‘It’s like archaeology,’ Joe Naysmith had offered. ‘Layer upon layer…’

McEwan put the phone down and started making a note to himself, his handwriting barely legible. ‘How did it go?’ he asked quietly.

Fox rested his knuckles against the desk and leaned in towards his boss. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘It was fine. You okay with me doing this?’

‘Depends what you’re thinking of.’

‘Background check to start with, surveillance afterwards as needed.’

‘Hack into his computer?’

Fox shrugged. ‘First things first.’

‘They asked you to talk to him?’

‘Not sure that’s such a good idea. He might be mates with Heaton.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ McEwan said, ‘so I had a quiet word.’

Fox’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who with?’

‘Someone in the know.’ Sensing that Fox was trying to decipher the handwritten note, McEwan turned it over. ‘Breck and Heaton are rivals more than buddies. That gives you your excuse.’

‘But our work on Heaton’s done and dusted.’

‘For now it is, but who’s to know?’

‘And you’ll back me up? Sign off on the paperwork?’

‘Whatever you need. DCC is already in the loop.’

Meaning the Deputy Chief Constable, Adam Traynor, whose authorisation was required for any of the small-scale covert stuff. McEwan’s phone rang and he placed his hand on the receiver, ready to pick it up, gaze still locked on to Fox. ‘I’ll leave it to your discretion, Foxy.’ Then, as Fox straightened up, readying to leave: ‘Did you enjoy your long weekend, by the way?’

‘Managed two nights in Monaco,’ Fox replied.

As he passed Tony Kaye’s desk, he wondered how much the Human Radar had picked up. Kaye appeared to be busy at his keyboard, typing in some notes. ‘Anything interesting?’ Fox asked.

‘I could ask you the same,’ Kaye responded, glancing in the direction of the Boss’s corner.

‘Might be room for you to climb aboard,’ Fox decided there and then, scratching at the underside of his chin.