He had no doubts at all about who had taken Jilly. He even thought he knew why: as a warning to him, a personal warning not to go any further. They had to be desperate. They must know that it was not only Hepton’s battle now; that others were involved. Yes, they had to know that. And yet they still wanted to scare him off. Why? Because of what he thought he knew, that portion of the secret he had not yet revealed to anyone? Whatever the answer, it was clear that they still saw him as a threat.

That thought gave him heart.

What was more, the sooner he solved the final riddles, the sooner he might be reunited with Jilly. But he had to be careful. Her life was in their hands now, in Harry’s hands. He had to be very careful indeed. And sitting here wasn’t going to do anybody any good. He needed a TV monitor and a video recorder. Ideally, he needed two monitors and two recorders – good recorders at that, with a freeze-frame facility that actually froze the frame, and didn’t make it twitch or smear. A hard image, that was what he needed.

He realised that he wasn’t going to go to pieces; that the worst was over. He felt calm and controlled. God knows why, but he did.

There was a knock at the door, and it opened. ‘Oh, there you are.’ Sanders entered, carrying a bottle of whisky under his arm and a crystal glass in each hand. Hepton shook his head.

‘That’s not what I need,’ he said. ‘What I really need is a TV lab. Your surveillance personnel probably have one. Get me there, then I’ll show you what’s on these.’ He slapped the tapes.

Sanders studied him, to ascertain whether he might be suffering from shock or something similar. All he saw was determination and a mind ready for work.

‘I’ll call in,’ he said. ‘I think I know just the place.’

‘One question,’ said Hepton. ‘How did they know about this place?’

Sanders shook his head. ‘I wish to God I knew.’

29

It was after midnight, but the man they had summoned back from his bed and his wife to this cold building in the middle of a bleak industrial estate near Notting Hill seemed not to mind.

‘No, really,’ he said. ‘This is what makes it all worthwhile.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ said Hepton. The man had introduced himself as Graeme Izzard. Thommo had assured them that he was the best ‘pictures’ man in the business.