The sergeant lays his pencil down on the pad, and gives a gentle shake of the head. He tells Nathan these things are best handled by the authorities. He’ll look into it first thing. Tells Nathan he isn’t to approach Locke under any circumstances, and that they should keep this to themselves for now. Nathan leans back, arms crossed, and stares at the officer for a moment, then agrees to bide his time with a slow nod. Natasha looks far from happy. She’s still protesting as Nathan ushers her down the steps of the station and into his car.

They’re a hundred yards down the road by the time the young sergeant hustles through the door. They don’t see him head in the opposite direction, towards a phone booth two streets away. He lifts the receiver, glancing both ways as he punches in a number from a scrap of paper.

The voice that answers sounds impatient. He identifies himself, short and to the point. ‘You’ve got a problem.’

The man on the other end of the line listens to what he has to say. A few seconds of silence, then, ‘Hmm. Interesting. Thank you.’ A disconnected tone tells him the conversation is over. He makes his way back to the station, wondering what will happen to the father and daughter. He shakes his head to clear the thought. None of his business. Wouldn’t want to be in their shoes though. No siree.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

‘So are you going to tell me what we’re doing yet, or do I have to play twenty questions?’ asked Styles.

Porter kept his eyes fixed on the road as he spoke. ‘I couldn’t say anything inside in case anyone overheard, but if I’m right we’re off to see Bolton.’

Styles’s eyes widened. ‘Just the two of us? Where is he? I’ll tell Anderson and Whittaker to meet us there.’

‘No,’ said Porter, turning his head sharply, ‘don’t do that. Besides, there’s no need, Anderson will be there before us.’

‘So if you’ve told him, why won’t you tell me?’

‘That’s just it,’ said Porter gripping the wheel tight, knuckles blanching white. ‘I didn’t tell him. That’s his Honda four cars up.’ He nodded at the line of mid-morning traffic ahead.

‘C’mon, cut the cryptic bullshit. What’s going on?’

‘It’s Anderson. Anderson is the leak.’

‘Jesus, are you sure?’

Porter thought for a moment. ‘Not one hundred per cent, no, but I’m up in the nineties at the moment.’

He filled Styles in, starting with the conversation at Gibson’s funeral, the lies about the informant intended to distract Porter by giving up Gibson as a dead end, and ending with a lie of his own.

‘I told him I had a lead on a possible location for Bolton, but I needed to run something past Campbell first.’