Clearing his throat, Barrow looked directly at Paul and straightened his own tie again. ‘If I could just have a word in private Mr Pereira?’

Feeling the importance in his manner, Paul brushed off the tailor and waved him away. ‘Come back later,’ he commanded. They both waited while he left, and Barrow shut the door.

‘Well, Barrow, what is it? If it’s about the investigation into the car park tragedy I’m not interested. You’re beginning to bore me.’ He yawned, emphasising his disinterest.

‘No, it’s not about that. But I might have something for you; that is, if I have heard you correctly. The man you say put you here – am I right in thinking his name was Alex Silva? A Portuguese man, like yourself?’

Intrigued, Paul looked up at him. This wasn’t the line of questioning he had been expecting. He had found Barrow to be a weak, spineless man who used his prison authority like some trophy badge. He came in handy, but now he was getting tiresome and greedy.

‘You would be right in thinking that Barrow. What of it?’

‘Am I also right in thinking there is a huge bounty on this man’s head? And something, dare I say,’ Barrow coughed nervously, ‘you would pay handsomely for information about?’

‘Whatever it is Barrow, spit it out. I don’t play games; surely you know that by now.’

Barrow stiffened before speaking again. ‘My wife works for an agency, working as a barmaid as and when, if you know what I mean…’

‘For crying out loud, I am not interested in your wife’s working day. What has it got to do with me?’

Barrow blurted out his winning hand. ‘Well, she worked for Alex Silva over the Christmas holidays!’ Seeing Paul’s stunned face, Barrow squared up to him. ‘But if you don’t want to know then I will keep it to myself.’ He turned and made to leave.

‘Officer Barrow, wait a minute.’ Paul’s thick accent seemed to get stronger suddenly. It was clear to Barrow that Pereira had been unnerved and was trying his hardest to cover it up.

Barrow turned and looked down at Paul. ‘So, am I right? Is there money to be made for information of his whereabouts?’

Slowly, Paul began to speak again, his eyes glancing furtively around the room, while trying to think. His mind was swimming with thoughts and the excitement at finding his arch enemy before his trial made his heart pound in his chest. He could scarcely breathe as he waited for the rest of the story. All he could do was nod his head in agreement.

Raising his eyebrows in a cocky manner, Barrow continued. ‘Does it have a lot of zeros on the end, Mr Pereira?’ Arrogantly, Barrow folded his arms and Paul nodded. This had certainly taken the wind out of his sails.

‘Well, he is here in England. He’s using his own name and he and his family are running a pub.’

‘And how do you know it’s him – my Alex Silva?’ Paul poked himself in the chest with his finger while he spoke, his anger rising. If this was some kind of joke or revenge for what Barrow had suffered lately at the hands of his workmates, he would gladly wring his neck himself.

Standing back, fearing he would lash out at him, Barrow decided to play down his information. Paul was notorious for his fiery temper, and he didn’t want to be on the end of it. ‘Well, Mr Pereira, there aren’t many men called Silva are there? Well, not in this country anyway sir.’

Hearing the respect in his tone, Paul nodded. ‘If your information is correct Barrow, you will be paid in full. But first I have to check it out. I am not paying for mistakes… do you understand?’

‘But if I give you his whereabouts, Mr Pereira, you will know where he is and I won’t get anything out of it. I want a retainer for my information, or I could get you photo evidence, if that would suffice?’

Waving his hand in the air, and shaking his head, Paul dismissed the idea. ‘I don’t want you wandering around taking photos. You do realise he will be under the police’s watchful eye and if they see you taking photos, they will ask questions. What are you going to say, that you’re part of an amateur camera club?’ Paul narrowed his eyes. ‘Do you not believe I am a man of my word? I have always paid you for your services in the past, haven’t I?’

‘You have, but by all accounts, this is a very large sum and sometimes when people get what they want, they forget who gave it to them… if you know what I mean. And I don’t intend hanging around here. I’m finished with this place. So, the way I see it, you’re going to pay me for my freedom, and I am going to give you your freedom. As for trust, do you think I would lie to you about a thing like this?’

Weighing up the argument, Paul nodded. ‘A retainer of five hundred thousand pounds. Would that suit you for now and the rest on confirmation?’

‘Make it one million, that’s goodwill. Just how much is this bounty?’

‘It’s worth millions, but there is also the cost of hiring a hit man to finish the job, unless you want to do it?’

Red faced, Barrow looked down at the floor. ‘No Paul, I’m no hitman, just a businessman with something to sell. So, what is the final price?’

‘We would go as far as fifteen million. The rest would be for the man who finishes the job.’ Hardly able to contain his excitement, Paul agreed to Barrow’s one million. ‘Take me to the phone and I will ring my lawyer.’

Barrow stood rooted to the spot; he couldn’t believe his good fortune. One million now and fourteen to follow. ‘Right, when you’re ready then, I will escort you to the phones.’

