The woman introduced herself as Angie. ‘I’m due out in half an hour,’ she said, clacking round the kitchen in her heels. ‘So I hope I can answer your questions quickly.’

Perry had not really planned in detail what he was going to ask, and, feeling rather nervous, asked her to describe what she had heard on the night of the car theft. ‘Well, I didn’t hear too much at first; it was just when Kyle woke up and ran downstairs.’

He made notes and then asked: ‘I understand you are a company director?’

‘Yes, industrial property company. Bits and pieces really, all over Surrey and on the other side of the M4.’

‘What does your partner do?’

‘He’s a self-employed international telecoms consultant.’

‘Where is he based?’

‘All over. He works a lot on the move, or from his home office here. But he is actually one of my own tenants as well.’ She trotted out an address. ‘He was kind enough to take one of the most unsaleable dumps I have, up near Pirbright. I think he keeps his jet ski there.’ She looked at her watch anxiously, and said. ‘So overall, has there been any progress on recovering the Warrior?’

‘No. But we’re trying to tie this crime in with others.’ Perry really wanted to ask permission to take a look around, but he could see that the woman was worried about the time. There would always be another opportunity, and in the meantime he had an address to work with. She showed him out, and closed the door behind him. He waited a few seconds, standing between the two large planters that framed the doorway, then reached into his pocket for a roll of insulation tape that he’d had the presence of mind to bring with him. He knew from watching the CCTV of the car theft that he was standing in the blind spot of the camera mounted two feet above the front door. With his teeth he tore off a small strip, then stepped up and carefully balanced himself on one of the planters so he could reach it. He stuck the strip over the camera lens.

Blanking out the CCTV would be essential for when he came back later that night.

Like Perry, PC Lynne Fairbanks was also off duty on Saturday night. She was waiting with a certain sense of anticipation on a bar stool in the cocktail bar of the Gilded Swan, an exclusive eatery at Walton-on-Thames. Her date for the evening was running a little late, but had apparently called ahead and got them to serve her a bottle of chilled champagne. Now that was style. By contrast, the last time her boyfriend Michael had deigned to take her out, they had shared a mediocre pizza while she listened to him whining about money the whole time. Michael thought she was working the overnight shift helping on the Ulbricht murder case.

As she sipped her drink at the bar, the ice bucket at her elbow, she saw Kyle Halliday making his way across the crowded room. A big smile, the open-necked mauve shirt over that V-shaped physique, and his tight jeans.