On the way out I accidentally stumble over the extension lead. Just hard enough to yank it out of the socket. Back in the car there’s a strong smell of dog, but I’m pleased to see the steering wheel’s still attached and doesn’t appear to have too many tooth marks. Kush’s actually curled up asleep on the back seat.

‘So we’ve got the middle man’s number,’ Vermeer says. ‘He’ll have had direct contact with Huisman. How best to approach him? If we call and ask to speak to him, he’s just going to disappear, given that what he’s doing is illegal. Right now he’s our only link to Huisman. I don’t want him doing a runner.’

One of the men in hi-vis steps up to the hole and suddenly starts waving frantically to the digger driver. The claw stops moving. More men cluster round to peer at whatever caught the first man’s attention. One, the leader I guess by his slightly more upmarket hi-vis, gets on the phone and starts gesticulating a bit manically. Something’s clearly up.

‘Give me the number.’ I pull out my phone.

‘You’re not going to call him?’

‘Yeah. As a prospective client.’

She looks at me then shrugs. ‘All right, go for it.’

On my phone I punch in the number and compose myself. Then I place the call. Someone picks up on the fourth ring.

Who?

Incident room, late afternoon. Those present: Vermeer, Jansen and a bunch of junior staff I’ve been introduced to but whose names are going to take a little while to get straight in my head. The mood: sombre. Vermeer’s briefing everyone, and her clear and professional delivery makes me wonder if the reason Beving wants me to spy on her is purely because he’s afraid. Aside from the strangely private phone call she was having outside the law firm, from what little I’ve seen she’s more than competent, and a better cop than he’ll ever be. And really, wanting to keep a conversation private is hardly suspicious behaviour.

She raises a laugh when she recounts to the small team an account of my impersonation of a would-be benefit cheat, telling them that it was Oscar-worthy stuff. Whatever. She can scoff – it got a result.

The man on the phone had been monotone and guarded. Nonetheless, after having told him I had a council property which I wanted to sublet on a long-term basis he was interested, and he agreed to meet. Which we’re doing this evening.

Kush, I notice, is not much of a team player. He’s the only one in the room not paying attention, instead exploring the space with his nose. He seems particularly entranced by the open bin close to the door. Vermeer finishes up and throws it open for questions.