Parfit had eased the corpse to the floor. He was staring at it as though it were something unbelievable, something out of his ken. But the way he had dealt with the man proved to Dreyfuss that it very much was not out of his ken. It was what he did, when necessary, as part of his job description.

‘Are you okay?’ Parfit came to the basin and examined Dreyfuss’ neck, then his bleeding hand. ‘Run more cold water. Keep it under the tap.’ He went over to the corpse again. ‘We need to get rid of this bastard before somebody wants to use the facilities.’

There was only one sensible hiding place. He heaved the body upright in one swift movement and walked with it into the furthest cubicle, where he dumped it unceremoniously onto the pan. Closing the cubicle door, he examined the lock. It was a simple thing, made simple so that no one could stay locked in. He brought a coin from his pocket and inserted it into the screw thread next to the ‘engaged’ indicator. Holding the door closed, and turning the coin in the thread, he moved the indicator from green to red: the cubicle was locked.

He allowed himself a moment’s pause, then turned back to examine the rest of the interior. There were drops of blood on the floor, but they couldn’t be helped. What worried him more was Dreyfuss’ injured hand, and the fresh bloodstains on his shirt. He checked his watch, wondering if they could last out the time until boarding. If the body was found before then … or if Dreyfuss’ wound was too deep …

‘I’ll be all right,’ Dreyfuss said, then gagged. His throat was like fire. Hadn’t he been through this before and survived?

‘You’ve got more bloody lives than a cat,’ Parfit acknowledged, smiling. Then, seriously: ‘But this was my fault, and I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ whispered Dreyfuss – the least painful way of talking. ‘I’m beginning to enjoy strangulation.’

‘How’s the hand?’

He lifted it from beneath the water. The cuts on each joint were clean and deep. He tried flexing the fingers. Blood began to pour again.

‘Fine,’ he whispered. ‘What do we do now?’

‘What do you want to do?’

Dreyfuss thought it over. What choice was there? ‘Get on the plane,’ he said.

‘Then that’s what we’ll do. But first I have to make a phone call, and this time you’re coming with me.’

‘What made you come back?’ asked Dreyfuss.

‘They’d run out of Glenlivet,’ said Parfit, attempting levity. ‘Now let’s see that hand.’ He inspected the damage. ‘It’s bad,’ he said, ‘but I don’t suppose I need to tell you that, since it’s so bloody obvious.’

‘And bloodily obvious.’

‘Another joke,’ Parfit said appreciatively. ‘You’re tougher than I thought, Major.’

‘The name’s Stephen,’ said Dreyfuss, ‘and don’t you forget it.’