Worplesdon, Woking, West Byfleet. The first three stations passed with no message from Slater. Hoskins checked his phone for the umpteenth time. Somewhere else a phone rang. Hoskins and the woman looked at each other. It wasn’t clear where it was coming from. Hoskins leaned forward a couple of feet and peered into the bin that was between two rows of seats. It was definitely coming from there. He fished his hand in, and pulled out a McDonald’s burger bag. He peered inside and saw a phone, an envelope and a Browning 9mm. Hoskins retrieved the phone and answered it. The elderly woman hid her laugh with a hand.

‘Ray, is that you?’

‘It is. Have you seen everything?’

‘Yes. Three items.’ Hoskins didn’t dare bring out the gun, but retrieved the envelope, and opening the flap, could see it was stuffed with the giveaway pink of fifty pound notes. He turned away from the woman, who was now openly staring at him. ‘Got it,’ he whispered. ‘You took a risk, Ray.’

‘Not really. I put it in at Godalming, the stop before yours. There’s not much chance of anyone going through the bins before Waterloo, when the cleaners come on. It’s only a five grand down payment. I can’t raise more that quick.’

Hoskins had to admit this was clever. There was going to be no face-to-face meeting. Gillard’s high-risk ruse had failed. The inquiry’s legal basis had been undermined, yet Slater had not bitten. It was with some trepidation that Hoskins rang his boss, knowing he would be angry.

Gillard somehow knew before he answered the call. Slater was proving more slippery than expected, and the detective had to admit a grudging respect for the intelligence and finesse revealed by planting a phone in a bin on the train.