The industrial zone was on the western edge of Medellín, between the districts of Las Violetas and La Palma. There were apartment blocks dotted between the dilapidated warehouses and workshops, and a handful of pedestrians made their way along the crumbling sidewalks on the way to and from their homes. Hicks did not find it difficult to imagine what this area would have been like in Escobar’s day; it was down at heel and poor, and, he guessed, would have been the sort of district the police would not willingly have entered. It was better now, but, as they made their way along Calle 30, they passed young men who eyed them with suspicion and women who stood, cigarettes clamped between their lips, in hope of business.

“Nice area,” Chase observed from the passenger seat.

They reached a junction.

Hicks looked into the rear-view mirror. “Which way?”

Ziggy checked one of his laptops. “Turn right on Carrera 83. Should be on the left.”

Hicks flicked the indicator and turned right, then dabbed the accelerator. The new road was just the same as the last: prefabricated apartment blocks on the left, warehouses on the right.

Chase stared out of the windshield. “Which one is it?”

Hicks watched in the mirror as Ziggy looked between the screen and the street outside.

“There,” he said. “That one.”

It was on the right: a business had been established on a patch of land that stretched back from the road. A vinyl sign stretched over a narrow passageway that cut between two whitewashed buildings: Parquedero Y Lavadero.

“It’s a garage,” Ziggy said.

“And car wash,” Chase added.

There were cars parked up close to one another and a truck with a tarpaulin stretched over the back. It looked as if the cars were washed behind the buildings and then parked at the front to be collected. Hicks took his foot off the gas and the Altima slowed to a crawl. He paid extra attention to the two buildings on either side of the passageway. The building on the left was two storeys tall, with blue metal doors on the ground floor, a red-and-white striped awning above them and then two windows above that. The windows were uncovered and there was no light from within. The three-storey building to the right did show signs of occupation; there were lights in the windows on the first and second floors. It looked as if it might be residential, perhaps where the owner of the business might live.

“Can you be more precise?” Hicks asked Ziggy.

“The tracker only gives an approximate location. Ten metres or so.”

“So which one is it? We need to know.”

“That one,” Ziggy said, pointing to the building with the lit windows. “The one on the right.”