Pixie was already on the phone. ‘Hello there, this is Mark Somersby’s PA.’ She seemed to have acquired a posh voice. ‘I need to get some urgent documents to him for signing. Pray tell, has he arrived with you yet?’ She paused. ‘Brill. Cheers. I mean . . . how wonderful. Thank you, sir.’ She looked up at us. ‘Mâitre d’ confirmed that Somersby and his guest are there.’

Jake screeched to a halt on Shaftesbury Avenue and turned back to Geraint and Pixie. ‘You two get back to the Platform. Keep on the leads for Frederick.’

*

We pulled up right behind Somersby’s Ferrari. It was illegally parked. His type would rather pay the parking fine than face the inconvenience of walking too far.

‘How do we play this?’ I asked Jake as we got out the van and walked up to the restaurant. ‘Local police? Scotland Yard?’ We each had wallets with an array of genuine IDs for any one of the law enforcement agencies.

‘You choose. I’m just looking forward to humiliating him by dragging him out in handcuffs. Here’s to hoping he knows plenty of people inside.’

‘Now, remember. Don’t get too enthusiastic with your interrogation. We need to get out of him who his partner is. Miss Jenna only knew he was a business associate. We need a name.’

‘And I’m going to really enjoy getting one.’

We walked in and flashed our police IDs to the mâitre d’, who was all too quick to point out Mark Somersby’s table and look both excited and terrified as to what was about to take place.

As we approached the table Somersby looked up. He was a slight man, with glasses and thinning hair. Did he know who we were? Was he going to run? He sat perfectly still, watching us get closer, his face slowly losing colour. His dinner companion had his back to us and clearly hadn’t noticed as he continued to talk animatedly with big hand gestures.

Jake went straight to Somersby and roughly pulled him to his feet. ‘Police. You’re coming with us, Mark Somersby.’ Jake raised his voice further to announce his name, before turning him round and clipping a pair of handcuffs onto him.

The restaurant quietened, apart from the clink and clank of cutlery hitting plates as everyone strained to hear what was going on.

Somersby’s companion turned around to face me, his eyes widening in recognition.

I looked over at Jake. ‘I hope you have another set of handcuffs.’

The man stood up. ‘Now, look here, you’ve got this all wrong.’

‘I always carry a spare.’ Jake threw a pair at me across the table and I snapped them firmly onto Charles Wycombe’s wrists.

There were no such thing as coincidences in this industry and there was no doubt Wycombe was the third partner in Tenebris.

*