Silva stood and eased out of the little room and back into the hall. Where was her father? She shivered, thinking of his bedroom once more, but now the image was of him in a heap like Mrs Collins. If he’d had a chance he’d have defended himself, but this time the attackers would have been forewarned that he was armed.

She ran over to the stairs and bounded up two at a time. On the landing an occasional chair which usually stood by one wall lay on its side and the carpet runner had been scuffed up. She paused outside her father’s room, her hand on the door handle. Despite everything, she loved him. Perhaps because of everything. She pushed the door and, more in hope than in any real expectation, she called out.

‘Dad?’

‘Rebecca.’ The voice came flat and low, and with an undertone of sadness that only came to her too late.

‘Dad!’ Silva flung open the door and rushed in.

‘Rebecca.’ Her father sat in an armchair on the far side of the room. An anglepoise lamp on an occasional table cast yellow light on his face. His head hung low and there was a crimson bruise on his right cheek. His hands lay on his lap, bound together with a cable tie. The sadness had gone from his voice and now there was resignation. Defeat. ‘I’m sorry. I let you down.’

‘Dad, I—’

‘Ms da Silva. So nice to see you again.’ The bulky figure of Greg Mavers emerged from the shadows; beside him stood a grunt holding a pistol. Mavers chomped his jaws together. ‘I’m only sorry it couldn’t have been in more auspicious circumstances.’

‘You.’

‘Well, yes.’

‘He’s an old man.’ Silva gestured at her father. ‘Is that your idea of a fair fight?’

‘Self-defence,’ Mavers said. ‘He’s dangerous. We had to disarm him.’

‘And Mrs Collins? Was that self-defence?’

‘Brenda?’ Silva’s father looked up. ‘Is she…?’ His words tailed off and he shrank into the armchair.

Mavers shrugged. ‘We can throw accusations about collateral damage back and forth. For instance, Lashirah Haddad. What did she do to deserve her fate? Perhaps you put it down to sheer bad luck she happened to step into the path of your bullet?’

‘I didn’t shoot her.’

‘And I didn’t personally shoot Mrs Danvers or whatever her name is.’ Mavers nodded sideways at the man with the gun. ‘So I guess we’ll call it even, shall we?’

‘You won’t get away with this.’

‘It’s you who are not getting away with trying to pervert the democratic process and meddle in the sovereign affairs of another country.’

‘Karen Hope killed my mother.’

‘Forget it, Rebecca.’ Silva’s father raised his head for a moment. ‘The Yanks will justify anything. Always have, always will.’

‘He doesn’t speak for them all, Dad. He’s gone rogue.’