‘Yes, I did. It’s good to hear from you.’

‘Do you wanna meet again?’

She hesitated – don’t appear too keen. ‘OK, I could find time.’

‘What about now?’

‘Now? Where, Sami?’

‘My house. It’s OK, Mum’ll be here.’

‘I’ll have to finish my street. Don’t know how long it will take.’

‘All right. But I gotta work later.’

‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’

‘Yeah. OK.’ He cut the call.

She phoned Patrick. ‘He may have bitten.’

‘Or he may want to see a pretty girl again.’ She sensed there was no Patrick grin; he was managing her expectations.

‘Should I finish the street? Even if it’s just for show?’

‘I’d get off it. Now.’ It was the first time he’d spoken to her with any urgency.

Inside the car, he began to explain. ‘Sami coming back to you might just be because he likes you. Or—’

‘It could be the game changer,’ she interrupted.

‘Quite. You can’t risk seeing anyone connected with the files till you’re done with Sami.’

‘OK. But Sami shouldn’t think I’ve dropped everything for him.’

‘Agreed. He needs to sweat with anticipation. Let it build.’ He spoke with cold calculation. She looked at him and remembered that remark on Pendle Hill.

An hour later, he dropped her fifty yards from Gent Street. The predator’s thrill resurfaced. She walked along the pavement at a measured pace, stopped outside No. 59, shook herself, stood tall, mounted the steps and, for some reason, tapped discreetly on the knocker rather than ring the bell.

The mother answered. ‘Oh, salam alaikum.’

‘Is Sami in, auntie?’

‘I’ve been at the back, he said he was going out.’

Thoughts of intercepted phone calls, armed enforcers, police making arrests all flashed before her. His mother shouted up the stairs. ‘Sami.’ No answer. ‘Yes, he must have gone out,’ she said.

‘Would you mind trying again?’ asked Sara. ‘It’s something for the survey, I’m sure he said he was working late today.’

‘Sami!’ she yelled with a screech that made Sara jump.

A few seconds later, a pair of boots followed by jeans hurried down the stairs.

‘I thought you wasn’t coming,’ he said. He inspected her in a way quite unlike their previous meeting. ‘You go in the sitting room, I’ll get tea.’

‘I said it was my treat next time.’

‘Nah, easier to have it here.’ There was a new authority in his voice; he seemed to be setting the agenda, not her. He reappeared with tea and an uncut cake.

‘A fresh cake,’ Sara said.

‘Yeah, I told you.’ He poured tea, slowly cut a slice of cake, laid it on a plate and placed it on the stool by her chair. He sat down opposite.

‘So there were a few things I forgot—’