He lifted Bannerman’s contacts book from its drawer and riffled through it as he returned to the news desk. He picked up the phone. ‘Got it.’ He read out the number and then hesitated. ‘What will I tell Tait?’

‘Tell him to go fuck himself.’

‘Can I quote you?’

‘Please do.’

‘Good. I’ll enjoy that.’

As he hung up, the door behind him flew open and Tait stood in the doorway, shirt sleeves rolled up above the elbows, clenched fists on his hips. ‘Any word from that bastard Bannerman yet?’

*

Bannerman had begun dialling before Tait had even stepped from his office. He listened to the shrill single rings in his left ear and became aware that Mademoiselle Ricain was still typing at the desk opposite. What was she typing? There were only he and Palin working out of this office. And Palin was gone.

‘Vous cherchez?’ The voice crashed into his thoughts.

‘Hector Lewis, s’il vous plaît.’

‘Moment.’ A line got plugged through the switchboard.

‘Lewis.’

‘Hector, it’s Neil Bannerman.’

You could almost hear Lewis running the name through his head in the split second before he responded, ‘Neil! Good to hear from you. How are you?’

‘Let’s skip the formalities, Hector. Do you still do company searches?’

Lewis guffawed heartily. He was a man you could not easily offend. ‘Same old Neil Bannerman. Yes, I still do the occasional search for old customers like yourself. But I’ve been branching out a bit lately. Doing a nice line in PR now.’

‘Another martyr to presstitution?’

‘Haha, that’s a good one. Must remember that.’

‘It’s not exactly original, Hector.’

‘Nothing is nowadays, Neil. Who have you got under the microscope this time?’

‘A company called Machines Internationale. I have reason to think it might be registered in Switzerland. Possibly Luxembourg, but probably Switzerland.’

‘A pleasure, sir, a pleasure. What do you want to know?’

‘Everything. Director, associated companies if any, capital, line of business. And if you do turn up any related companies I’d like the shit on them too.’

‘Something big?’

‘None of your business.’

‘Haha. You’re quite right. Mum’s the word. But it’ll cost you. My time is valuable these days.’

‘You mean the time you spend on your backside while you delegate the donkey work to your little army of diggers?’

‘Exactly right, Neil. Why keep a dog and bark yourself? Where can I reach you?’

Bannerman gave him numbers for the office and the apartment in Rue de Commerce.

‘What are you doing in Brussels, Neil?’

‘Shelling sprouts.’

‘That’s good. Haha. Very droll. It wouldn’t be anything to do with those shootings, would it?’

‘What was it we agreed, Hector?’

‘Oh, yes. Mum’s the word. How soon do you want this stuff?’

‘Just as soon as you can get off your fat arse and start digging.’