Donovan pressed the bell to Louise's flat and the front door lock clicked open. She had the door to her flat open as they got to the landing. She'd changed into a sweatshirt and jeans and clipped back her hair with two bright pink clips.
"You must be Robbie," she said, holding out her hand.
"Yeah, if he's my dad then I must be," said Robbie sourly. Then his face broke into a grin.
"You've got Sky, right?"
"Sure."
Robbie shook hands with her.
"You are his girlfriend, aren't you?"
"Not really."
"Do I have to sleep on a sofa?"
Louise shook her head.
"No, I've got a spare bedroom."
"With a TV?"
Donovan pushed the back of Robbie's head with the flat of his hand.
"When did you get so picky?" he said. He held up a small suitcase.
"I've packed some of his things, and I'll bring more around tomorrow."
"Are you going right away? I've got shepherd's pie in the oven."
"No, I can stay," said Donovan.
Louise showed Donovan and Robbie in to the sitting room. She pointed down the hallway.
"Robbie, your bedroom's on the right. There's a bathroom opposite."
Donovan handed the suitcase to his son.
"And keep it tidy, okay?"
"It's all right, I've got my own bathroom," said Louise.
"You don't know this one. He never picks up after himself."
"Oh, he's a guy, then, is he?" laughed Louise.
Robbie took his case to his room while Louise busied herself in the kitchenette.
"You really cooked?" asked Donovan.
"It's only shepherd's pie, Den. It's no biggie. Do you want coffee?"
"Sure. Thanks." He went over to a sideboard and took his mobile phones out of his jacket pocket and lined them up. There were four of them.
"Expecting a call?" asked Louise.
"Different people have different numbers," said Donovan.
"Helps me keep track of who's who."
"Paranoia?"
"Maybe."
"Which number do I have?"
Donovan picked up one of the Nokias and waggled it.
"Only you've got this number," he said.
"I'm flattered."
Robbie came back into the sitting room.
"Okay?" asked Donovan.
"Yeah, it's fine," said Robbie.
"Are you staying here as well?"
Louise looked at Donovan and raised an expectant eyebrow.
"I'll be popping in and out," he said.
"Because there's only two bedrooms, and the bed in mine is really small."
"It's a single," said Louise.
"Your dad can sleep on the sofa, if he decides to stay."
"And how long have I got to stay here?"
"It's not a prison, Robbie," said Donovan.
"Like I said, a few days."
"Are you hungry?" asked Louise.
"Yeah," said Robbie.
"Starving."
One of the mobile phones lined up on the sideboard burst into life.
Donovan picked it up. It was the Spaniard.
"It's not good news, amigo."
"I'm sorry to hear that," said Donovan.
"He's not in Paris," said Rojas.
"He had someone else pick up the papers."
"Bastard!" hissed Donovan.
"Language," chided Robbie.
Donovan glared at him.
"If I were to guess, I would say that he is somewhere in France," continued Rojas.
"A big city. Nice or Marseilles perhaps. But we are not in a guessing game here, of course. He could well have moved on by now."
"But you're still on the case?"
"Of course," said Rojas.
"I have a number for him. Do you have a pen?"
Donovan clicked his fingers and waved for Robbie to get him a pen. He put his hand in his trouser pocket and pulled out a Tesco receipt. Robbie gave him a pen, scowling.
"Okay, Juan, go ahead." Rojas gave him the number.
"That's aUK mobile, yeah?" asked Donovan.
"Yes. A roaming GSM."
"Can we find him through the number?"
Rojas whistled through his teeth.
"If it was a landline, I have contacts in the phone company who could help us, but mobiles are a different matter. I can certainly find out which numbers he has called, but locating the handset would require a warrant and would have to be done at a senior police level or by one of the intelligence agencies. Even in Spain I think it unlikely I would be able to do it. In France .. He left the sentence unfinished.
"Okay, Juan. Thanks anyway. Onwards and upwards, yeah?"
"There is one other thing, amigo. Just so there is no misunderstanding down the line. Sharkey is paying me a quarter of a million dollars not to hurt his accomplice. The man we picked up in Paris."
"I have no problem with that, Juan."
"It is always a pleasure doing business with you, amigo."
Donovan cut the connection.
"Who was it?" asked Robbie, flicking through the channels on the TV.
"None of your business," said Donovan.
"And get your feet off Louise's coffee table. Haven't you got homework to do?"
"Tomorrow's Saturday," said Robbie.
"I've got the whole weekend."
After dinner, Robbie gathered up their plates and took them into the kitchenette.
"You've got him well trained," said Louise.
"He's doing it to impress," said Donovan.
"I'm not," said Robbie.
"Do you want a coffee?" asked Louise.
"Or something stronger? I've got whisky. Or beer?"
Donovan looked at his watch.
"I've actually got to be somewhere. I'm sorry."
"You're not going out?" Robbie called from the kitchenette.
"Business," said Donovan.
"It's okay, Robbie, we can watch TV," said Louise.
Donovan scooped up the mobiles off the sideboard and put them in the pockets of his jacket.
"You be good, yeah?" he said to Robbie.
"Do you want to borrow the car?" asked Louise.
Donovan shook his head.
"Nah, I'm going to be using taxis."
"There's that paranoia again," teased Louise.
"It's not that. It's just that where I'm going, it's likely to get broken into."
Louise tossed him a door key.
"In case you get back late," she said.
"Save you waking me up."
Donovan thanked her and went outside in search of a black cab.
The address PM had given him was in a row of terraced houses in Harlesden. Donovan could feel the pounding beat of reggae music through the seat of the cab long before they reached the house. The driver twisted around in his seat.
"Are you sure about this?" asked the driver.
"It looks a bit ethnic out there."
Donovan could see what the man meant. Haifa dozen burly men in long black coats were standing guard at the open door to the house, four with shaved heads glistening in the amber streetlights, two with shoulder-length dreadlocks. A dozen young black men and women were waiting to be admitted, moving to the sound of the pounding beat inside. Several were openly smoking joints. It was the sort of street the police never patrolled. If they turned up at all it would be mob-handed with riot shields and mace. Parked both sides of the street were expensive BMWs and four-wheel drives, most of them brand new.
"Yeah, this is it," said Donovan, handing the driver a twenty-pound note.
"Keep the change, yeah?"
"Thanks, guy," said the driver.
"Good luck."
Donovan got out of the cab and the driver drove off quickly without putting his "For Hire' sign on.
Donovan walked to the head of the line of people waiting to go in. He nodded at the biggest of the bouncers, who was wearing an earpiece and a small radio microphone that bobbed around close to his lips.