Something shifted behind Krebs’ gaze and Petra realized she’d lost her. The mention of her daughter, that’s what had done it. Of course, she thought. Krasic has the kid under wraps. That’s his insurance policy. Before she could break Krebs, they’d have to find the daughter. Still, it was worth one last throw of the dice. ‘You’ll be going in front of the judge soon,’ she said. ‘You’ll be remanded in custody. No matter how smart-mouthed your lawyer is, no matter how many times he plays the card that you’re no risk to the public, they’re not going to bail you. Because I’m going to tell the prosecutor we’ve got you on our books as someone with links to organized crime. You’re going into the general prison population. Do you have any idea how easy it will be for me to make it look like you’re co-operating with us? And do you have any idea how little time it will take Darko Krasic to make sure you never talk to anyone else again? I mean, think about it, Marlene. How long did it take him to set up Kamal?’ Petra got to her feet. ‘Think about it.’ She crossed to the door and knocked to indicate that the meeting was over.

As the WaPo outside opened up, Petra looked back over her shoulder. Marlene Krebs was leaning forward, her loose hair shrouding her face. ‘I’ll be calling on you, Marlene.’

Krebs looked up. Hate blared across the room at Petra. ‘Fuck you,’ she said.

I’ll take that as a yes, Petra thought triumphantly as she walked back to the Wachte for her gun. She had finally lit a low flame under Darko Krasic that might eventually cook Tadeusz Radecki.

Carol had always enjoyed the ambience of Soho. She’d seen it shift from the seediness of the porn industry’s hub to the stylish, gay-orientated café society it had become in the 1990s, but there had never been a time when she hadn’t found it fascinating. Chinatown rubbed shoulders with theatreland, leather men shared the pavements with shifty-eyed prostitute’s punters, media gurus battled wannabe gangstas for taxis. Although she’d never policed its narrow, traffic-choked streets, she’d spent a lot of time there, much of it in a drinking club on Beak Street where one of her oldest friends, now a literary journalist, was a founding member.