She nodded. Cast another upward glance at the building, still worried that her husband and Laverack might be watching from above.

Ben asked, ‘Perhaps you’d like to talk privately? Maybe there’s a café or something nearby?’

‘I can’t. I have to get back before I’m missed. In any case I’m not the one you need to speak to. But I can pass you on to someone who definitely might be interested.’

‘Who is this person? Can you give me their number?’

She shook her head again. ‘You can’t make the first approach. You give me your number, and if he agrees, he’ll call to arrange a meeting. But there’s another thing. He won’t come to you. You’ll have to travel.’

‘Mrs Seaward, we don’t have a lot of time to waste here.’

‘I’m sorry. I understand there’s danger. That’s the same reason this person doesn’t trust anyone. He’s very careful.’

‘But he trusts you?’

‘And I trust him,’ she said. ‘There isn’t anyone more knowledgeable about these awful, terrible practices that have been going on for centuries, hidden from public view. He can tell you things that will make you understand how deep the root of this goes. Once you realise how this affects us all, there’s no going back.’

‘I’m already there, Mrs Seaward. But I’d like to hear whatever it is he knows.’ Ben gave her his burner number and she pulled out a pencil and a scrap of paper to scribble it down.

‘He’ll call,’ she promised.

‘When?’

‘I’ll talk to him.’ And with a last anxious glance up at the top-floor windows, Georgie Seaward went hurrying back to the building and disappeared.

‘Well,’ Wolf said. ‘What do we do now?’

‘We have some time to kill. Hungry?’

‘I could eat a roasted Satanist.’

Killing time, they drove around the neighbourhood until they found a Turkish kebab house that was open all day and had an eating-in area. The place was quiet at this time of the afternoon. They grabbed a corner table in the back and sat eating their late lunch, a lamb kebab with some floppy fries for Ben and grilled chicken in pitta bread with salad for Wolf. The place was unlicensed so it was soft drinks or nothing, but Ben had had enough alcohol already that day.

‘What do you reckon on her?’ Wolf asked, spreading mayonnaise on his chicken. ‘Think she really knows someone, or is she jerking our chain?’

‘She looked anxious,’ Ben said. ‘She’s hiding something from her husband and Laverack. She knows what’s in the book, and she seems to have cause to be much more afraid of it than they are. They’re only worried about protecting their own skins. With her, it’s different.’

‘You believe she’d have stood by and watched them scrub Abbott’s book?’