Barrow listened closely as Paul gave out the instructions over the telephone and felt a deep satisfaction inside. He was already rehearsing his resignation speech for the governor. No curtesy or politeness; he would tell him and the others to shove it up their arses!

‘Right Barrow, you’ve had your retainer on trust. Now you give me the information I want to hear, and it better be worth a million pounds.’

‘He runs a pub in Sevenoaks. His wife is the publican, and it’s her name above the door. Silva is tall with dark hair. Muscular. The missus said he was quite a handsome man, but he was also arrogant and rude. Recently there has been a gas explosion near where his pub is. It was in the papers, that might give you more to go on,’ Barrow stressed.

Paul burst out laughing. ‘That sounds like my Alex. Always the lady’s man! They loved him with his charming ways. Crikey, he could charm the knickers off a nun, apart from your wife of course. He obviously didn’t want to impress her.’ He laughed again. Once Barrow had given him the name of the pub, both men smiled at each other. Paul knew the information was correct. But he would never pay Barrow the full amount. He hated giving this cretin anything else. He had sponged long enough, Paul thought to himself. Once Barrow had left him to go back to his cell alone, Pereira thought about the information he had been given and knew he had to tread carefully.

Alex’s demise had to be planned out. He was still in witness protection and the police would be crawling all over him. ‘The bastard!’ Paul cursed himself. The last he had heard, Alex was somewhere in Switzerland, then France… According to his informers he had been everywhere. Absolutely everywhere except Sevenoaks in Kent!

He didn’t like Barrow much, and the last thing he wanted was him coming back for more money or boasting about his find while under the influence of drink. Men like him always bragged about their own importance, and it gave Paul an uneasy feeling. Barrow’s ego would be the death of him and Barrow would always remind Paul that it was he who’d freed him from prison. Barrow also knew his intentions towards Alex Silva, and so when the inevitable happened, Barrow would know it was Paul who had issued the order. The consequences of leaving Barrow alive could be fatal. No, Barrow would have to go, he decided. But first he would have this information checked out, and if it was wrong, which he doubted, he would want his money back in full.

‘Alex mate, I know it’s sooner than you probably expected.’ Mark stood on the doorstep looking sheepish, rousing Alex’s suspicions.

‘What’s up Mark? You look fed up, come in.’

‘Well, it’s like this mate.’ Mark took out his packet of cigarettes and offered Alex one. ‘You know we’ve been doing up our camper van?’

Alex nodded, recalling the cheap transit Mark had bought thinking he could turn it into some amazing camper van, complete with kitchen and all. It was a disaster on wheels and rusty on the outside. He’d acquired it at some auction in part exchange for some other vehicle that didn’t work. Day in, day out, they had watched Mark and Olivia insulate the van on the inside and put in an Ikea sink and kitchen workplace. They had a water tank, but best of all was the bed space. Dante had been roped in by George to help out and had nearly wet himself when he’d told them all. Mark had basically built a square wooden frame, put some hardboard on it and put a mattress on top of that. Underneath, Mark had made cupboard space and a small freezer box. Alex had shuddered when he thought about the safety of it all. It was a death trap, but they were proud of it.

‘Yeah, well, Olivia wants to give it a trial run. She wants to go to Scotland for a long weekend and there’s some stuff I need to do under the bonnet. It’s our wedding anniversary you see.’ Alex nodded, and knew what Mark was asking. ‘And you want us to look after George, is that it? Of course we will! Him and Dante have become best mates. Don’t give it a second thought.’

Frowning, Mark looked at him, puzzled. ‘Oh no he’s coming with us! No, it’s the mechanic business. There have been a couple of MOTs come in. I don’t have the garage space, but my mate does. So, we work it between us. One of the cars needs work. I think it’s the alternator. So I would normally go, get it started up and tow it back to the garage. Do a bit of work and my mate sorts out the MOT certificates.’ Mark winked.

‘So, if your mate has a garage, why doesn’t he pick the cars up or get them started?’

‘Come on Alex, we work it between us. These people need certificates, so we patch them up and give them one.’

‘So, they could be driving death traps. Is that what you’re telling me?’ Alex laughed.

Blushing slightly, Mark inhaled on his cigarette. ‘No Alex, the car is roadworthy. The tyres could be shit, but all these people are interested in is it passing an MOT. Anyway, would you look after the business in case any calls come in while we’re away?’

For a moment Alex couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This was what he wanted: a ticket out of here to meet up with Luke and discuss business. The garage and MOTs all sounded very dodgy, but it wasn’t his business so why should he care? He’d done worse, hadn’t he?

‘Course I will Mark; you go off and have a good time. I’ll do my best for you, you know that.’

‘Fifty-fifty on the money Alex, like before. And, we’ll have a drink later. I’ve got to get my head under that van and make sure we make it as far as the motorway,’ Mark laughed and left.

As an afterthought, Alex shouted after him, ‘What about all your gear Mark? You know, the waterproofs and stuff.’

‘Yeah, all my gear’s in the back, use what you want. Oh, and will you feed the cat while we’re away? I’ll give you the spare key later.’