‘Yeah.’ He came to the door as she walked back onto the pavement. So great was the combination of expectation and frustration that she only remembered just in time that she was a market researcher knocking on every tenth number of Gent Street. He was still watching as she pressed the bell of No. 69. Reaching the end of the street, she chanced a final look-back. No sign of him. Or anyone else.

The car drew alongside as she turned the corner.

‘Well?’

‘Hang on a minute.’ She settled herself in her seat, fastened the belt, and foraged in her bag for her make-up mirror as he moved off down the street. She removed it and checked her face, applying tiny pats of powder. Buying time again.

This was going to be impossible unless, to some extent at least, she levelled with him, whatever the wariness now infecting her. What was there to lose anyway? He could see that she had case histories – it would be perverse not to share. To test trust, maybe you had to give it.

‘OK. Morahan gave me some files.’

‘That was pretty obvious, Sara.’

‘Was it that bad?’ She remembered his expression. ‘Did you have a peek in the folder when I was with Sylvia?’

He slapped his foot on the brake and pulled in to the roadside. ‘For f— Sorry, I’ll start that again. What do you take me for?’

She was consumed by embarrassment, wanting to tell him about the text so that he’d understand. She mustn’t. Not till she really knew him – if she ever did. And still that horrible, sinking feeling – what if he was the one she had to look out for?

‘I’m sorry, Patrick.’

He softened. ‘It’s OK. Go on.’

‘I don’t know where they came from, MI5, Special Branch, your guess is as good as mine.’ The half-truth was weak; she needed to be better at this. ‘They relate to five young Muslims with family addresses in Blackburn. Two appear to have been closed by the end of 2006.’

‘2006? Long time ago.’

‘Yes. But the other three remained open.’

‘And one of the five lived, or lives, in Gent Street.’

‘I found him. He was at home. Still lives with his mum. I could hardly believe it. I finally got inside…’

‘Well done.’

‘I had to use a last resort.’

‘Oh?’

‘Used fivers.’

Patrick frowned. ‘How many?’

‘Actually, more like twenties. Ten of them.’ Though he said nothing, Patrick’s eyebrows shot up. ‘He’s smart,’ she continued. ‘Greedy too. He’d never have done it for nothing.’

He was silent for a few seconds. ‘Good call,’ he finally said. ‘I’ll find a way of putting it through the books.’

She felt her shoulders sag with relief. ‘I didn’t feel especially proud of myself. Anyway, he warmed up, Mum was friendly, tea on saucers, he did the survey. I could see he liked the look of me.’

‘Of course.’