‘I didn’t do it!’ I yell back. ‘I’m being set up.’

I can tell she doesn’t believe me.

‘Don’t run,’ she says. ‘You know it’ll only make it worse.’

I slip off the edge, out of her sightline. The shot rings out as my feet hit the car’s roof. The metal crumples. Pain shoots from my left foot all the way up to my hip. I roll down the windscreen and slip off the bonnet. Blood’s pumping. People are staring. A young couple walking a tiny dog, an older woman on the phone with her mouth frozen open, two workmen turning round from the pipe they’re fixing.

I start to run. I reach the corner when I hear a noise that can only be Vermeer following, landing on the indent I’d made in the car’s roof. I run even faster, trying to lose myself in the city. Though that’s only going to solve my immediate situation. I need somewhere I can hide out, because every cop in the city will be on the lookout for me very soon. They probably are already. I think of going to Joel’s, but that’s too easy for them to work out. The thing is, I’m without a phone, without money and without any way of getting more. And each time my left foot hits the ground pain screams up to my hip.

Then it comes to me, a place where I can go. A safe place.

By the time I reach the lock-up I’m drenched with sweat and my lungs are burning, as is every other muscle in my body. I limp-jog up the row to mine and when I get there double over for a few seconds, hands resting on legs, trying to suppress the urge to throw up. Then I hear voices, Mark Liu’s and someone else. They’re just round the corner, and it’s clear he’s with a prospective customer. I cannot be seen. I straighten up and fumble the three little dials on the lock, thankful I’d bought this one, not one that opened with a key. The lock clicks open, I slip it off the rings and haul the door up just enough for me to scramble under. Once inside I lower it into position. I lean my back against it, trying to catch my breath. I can hear them, closer now, and I hope Mark doesn’t notice the lack of lock. I move to the other end of the space so they can’t hear my breathing, which is still out of control, and inch along the wall, trying not to stumble against anything in the darkness. I reach the pile of paint cans, put my back against the concrete blocks and slide down into a sit.