Bolton turned, seeing a flash of yellow. Confusion gave way to understanding. The luminous work vests would fool no one close up, but from a distance they’d stand a chance of blending in. He handed one to Locke, pulling on his own as he ran, one arm in, the other flailing behind, searching for the sleeve, no time to stop.

Stenner made a beeline for the right-hand side of the building, Bolton and Locke not far behind. It faced off into the main compound outside, home to row upon row of shipping containers, stacked like Tetris blocks. There was a fire exit two thirds of the way along the wall. If they could reach that undetected they’d have a fighting chance.

A twitch of optimism at the corners of his mouth was cut short by the realisation, sudden, cold, like an ice bucket challenge, of a move forgotten. Bolton grasped at his pocket, coat trailing behind him as he ran, like a superhero cape. He thrust his hand in, fingers grasping at nothing but the lining. His pace slowed, remembering his mobile perched on Patchett’s desk. Fuck! He tried to remember when he’d last cleared his email trash folder. A few days at least. There would plenty there he would rather the police didn’t get to see. Then again, they were after him for murder. How much worse could it get?

If they could get to the rear of the building, there was a boat moored on the river they could use to get away. Bolton kept a spare key hidden on the boat for just such an occasion. Nothing else to be done. Backwards wasn’t an option. Locke had drawn ahead of him and he picked up his pace again to catch up, shelves and aisles blurring past.

Porter burst through the doorway hot on the heels of two of the armed officers, Styles close enough behind to reach out a hand and touch his shoulder. Voices barking ‘Armed police!’ seemed to come from every angle. The reception area he remembered from their first visit was unmanned, and he placed both palms on top, swivelling his body sideways to vault over rather than waste time fiddling with the catch on the gate. A corridor led straight off the reception area to another door.

Porter chanced a look behind him to see who else had kept up with his charge. As well as Styles, who had himself just cleared the counter, two of the younger officers were coming through the main entrance. The door was unlocked and Porter found himself in another corridor, this one with two identical doors on either side, and a fifth at the end. The furthest door on the left was open, the light from the room carpeting the corridor and, more tellingly, the crook of an elbow jutting into the corridor by the base of the door frame.