Victor winked. ‘You bet ya. I’ll be straight up with ya. I need to earn me money.’

‘Do you not have a wife you go home to?’

A pang of sadness swept across his face. He paused before he could speak. Clearing the choke in his throat, he replied, ‘She died, two years ago. She was my little duchess, a real little love, she was. Married to her for thirty years, good ’uns an’ all . . . ’ He swallowed hard. ‘She was mugged and left beaten in the street. By the time the ambulance had got to her, she was unconscious. I sat by her bed until she passed away. The fucking saddest day of my life, that was.’

‘Oh no, I’m so, so sorry.’

Watching his face, she saw the sadness turn to anger, and she knew he was a man determined to seek retribution.

‘So now ya know, Zara, why I’m more than happy to help you. Ya see, that fucking gang killed her.’

Zara’s hand flew to her mouth, in horror.

‘I don’t have the backing to hunt them down, Zara. But if you’re gonna take them out of the picture, ’cos I’m surmising that you ain’t gonna back down and allow those scumbags to take what’s yours, then I’m with ya, all the way. But I know those gangs and all this drug business ain’t organized by the likes of that Lennon arsehole. This is being carefully orchestrated by someone with a lot of clout, not a load of skanky kids, trying to score a few quid to get their fix.’

Zara gestured for him to go into the dining room. ‘Take a seat, Victor. D’ya fancy a brandy?’

He smiled. ‘Any of your Izzy’s finest going?’

Everything Victor was saying was ringing true. He really must have been a good friend of her father’s because, as a rule, the most expensive brandy was consumed at the house and only with close friends.

Searching through the drinks cabinet, she was surprised to find that Ismail hadn’t touched the brandy. Then she wondered whether he actually knew a good label if he saw one. She knew, though, because her father had once taught her. She poured two generous measures and they sipped their drinks in silence for a few moments, each with their own thoughts.

‘Only the best, Victor. Cheers.’

As they took their drinks through to the study, Zara thought about the man her father called the Machine and her concern around Eric. ‘Er . . . would you excuse me a second, I just need to make a phone call.’ She politely got up and headed back to the office. Pulling the notebook from her bag, she dialled the number, half expecting it to be out of use.