Slack put on his overcoat and went down in the lift to the lobby. Samuel, the ageing concierge, bid him a good day. So did the burly doorman who received a regular retainer from Slack for tipping him off about anyone behaving suspiciously in or around the building.

Mike had the grey Merc today and he was standing next to it with the rear door open.

Slack paused on the pavement before getting in, squinting against the sun as he looked around for any sign of police surveillance. But he didn’t see anything and it made him wonder if they had given up the ghost. It wouldn’t have surprised him since they would have desperately needed the manpower elsewhere.

‘How are you doing, boss?’ Mike asked him.

He grinned. ‘As always I’m feeling the pressure, Mikey. But as always I’m coping.’

He climbed in the back and Mike closed the door.

It might have been a Sunday but the traffic was still heavy. It would probably take them twenty minutes or more to get to Rotherhithe across the river.

He was looking forward to a good old roast. As usual he’d skipped breakfast so he was ravenous.

There was a time when he got them to pile up his plate with meat and potatoes, but not anymore. The cancer affected his appetite, so these days he could only manage small portions.

They were across the river and into the back streets of Rotherhithe when his phone went off. The ringtone told him it was his mole inside the task force, the person who had provided him with the personal details of all the detectives, plus the home address of the Commissioner.

He thought about not answering because he was in no mood to listen to another rant about how things had gone too far. But he decided he couldn’t take the chance in case it was something important.

So he swiped the green icon and said, ‘If you’re gonna have a moan then I’m fucking hanging up.’

‘No, don’t.’ The voice that barked in his ear was loud and anxious and he felt a frisson of unease.

‘What is it?’ he said.

‘You need to stay at home, Roy. Don’t go out. You won’t be safe. I’ve got wind of a plot to—’

But that was all he got to hear because at that moment Mike slammed hard on the brakes and he was thrown forward. He dropped the phone onto the floor between his feet and his face rammed the back of Mike’s seat.

‘What the fuck?’ he yelled.

The Merc had skidded to a halt because a black van had swerved into its path. At once the van’s rear doors were thrown open and two men wearing balaclavas jumped out.