The figure on-screen moved closer to the position of the camera. From the casual nature of their movements, they seemed unaware there was anything monitoring them – but when the figure looked up, it was directly into the camera. Whether they’d only just spotted it, or they’d known it was there all along, there was no way to tell. But one thing was clear: they weren’t afraid. They didn’t run, didn’t hide. In fact, even though it was impossible to tell through the balaclava, Fleet had the distinct impression that, whoever it was, they were smiling.

Lawe hit pause on the recording. ‘The intruder is caught again on another camera in an upstairs bedroom, but this is the clearest shot we have of them. By our estimation, they were in my client’s house for at least seventeen minutes.’

‘Was anything taken?’ said Fleet, still studying the screen.

‘Not that my client has been able to determine.’

‘So all they did was have a look around?’

Richardson made a disgusted noise. ‘You see, Herb, I told you it would be pointless to report it.’

Fleet turned. ‘You didn’t tell the police you’d had a break-in?’

‘No, I did not.’

‘Given his public profile, my client decided reporting the incident would cause more problems than it would solve,’ explained Lawe. ‘But now, in light of everything that has happened since, and given the entirely unsubstantiated rumours about Mr Richardson’s involvement in—’

‘Let’s not beat around the bush, Detective Inspector,’ Richardson interrupted. ‘You’re here because you’ve been tasked with uncovering something to connect me to Ben’s murder. You won’t find anything, I assure you. But clearly you’re not the only person who’s looking.’

Fleet frowned. ‘How can you be sure the break-in is connected to the investigation?’ he said, even as the image of Lance Wheeler hanging from his belt flashed once again in his mind.

‘Because the intruder also left this,’ Richardson replied, and he reached across the table to tap the keyboard. The screen switched to a different window. In place of the CCTV footage, there was a photograph. It was a picture of a sheet of paper, entirely blank except for a single typed sentence right in the centre.

Your turn to hide, the note read.

Thursday 24 October, 3.41 p.m.

Nicky was searching for street numbers. None of the properties she passed appeared to have any.