‘It turns out none other than Thomas Thorne has a source on Operation Andromeda,’ I say, blinking away Beata’s spooked eyeballs. ‘It must be a good one too, as it stopped Olivia in her tracks. I was there when he collared her to tell her about it. He’s been tipped off before a massive press conference the Met has convened out of nowhere this afternoon. Completely unexpected, nothing in the planning diaries. It’s taken everyone by surprise. She’s convinced whatever they are about to say will bury our story from here to the moon, and if it doesn’t, all she cares about for the foreseeable future is taking them down. She’s sprung Thomas to chase whatever he’s got. The cavalry are rolling out as we speak, and she wants Dominic to drop everything immediately…’

I hold the phone away from my ear for a moment as Jemima screams, swallowing acid back down my throat.

‘Can you call him?’ I say, coughing, no idea if she is even listening. ‘I’m just outside holding us a cab, if you can hustle.’

‘Get going if you’ve already got a ride,’ she snaps. ‘Fast as you can, you know the drill. Our cameras need to be in the best spot 77on the street outside, mark up the whole pavement if you have to, I don’t care if you have to redecorate the entire street to do it. I’ll be right behind you—’

Horns drown out whatever she says next as I slam the door, directing the cabbie. And no sooner do I pocket my phone than it starts up again. This time it’s Dominic braying into my ear.

‘What’s Thomas got? He must have given something away … Marie, are you there? Hello?’

‘Hey. Where are you? Did you speak to Olivia?’

‘Yes, of course I did – Christ, there is literally not enough air time in the world for me to list the ways in which I loathe that slithery posh git.’

‘Dominic, listen to me. Where are you? Are you still at the Yard?’

‘We’re turning around now. Of course there wasn’t any traffic when we left, and now it’s fucking gridlock in the opposite direction. So what’s Thomas got? Come on, Marie, what exactly did you hear him say?’

‘I don’t know. He hardly said anything, frankly. He just ambushed Olivia in the kitchen and told her that the Met was scrambling a press conference on Andromeda. And that he thought he might get an advance heads-up if she could let him off doing his actual job to go chase it down. It basically took him less than half a second to turn her head and get our trafficking story shanked into the long grass—’