Silva couldn’t help but think of the card her mother had left for her. She tensed. If only the message could have been a simple wish you were here… see you soon… love, Mum.

‘Picture postcard,’ she said. ‘Great.’

It was two weeks since their visit to Suffolk and they were back in Thames House in the little office under the stairs. Holm had written a long report for Huxtable detailing the trip to Ipswich and claiming it as a resounding success. He told her they’d liaised with Suffolk Constabulary and set up channels of communication to ensure any re-emergence of extreme animal rights groups in the area would be effectively monitored.

There hadn’t been any more tweets from TCXGP1505 and it seemed as if the reference to the dead SeaPak operations manager was all the help the mysterious informant was going to provide. Still, it was enough. Holm pulled a sheaf of printouts towards him. Paul Henderson’s bank details. The new manager was clearing ten thousand dollars into the account each month. Only this wasn’t his normal account, not the one his salary was paid into, not the one he paid his bills from. This account was registered in the Channel Islands.

It had taken Holm a while to get the information but that was because he hadn’t wanted Huxtable to know what he’d been up to. Eventually the account details had pinged into his inbox, but while the financial details were interesting there was little else to help them.

‘The money’s coming from a numbered account in Singapore,’ Holm said. ‘So we’re buggered.’

‘Oh,’ Javed said.

‘Yes, oh.’ Holm jerked his arm and cleverly floated the piece of paper across the room and into a waste bin. He sighed. A numbered account had no name attached to it, or rather the name was known only to high-ranking bank officials. The information would only be revealed in a criminal investigation, and in Singapore that was unlikely to happen without some sort of international pressure. ‘It’s a dead end unless we can get the shipping manifests, and that isn’t going to happen without spilling the beans to the Spider.’

‘But if you have an ordinary job like Paul Henderson you don’t set up an offshore account and you don’t receive a secret gift of ten thousand dollars a month for doing nothing.’

‘Of course you don’t. The trouble is, unless we can get some sort of intelligence on Henderson or the manifests we’re not going to get any further.’

‘So what do we do?’

‘You go and fetch some coffees while I think on it, right?’

Javed muttered his disapproval, but he got up and left the room. By the time he’d returned with two coffees and a plate of blueberry muffins, Holm had worked out a solution.

‘Nazi memorabilia,’ he said.

‘You what?’ Javed crunched his face. ‘Have you lost the plot?’