He looked at his watch. Anything to stop him from thinking. It was only a little over an hour since it had all happened. Still Sunday morning, still grey and wet outside.

He looked again at Schumacher and scuffed his feet. ‘I’m sorry I got you involved in all this,’ he said. ‘I hope everything will be all right with your wife.’

Schumacher waved his hand carelessly. ‘She’s all right. Just shock. It’s the child . . .’

A doctor pushed through swing doors. He looked tired. ‘She is in the operating theatre.’ His accent was thick and clumsy. He glanced at Schumacher and then back to Bannerman. ‘It could be hours. And even if the operation is successful, there is no guarantee she will survive it. You can wait if you like.’ He paused, awkward and embarrassed, before disappearing again behind the doors. They swung back and forth for some moments before coming to a standstill.

‘I’ll be back,’ Bannerman said and set off towards the elevator.

Schumacher looked at him in surprise. ‘But the police . . .’

‘Tell the Inspector when he gets back that I’ll be in touch with him.’ He pressed the down button.

‘Where are you going?’

Bannerman hesitated. He was trembling. ‘To get the bastards.’

*

Even in daylight you could not see Jansen’s mansion from the road. The rain was falling steadily as Bannerman’s taxi drew up at the gates. Bannerman got out and crossed to the gatepost. He pressed the button and spoke into the grille. ‘Neil Bannerman for René Jansen.’ Silence. He pressed the buzzer again and kept his finger on it for several seconds. Then repeated his message.

The speaker grille crackled and a voice said, ‘Herr Jansen is not at home.’

‘Like hell he’s not!’

The gates were nearly seven feet high and spiked. The taxi driver watched Bannerman with astonishment as he scaled them, wobbled unsteadily as he straddled the spikes, and then dropped down to the other side. Somewhere in the grounds a siren began wailing through the trees. Bannerman started running, his feet smacking on the tarmac, the trees locked in around him. All he could think of was Tania. All he could feel was his anger.

The driveway seemed longer than it had the previous night. At last the two squares of lawn opened out before him and he emerged from the damp, dripping tunnel of trees. The wailing of the siren intensified as he reached the house, and now he could hear bells ringing in the building itself. He ran through the slush that lay in patches on the lawn, across the gravel, and glanced up at the rows of arched windows. For a moment he caught the glimpse of a pale face watching him from behind a window-blind on the second floor, but when he looked again it was gone.