‘Sure,’ said Angel, as they pulled up in front of Hazlitt’s on Frith Street. ‘By the way, you got any “Get Out of Jail Free” cards, just in case?’

Canton stared at him, stony-faced.

‘No,’ he said, ‘I don’t.’

‘I’ll just take the candy, then,’ said Angel. He liberated two boxes of Milk Duds, dropping them into his pocket. ‘And thanks for the ride. Five stars, no question.’

Hazlitt’s had been recommended to Angel by Bob Johnston, a retired Maine bookseller who was now living happily in London with a woman named Rosanna Bellingham. Johnston and Rosanna had a number of shared interests, among them books, gin, and each other. Johnston had opted to stay in London after traveling over from Maine to help Charlie Parker with some research on a case. This had resulted in Johnston being rendered permanently deaf in one ear and having a number of his fingers broken, which was what sometimes happened to people who entered Parker’s orbit.

Angel unpacked, freshened up, and met Johnston and his inamorata at the Phoenix Arts Club on the Charing Cross Road, where they ate decent comfort food while resting actors sang show tunes around a piano. During the lulls between songs, Angel explained to Johnston and Rosanna his reason for being in London, and requested their assistance with what was to come.

‘A kidnapping?’ said Johnston.

‘The appearance of one,’ said Angel.

‘I’ve never kidnapped anyone before,’ said Rosanna.

‘And you’re not about to start now,’ said Angel. Rosanna Bellingham, he thought, looked to be worryingly enthused by the idea of an abduction. He believed she might have missed her vocation.

‘What if she doesn’t want to be kidnapped?’ said Johnston.

‘Nobody wants to be kidnapped,’ said Angel. ‘And for the last time, an actual kidnapping is not what it is.’

‘Bob’s right,’ said Rosanna. ‘What if she says no? Because you’ll have played your hand, and if you let her walk away …’

‘Then,’ said Angel, ‘we’ll have a problem.’

‘No,’ said Rosanna, ‘you’ll have a kidnapping.’

Later, Johnston and Rosanna walked Angel back to his hotel and said good night, but when he got to his room, he found he could not sleep. He was struck by a wave of depression, the latest in a succession both unpredictable and unrelenting in their ferocity. Angel had always been prone to bouts of melancholy – given the abuse he had suffered earlier in life, it would have been surprising had he not experienced periods of profound emotional distress – but the nature of them had altered following his recent illness, growing deeper and more emphatic. He wondered if it was a form of survivor’s guilt. He thought about speaking with Louis, but instead used his cell phone to call another number, because he knew one man who might understand how he was feeling. The call was picked up on the second ring.

‘So how is Europe?’ said Parker.