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It didn’t add up. They had followed Jane Doe all the way from Manchester to her cottage. They had seen her face. The only way in and out of the cottage was via the front door or one of the two windows and Koenig hadn’t taken his eyes off them. He knew she hadn’t left. But heat signatures didn’t lie. Jane Doe wasn’t in there. Not unless she was ectothermic. Like a lizard. Or a fish.

‘She’s not sitting underneath her, is she?’ Draper said, not bothering to keep her voice down any more. ‘Using Margaret to hide her heat signature.’

‘For six hours?’

Nevertheless, Koenig bent down and looked through the keyhole again. Margaret wasn’t a sturdy woman, looked like she weighed no more than ninety pounds. Maybe she’d always been like that; maybe it was the cancer. She was gagged with duct tape, and her grey hair was in a bun but coming loose. Dishevelled. Otherwise, she looked unharmed. No one was hiding underneath her. He told Draper.

‘She wasn’t being rescued from Speakers’ Corner then,’ Draper said. ‘The Brits were right all along; she was being abducted.’

Koenig didn’t respond. He couldn’t get his head around it. Everything he knew about Jane Doe said she was one of the good guys. But the evidence was overwhelming. The evidence was also old and frail and no doubt very cold.

‘We can’t leave her like this,’ Koenig said. ‘She’s going to need medical attention.’

Draper scowled. Koenig knew she’d have preferred to sit on the cottage and wait. To use Margaret Wexmore like a tethered goat. But he was in charge, and he was going inside. He reached for the door handle.

‘Wait!’ Draper whispered.

‘What?’

‘How do we know this isn’t a trap?’

He turned to check his back. Nothing. A rabbit hopped into view. It looked at them curiously, then began to nibble the wet grass.

‘I guess there’s only one way to find out,’ Koenig said.

‘Koenig, there are fifty ways of finding out and none of them involve walking into this cottage blind. Come back to the bush; we’ll have a rethink.’

Koenig tried the handle. It turned.

‘Asshole!’ Draper hissed, scrambling to her feet.

He pushed the door open with his foot. Margaret Wexmore stared at them in astonishment.

Koenig marched in and knelt behind Margaret. He quickly untied her. She was trying to say something through the gag. Koenig reached up and peeled it off.

‘Thank you, dear,’ she said. ‘That was quite uncomfortable.’

‘Do you need to go to hospital, Ms Wexmore?’ Draper asked.

‘I’m not a Ms, I don’t own a bordello. Call me Margaret.’

‘Do you need to go to hospital, Margaret?’

‘I have a message to pass on first.’

‘A message?’

‘Yes, dear.’

‘What message?’ Draper asked.

Margaret smiled sweetly. ‘You’re to put your hands in the air and turn around slowly.’

They both heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked. They did as they were asked.

Jane Doe was standing in the doorway. In her left hand she held her derringer; in her right she held the gun she’d just collected from Marion Summers, a Chinese-made Makarov. The derringer was pointed at Koenig’s chest, the Makarov at Draper’s. Both hands were steady.

‘Hello, Mr Koenig,’ Jane Doe said. ‘It’s been a while. Who’s your little friend?’ She paused, then added, ‘And did you look at her butt?’