned with more clarity.

Priest sighed audibly with satisfaction. ‘Well I’ll be damned.’

In truth, the picture was only marginally improved but it was enough to enable him to make out that the thief’s hood had fallen back at some stage during the climb to the top of the embankment revealing a shock of blue hair.

‘It’s the girl from the gym,’ Georgie said triumphantly.

Priest sat back in his chair; his initial excitement had waned quickly. The blue hair I found on my sofa came from Fox’s coat. That can only mean one thing: she got there first.

‘Come on, Georgie,’ he urged, getting to his feet. ‘Time to get some answers.’

*

Georgie had established that the Budget Gym closed at 11 p.m. and with a quarter of an hour to go it looked as though nobody was taking advantage of the late closing time. The Italian restaurant next door was doing better trade, which was hardly surprising – the warm glow of the red and purple decor looked infinitely more appealing than the gym’s harsh artificial lighting.

There was some movement at the restaurant’s door – two in and two out – and a few people ambling towards a pub on the corner; a lone man stood puffing on a cigarette outside the late-night newsagent’s further down. Other than that, Grace Street was uncannily quiet.

Georgie had been huddled in a small alcove on the opposite side of the road to the gym for almost half an hour now. They had decided to wait till just before closing time when there were fewer people around, but her propensity to over-plan had brought her into position far too early. Now she was cold, and the alcove stank of urine. She watched the comings and goings at the gym carefully, such as they were. Other than a woman with dreadlocks loping out ten minutes ago carrying a large holdall, nothing had happened, although she had occasionally spotted the blue-haired girl called Mims drifting past the window.

I hope you’re on your own.