The questioner seemed satisfied.

‘Anything else?’ Angel said. He looked round. ‘Right. Thank you very much everybody. Just one more thing, I’d like to emphasize. This man has murdered in one of the most savage ways I know. Sticking a knife into a man, pulling it out covered in blood and then sticking it back into him, several times. He’s desperate. He connived at extricating two million pounds out of a bank account. He had given up his job and was planning how to spend it. It was almost in his grasp. Then suddenly his partner crossed him. His crooked plan began to fall apart. I believe he tried to scare Harrison into telling him where he’d hidden the money. In the quarrel, he stabbed him several times before he was dead. He’s a nasty piece of work, so don’t let’s take any chances with him. Let’s get him off the streets.’

It was 10.30 p.m. and the moon was high. A pleasant summer breeze blew. It hadn’t rained for a good forty-eight hours and dry warm weather was forecast.

Angel and Gawber arrived in the white observation van and parked it at the side of the road in a line of cars on Rotherham Road. They had an excellent view of the side door of Mansion Hill flats with the wheelie bins clustered in an area contained by a low brick wall broken by a gateway, the gate having long since been lifted off its hinges and discarded. The van, being at right angles to the street known as Mansion Hill, allowed the occupants a good view of a narrow strip of the front door, so that they were in a perfect position to be able to observe all access to and from the building. Their only light source was to be the moon, which tonight was adequate for the job they had to do.

Angel had settled himself on a stool in the back of the van. He was setting up the night binoculars on a table tripod on the bench fitted under the one-way window that faced the flats.

Gawber had unpacked the video camera, fitted it with a night lens and was unravelling the cable to plug it into the power socket on the bench.

‘Got a brand new tape, sir. Lasts ninety minutes,’ he said chirpily.

Angel only grunted in reply. He felt down into his suit coat pocket and pulled out a Glock hand pistol. It was the G 17, the standard model, only 7” long, that just fitted into the pocket. He pressed the catch on the stock, allowing the magazine to be ejected. It dropped into his hand. He checked the magazine spring by pressing the top round with his forefinger. It gave hardly at all, indicating that the first round was in the correct position and that the magazine was full. It held seventeen deadly 9mm bullets. It made a solid click as he pushed the magazine back into the stock. He stuffed the gun back into his pocket. Then he switched on the RT and reached out for the microphone.

‘Traveller One to Romeo Lima One. Are you all set?’

‘Yes, sir? We’re in position, up a ginnel off Chapel Street.’

‘Everything all right?’

‘There’s an old woman in a nightdress … keeps peering out of a back upstairs window at us, sir. I think she thinks we’re a couple of peeping Toms.’

Angel pulled a face. ‘I don’t want anything to cause a disturbance or divert your attention. Either speak to her and settle her down now or move to another position.’

‘We’ll move, sir.’

‘Call in when you’re in position.’

‘Right, sir.’

‘Traveller One to Romeo Lima Two. Are you all set?’

‘Yes, sir. We’re in a line of parked empty cars about 300 yards away on Chapel Street. Nobody is around. Nobody seems to have noticed us. We can be at the target house in about thirty seconds.’

Angel fished around into a bag under the table and pulled out a flask that Mary had prepared for him and poured a drink into a little china cup. He sipped it and made an appreciative noise.

A few minutes passed, then a voice on the RT said: ‘Romeo Lima Two to Traveller One.’

‘Right, come in, lad.’

‘We’re up the next ginnel and a bit nearer, sir. Just round the corner, in fact.’

‘OK. Keep the line open. Report any sighting of a solitary man about thirty years of age … he might be on foot … or in a car or even on a bicycle, I suppose.’

‘Right, sir.’

Angel turned to Gawber. ‘The last time I was out on a night obbo was that murder on Sycamore Grove. Remember?’

‘I do. Your missus was away because her mother was ill and you made yourself some beetroot sandwiches. Ahmed felt sorry for you and offered you some strange concoction that his mother had made him.’

They both smiled.

A voice through the RT said, ‘If anybody’s hungry I’ve got some roast beef.’

‘Thank you, lad,’ Angel said with a grin.

Angel watched the fluorescent clock on the bench front show midnight and shortly afterwards heard St Mary’s Church clock strike twelve. The moon was shining quite brightly. There were no clouds, so it was about as dark as it was going to get. Some time passed in silence, then suddenly there was a voice through the RT.

‘Romeo Lima Two to Traveller One.’

There was something urgent about the way the man spoke. Angel felt his heart bounce. ‘Yes, Romeo Lima Two?’

‘A big car has just passed us, sir. Very slowly.’

Angel’s pulse beat loudly in his ears.

‘I think it’s black,’ Romeo Lima Two continued. ‘Moving slowly … like a hearse … as if it’s surveying the area. It’s turning left.’

Angel breathed out a cool sigh.

‘Just the driver in it?’

‘Couldn’t see, sir. It’s got the lines of a big Mercedes. It’s coming your way.’

The vehicle suddenly glided alongside the observation van and stopped. The near side was only eight feet away.

Angel heard Gawber gasp excitedly as he gripped the handle of the video camera tightly and traversed the full length of the Mercedes.

Angel could feel and hear the vibration of the car engine. It cut off his view of the flat. All he could see were black windows and black bodywork.

The car hovered for a few seconds.

He sniffed and peered harder through the binoculars. ‘It’s a big, expensive piece of transport for one bank clerk,’ he whispered.

He sat glued to the binoculars trying to catch sight of the driver.

After a few seconds the car rolled silently away down Rotherham Road.

Angel eased back from the binoculars and rubbed his chin.

‘Did you get the index number?’

‘Yes, sir. I’ll ring it through.’

‘Do it now.’

‘I hope we’ve not frightened him off,’ Gawber said, reaching out for his mobile.

‘Naw,’ Angel said, wiping his face with his handkerchief. ‘He’ll be back. He’s very nervous. Very careful.’

He reached out for the microphone. ‘Romeo Lima One and Two. I’m pretty sure that this is the customer we’re expecting. Keep your heads down. He’ll be back soon and might come checking round all parked cars. Be very careful.’

Two minutes later, Gawber turned away from his mobile phone and said, ‘The car is registered to a Doctor Shannon in Cambridge.’

Angel nodded. ‘It’ll be twinned. I don’t like this, Ron. This isn’t Spencer. It bears all the signs of a heavy gang.’ He felt a tingle through his chest. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Five minutes later, the big black car arrived back on Rotherham Road. The car taxied up to Mansion Hill flats like a jumbo jet fitted with a silencer. It stopped gently only feet away.

Angel felt his heart pounding again.

Gawber reached out for the video camera and pulled the trigger.

All four doors opened and a man got out of each door. The two nearest men were giants. They looked like the offspring of a steam train and a pipe-works. They were armed with short, light pieces carried at thigh height. They looked like old Sten guns. The other two were merely tall and wiry and carried something in their right hands. They were all dressed in dark coloured T-shirts, jeans and black jockey caps with the neb facing backwards. They made straight across the road to the side door of the flats.