‘There,’ Chloe said, pointing to the right of the gate, where an electronic panel was set into the wall. ‘Maybe you want to try climbing over the top, but I’m thinking the bell would be easier.’

‘And what do I say?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. Aren’t you supposed to have a way with people?’

Ben clicked the door open with a sigh. His way with people was about as believable as the fucking creeper at this stage. He heaved his legs out of the car and crossed the tarmac to the intercom. Chloe followed. Her parka hung open; its furry hood draped back over her shoulders like a pelt.

It was nearly three o’clock. The black clouds had fallen away like quarried stone, and fissures of sky now gleamed sapphire blue. A musky-sweet smell pervaded the air; autumn’s decay, like cremated ashes thrown to the wind.

Ben pressed his finger into a circular button. A dial tone rang out; high-pitched, low volume. Chloe shifted in beside him. There was probably a camera somewhere watching them but Ben couldn’t see it. He imagined himself, recorded from an odd angle in black and white grainy footage, leaning his shoulder against the wall, eyes locked with Chloe’s as they waited for a response like two Bible pushers determined to spread the faith.

‘Can I help you?’ asked a female voice carrying a hint of an accent.

‘We’re here to see Doctor Sparling,’ Ben replied.

‘I’m afraid that Doctor Sparling isn’t receiving visitors.’

‘Tell him, please, that Mr French and Ms Coogan would like a moment of his time. And if this gate doesn’t open, we’re coming over the wall.’

Chloe slapped him on the back and revealed that toothy smile of hers, as if to say look at you go. She let her hand rest on his shoulder, massaging her fingers into it. She’d obviously learned by now how anxious he got whenever a conversation took an impolite turn.

‘One moment,’ the woman answered sharply, and the intercom clicked off.

Ben watched Chloe’s lips pucker up like they always did when she was thinking. Was scaling the wall really their backup plan? Hoisting her up on his shoulders wouldn’t be too difficult. The boots were the heaviest part of her. Not getting her tangled in barbed wire or impaled on a spearhead could, however, have presented a few problems.

Still they waited. Ben suspected that Sparling was avoiding his perfect candidates.

‘Fuck it,’ Chloe said, ‘if this bastard’s not going to—’

‘Hello,’ Sparling interrupted, to which she covered her mouth in embarrassment.

Ben was surprised to hear the man’s voice. He had expected the woman to return, sending them off like an overprotective mother. Doctor Sparling can’t come out to play today.

‘We need to talk, Alec,’ he said.