Kale felt a lightness in his heart. He liked the rain. It reminded him of London. He liked the feel of it on his face and the dampness in the air where people gathered for a drink with their steamy wet coats and hats. For him this was the day of release, the day when the nightmare of the past week would end. All the questions about his future remained unanswered, but they could wait. The prison sentence of his past was drawing to a close. The only conscious reminder was the weight of the gun in the holster strapped across his back and over his left shoulder. He had decided not to leave it at the hotel, though he could not take it with him – it would never pass the security checks at the airport. But it was at the airport, he had decided, he would dispose of it. In one of the flush tanks in the toilets, after he had wiped it clean of prints.

His taxi drew up outside the terminal building and he stepped out into the bluster of wind and rain. Through sliding doors, head down as he passed the security policemen with their hip holsters and machine guns. Rows of airline desks, and people with cases milling around, a mechanical voice announcing flights over the tannoy. Kale breathed a sigh of relief and glanced at his watch. He had half an hour before his flight would be called.

He checked in at the BA desk and left his case, and then looked for the Toilet signs. They led him up a flight of steps on to a concourse on an upper level. He saw the toilets at the far side, brushed past a group of travellers sharing a joke, and stopped with a feeling like death inside him.

The child was not looking his way, but he saw her head turning. Perhaps she sensed that he was there. Beside her stood the man he had followed to the clinic, and an elderly couple. He could hear the woman’s voice. An American.

‘Well, Mr Bannerman, I don’t think you need have any fears about leaving little Tania in our custody for the flight. She is such a darling girl. I know we’re going to get on just great . . .’ Her voice trailed away sharply as the scream tore from the child’s lips.

Heads all around them turned. Bannerman looked at Tania, at the terror on her face, and followed her eyes. He saw a man in a shabby coat, a man in a drawing without a face.