‘There’s something else written on the crates.’ Javed shifted his position and refocused. ‘It says MV Angelo.’

‘Motor vessel Angelo. Right.’ Holm climbed out of the car. This part of the port was away from the container ships and the general cargo. The quayside was clean and tidy and a number of expensive-looking white fenders were stacked in a pile near an empty berth. He took out his phone and held it up. ‘Stay in touch.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘For a wander. Sit tight.’

Holm walked along the fence, trying to appear as if he was simply a lost tourist wandering in the dark. A hundred metres farther on a little cafe sat sandwiched between two derelict warehouses. A table and a couple of chairs had been arranged outside on the narrow pavement and an A-board sign was adorned with a scrawl of chalk and the name of the cafe at the top: Luigi’s. Light shone from inside where there were three more tables and a long counter. The wall behind the counter was adorned with football posters and press cuttings, some of the posters going back decades. Holm strolled in. There was a little handbell by a plate of pastries. He picked up the bell and gave it a shake. Moments later a man entered through a back door. He wore an apron, the white material curving over a substantial stomach. A round face mirrored the stomach, while the top of the man’s head wore a dusting of grey hair shaved razor close. Luigi, Holm assumed.

‘Could I have a coffee?’ Holm spoke slowly in English. ‘A cappuccino?’

‘Si, si. Un momento.’ Luigi turned to an ancient-looking machine and began to prepare the drink. ‘English, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Manchester?’

‘No, London.’

‘Ah, Arsenal, Chelsea, Tottenham Hotspur.’

Holm wasn’t much interested in football, but his father had taken him along to Millwall when he’d been a kid. He doubted the owner would have heard of the team.

‘Napoli,’ Holm said. He spotted the front page of an old newspaper stuck on the back wall. ‘The UEFA Cup in ’89, yes?’

Luigi turned, a broad smile on his face. ‘You know about that? All the way up there in England?’

‘Of course.’ Holm nodded. He took another glance at the headlines on the paper. ‘You beat Stuttgart. Maradona scored a penalty.’ He paused for a moment and pulled out some euros. He spread the coins on the counter. ‘How much?’

Luigi shook his head, his expression almost dreamlike. ‘For you, my friend, it is gratis.’

‘Thank you.’ Holm glanced round the cafe. The place was empty. ‘Quiet, yes?’

‘Not always like this. It’s busy in the day, but I like to keep open all hours. Gives me something to do.’

‘I’m glad.’ Holm paused. ‘I was wondering about the boat.’

‘The boat?’

‘This Angelo.’ Holm turned and gestured outside towards the dock. ‘Where is she?’