The port was bordered by an industrial area with dozens of warehouses housing companies, all of which appeared to have something to do with shipping. SeaPak occupied a site adjacent to the railway. Hundreds of containers sat in stacks and a large building had a loading bay on each side. They cruised past and swung into the port proper. At the gate they were met by one of the port police, given visitor badges and shown where to park. They waited in the car for Cornish.

‘Not much security,’ Javed said, pointing at the fence. ‘The place is wide open. Can you remember anything being flagged up recently?’

‘No.’ Holm grunted a reply. He turned his head as a little Mazda sports car pulled alongside. Cornish. She lowered the window.

‘Well, one of you looks like they had a good night’s sleep at least,’ she said.

‘That’ll be Farakh.’ Holm wondered how Cornish could appear so radiant. Perhaps it was the fifteen years she had on him. ‘Me? I’m looking forward to my own bed.’

‘I try to avoid mine if possible,’ Javed said. ‘Makes for more fun.’

‘You, Emma and I should go out clubbing sometime,’ Cornish said. ‘Could be quite a night.’

‘That’s a date. I just need to think about what to wear and—’

‘Stop!’ Holm scrunched his eyes shut. He needed a coffee and a couple of painkillers. Something to eat too. ‘Let’s get on with it.’

‘Stephen,’ Cornish said smiling. ‘You sound like the proverbial bear. Can’t take your booze any more, is that it?’

‘We didn’t get breakfast.’ Javed placed his hand over his mouth and said in a stage whisper. ‘Proceed with caution.’

‘Once we’re done here, I’ll buy you breakfast. There’s this great truckers’ place just along the road that does—’

Holm held up his hand. ‘For God’s sake! The port. SeaPak. What we came for.’

‘OK.’ Cornish nodded. Last night she’d tentatively put forward her idea there was some kind of smuggling operation going on. As she’d elaborated, Holm listened and pretended he was hearing the theory for the first time. This wasn’t about drugs or cigarettes or any other low-grade contraband, she said. This was something far more valuable and explained why a professional hit – and that’s what the ammunition and weapon suggested – had been carried out. The conversation hadn’t gone further because Emma had said talk about the job was off-limits. Now Cornish elaborated.

‘People,’ she said, waving at a stack of containers in the distance. ‘Into the UK by the back door. I don’t know what the hell that has to do with animal rights, but there you go.’

Beside Holm, Javed coughed. ‘That’s a gotcha,’ Holm said. ‘The animal rights thing is bogus.’

‘A ruse?’