Molloy’s head swung round sharply to look at the camera. ‘You what?’

The brawny one nodded with a grave expression on his face.

If Buttmeal already had a bad feeling, that bad feeling now just got a little bit worse.

Molloy turned back to Buttmeal, his eyes bulging dangerously.

‘I don’t like people taking pictures of me,’ he said. ‘Why the fuck were you taking pictures of me?’ He spoke in a worryingly quiet tone, the voice of someone who had gone beyond anger to something much worse.

Buttmeal gulped. ‘Look, I can explain… just let me explain.’ The words tumbled out in a panicky torrent.

Molloy leaned in closer to Buttmeal, so close that Buttmeal could make out every pore on his face, every bristle of his black stubble.

‘I don’t like people following me,’ said Molloy. ‘And I don’t like people taking pictures of me.’

Buttmeal’s heart was beating furiously and his mouth had gone unbearably dry. The fear that had gripped him just moments earlier had now transmuted into an all-consuming terror at the thought of what these men were going to do to him, as it had become quite clear that they obviously didn’t operate on the right side of the law. What the hell had he got himself into?

Maybe he should break client confidentiality. Make an exception. Just this once. But then what exactly would he tell Molloy? That the woman was his wife? She might not be though. She might be someone completely different. If only he knew her name…

He was trying to think how best to explain it when Molloy suddenly let go of him and took a step back. Buttmeal slumped against the wall, drawing several deep breaths. Maybe it was okay after all. Maybe they were going to let him go. Maybe…

‘You know what?’ said Molloy. ‘I don’t care who you’re working for. But whoever they are, they’re going to need to start looking for a replacement.’

Molloy nodded to his two associates, who both stepped in and seized Buttmeal roughly by the arms.

‘No!’ squealed Buttmeal. ‘Please don’t hurt me.’

They tugged him sharply across the concrete landing to the open balcony. A panoramic view of the town stretched out beyond. Buttmeal’s eyes widened with horror as he realised what they were planning to do.

‘Oh God! No!’

He struggled to break free, but they were holding him too firmly.

‘Please!’ he screeched. ‘I can explain! My client—’

He felt them grab his legs and lift him off the ground. He flailed and screamed as they manoeuvred him onto the rim of the balcony. He reached out in vain, but there was nothing to grip onto, just smooth cold concrete.

And then they tipped him over the edge. And he was falling downwards. Tumbling down. Cold air blowing through his hair. The car park blurring past storey by storey. The pavement coming up below. Closer. And closer. And closer.

The tagline went through his head. Where there’s a Will there’s a way. Maybe there was a way out of this.