'On your fucking knees. Now.'

Slowly she lowered herself, catching sight of Jenny's corpse out of the corner of her eye, head slumped forward, the blonde hair hanging down over her face like a forlorn shroud. She didn't want that to be her.

He took a step forward, unzipping his fly.

And then stopped. A loud shrill ringing was coming from his boiler suit, its sound filling the room. Keeping the gun trained on Tina, he checked the screen, frowning as he put it to his ear.

He listened for several seconds, looking annoyed, before finally speaking. 'Text me the address. I'm on my way.' He put the phone back in the boiler suit pocket and regarded Tina with an almost scientific interest, moving the gun ever so slightly so that the barrel was pointed directly at her forehead.

She swallowed hard, waiting for him to decide her fate.

'We'll have to wait a while longer for our fun, I'm afraid,' he said, lowering the gun. 'You can wait here with Jenny.'

Tina didn't say a word. Just watched as he walked to the door and turned the handle, thinking of the set of picks in her sock.

'Oh, one thing,' he said, as if as an afterthought. 'Stand up a moment.'

Slowly, Tina got to her feet and stood facing him.

'Thanks for that,' he said with a smile, and shot her in the foot.

The clock on his office wall said five to four as Mike Bolt finished on the phone to yet another estate agent. He'd spoken to forty-five of them in all since he'd started checking for suspicious building rentals in the area of north-west Essex where the blue Mazda had last been sighted. He'd already overshot the time limit Big Barry had given him by close to two hours, and he knew he was going to get pulled off it soon to join Mo and the rest of the team in the next room where they were trawling through endless CCTV footage in the hunt for the lorry. But he was also sure he was on the right track. He would have bet a month's wages that Hook had his base somewhere within those 190 square miles.

He stretched in his seat, ignoring the exhaustion he was feeling, and took a gulp of lukewarm coffee. 'How are you getting on?' he asked Kris Obanje, who was sitting opposite him, wading through all the property details they'd been sent and dividing them into separate piles. 'Remember we're looking for properties that are big enough to store kidnap victims, and possibly even a lorry, and where the occupants aren't going to arouse suspicion from any nosy neighbours. That's got to narrow it down a bit, doesn't it?'

Obanje was a big man with a powerlifter's build and his chair creaked as he sat back in it and removed the thick-rimmed glasses that always gave him an intellectual air. 'So far I've got fifty-nine properties let in the area in the last six months where the monthly cost is over fifteen hundred a month. I don't think there's much point looking at anything for less than that.'

'Neither do I. But I'm thinking they wouldn't have let anywhere six months in advance. There wouldn't have been much point. How many of those have been let in the last three?'

'Twenty-five. And of them I reckon nine are promising, i.e. they're big enough to store a lorry and don't seem to be overlooked, and they're all let to people or companies not known to the agent.' He picked up one of the piles and handed it to Bolt. 'Have a look. I've spoken to the agents involved and apparently they all look like legitimate lets.'

Impressed with Obanje's organizational skills, which were far superior to his own, Bolt sifted through the details. They were a mixture of warehouses, industrial units, farms, a couple of grand country dwellings, one of which boasted a shooting estate, and a rundown cottage with fifty acres attached. All of them would have made perfect hideouts.

'Hook's a thorough man,' said Bolt, 'so if he's let one of these, it'll all look above board. But I bet if you dig a little it won't take long to find that the ID of the company or individual on the contract is bogus. So, I want you to check out each of the tenants of those nine properties, and see what you turn up. In the meantime there are still a few agencies that haven't sent through their details yet, and a couple I haven't been able to get hold of, so I'm going to chase them. Then I'll help you. OK?'

Bolt picked up the phone again, pissed off with the lack of urgency some of the agents were showing in the face of his enquiries. But before he could make his next call he heard voices outside followed by a knock on the door.

It was Mo, and he looked excited. Bolt immediately assumed there must have been a breakthrough on the hunt for the lorry.

But he was wrong.

'It's your blue Mazda, boss,' Mo told him. 'It's on the move. The ANPR people are following it. Big Barry's patched through to them in his office and he wants you in with him now.'

Bolt brightened. At last they had a break. He told Obanje to carry on with their list and followed Mo.

'Are you coming with me?' he asked Mo as they walked through the open-plan office and past the rest of the team, who were all looking up from their desks with the kind of expressions only worn when something big was happening.

Mo shook his head. 'No, he just wants you. You'd better hurry.'

Bolt ran down the corridor, going straight into his boss's office without knocking.

Big Barry was at his desk with the phone on loudspeaker. 'I'm just being joined by Mike Bolt,' he said into the microphone. 'This is his lead. Mike, I'm on with Dean Thomas of ANPR control, and Deputy Assistant Commissioner Antony Bridges of Central Command, who's heading up this inquiry. Dean, where is our suspect vehicle now?'

'He's on the M11 southbound,' said a thin, nasal voice over the mike. 'He passed junction six, the M25, one and a half minutes ago now. ETA junction five at current speeds is one minute. Over.'

'OK,' said a much deeper voice that Bolt immediately recognized as Bridges. 'Let me get this absolutely straight, Mike. You believe this vehicle is linked to our missing lorry, is that right?'

'Yes sir. In fact I'm absolutely certain it's being driven by one of those involved in the plot.'

'Do you have any idea where it's going?'

'No sir, and I can't be certain of the ID of the driver either, but he's definitely one of the men we're looking for.' He understood that Bridges had to check out the leads before authorizing any major intervention because, like anyone else in authority, he had to cover his arse in case things went wrong. But he was willing him to hurry up.

'Then we're going to follow this vehicle and see where it leads us rather than intercepting it,' said Bridges at last. 'I have air support standing by at Lippetts Hill. I'll call it in now.'

'Suspect vehicle has now passed junction five, M11, Loughton. Still heading southbound on main carriageway.'

'Shit, he's going quick,' said Bolt. 'What's the traffic like out there today, Dean?'

'Light into town. The camera's just picked him up at eighty-six miles per hour. Over.'

Typical, thought Bolt. 'We'd better hurry up, then,' he said to whoever was listening. 'The M11 ends at junction four. Then he's right into London.'

'The helicopter from Lippetts Hill will be in the air in thirty seconds,' said Bridges. 'His ETA to junction four is ninety seconds. We also have unmarked police vehicles converging there, with an ETA of two minutes. We won't lose him. Over.'

The room fell silent. Bolt was usually a patient man – you had to be to last as long in the police as he had – but he was finding it extremely hard to stay calm right now. It was still possible, of course, that this whole thing could be a false alarm, that the Mazda had been abandoned and it had been stolen by joyriders. Maybe it wasn't even connected to Brakspear's killer at all. But his instincts told him one of their suspects was in the car, and he'd learned a long time back to trust them.