DI Billings had written to the judge saying the brothers were narking for him, and that they were more use on the street than behind bars. The judge had given this careful consideration and, for the princely sum of twenty-five thousand pounds per brother, had allowed them to walk from the court on suspended sentences. Anthony had done his job - and in so doing had found his vocation. Now Calder resided in a large leafy suburb in Chigwell with his little wife, his newborn daughter, and two large Dobermanns. He ran his business from home and socialised with both police and criminals. He was respected by all concerned, especially the police, who saw him as a way of subsidising meagre salaries.

Anthony was pleased with life, and he gave a grin of deep-felt satisfaction as he saw Alan Cox walking across his manicured lawn towards the gym annexe where he spent most of his day.

‘Hello, Alan, me old mate, long time no see.’ Anthony’s voice still had a thick cockney twang.

‘All right, Tone? You’re looking well.’

Anthony shook his hand. ‘What can I do you for then?’ The business was starting and Alan was aware of the fact. It was one of the things he liked about Anthony Calder: the preliminaries were few and far between.

‘I need a few whispers from you, me old son. I am in the throes of planning a little get-together with an old mate and I need the ear of a few Old Bill.’

Anthony replaced the heavy weight into its carriage and wiped his face and neck with a pristine white towel.

‘Where’s the setup?’

Alan smiled. ‘The Isle of Wight.’

Anthony laughed then. ‘I see. Well, that’ll cost a few bob, but I expect you know that. Any particular face in mind?’

Alan sat down on a small bench and loosened his coat buttons. ‘I need your word on strict security. This could become very nasty.’

Calder shrugged. ‘I never open me mouth - you know that, Alan.’

‘Not even if it steps on Donald Lewis’s toes?’

Alan was aware of the big man’s shock.

‘What’s Lewis got to do with this?’

‘Nothing, Tony, and that’s how I want it to stay. I don’t want him to know anything. He owns most of the Old Bill on the Island, and I want to spring an old mate without Lewis sussing anything about it.’

Tony stared down at him for a moment. ‘That’s a dangerous proposition, Alan. It’ll cost you. Big money.’

‘I’m good for it, Tony, you know that. But I have one thing to tell you: if Lewis even gets a faint whiff that something’s going down, me and you are going to fall out, do you understand me?’

Tony nodded, serious now. ‘I hear what you’re saying. But you know that Lewis has his fingers in more fucking pies than little Jack Horner.’