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Koenig rapped on the apartment door. Draper opened it immediately. Koenig hurried in and closed the door behind him.

‘I can’t believe you MacGyvered us out of this,’ Draper said.

‘They should have withdrawn and regrouped when the first bottle of oil smashed, but they knew about the bounty. All they could see was five million bucks.’

‘Bess says you got the two watching the fire escape as well.’

‘They had their backs to me. Are we ready? Jammer or not, the cops will be here soon.’

‘Margaret’s only just regained consciousness,’ Draper said. ‘She’s a bit groggy, but she’ll be able to walk if I help her.’

‘I need you on Nash,’ Koenig said. ‘That’s where the danger is. It’s not ideal, but Bess will have to help Margaret.’

‘Let’s go then. My pilot’s waiting.’

Koenig led them out of the apartment. Five steps behind, an incensed Carlyle propped up an unsteady Margaret. Five steps behind them, an alert Draper held an equally alert Nash by the scruff of her neck, her SIG pressed against the base of her spine.

‘It gets oily lower down,’ Koenig said. ‘I’ll throw some more kitty litter, but watch your feet.’

When he reached the third floor, one of the apartment doors opened. Koenig spun round, SIG at the ready. It was an old lady. Half blind and three-quarters deaf, judging by the thick spectacles and hearing aids. Her hair was cobweb-thin and greyer than ash. She had a mole on her chin the size and colour of a blueberry. She wore a ratty yellow cardigan, the buttons in the wrong holes giving her a lopsided appearance. She held something pink and wrinkled in her arms. Looked like a cross between a small pig and a large blobfish. Hobbs’s cat, presumably.

The old lady seemed oblivious to what was going on. ‘Hello, Harper,’ she said. ‘Are you here for your father’s cat?’

Her voice was so dry Koenig was surprised dust didn’t come out of her mouth. He said, ‘Please go back inside your apartment, ma’am.’

‘You can keep Chairman Meow, Mrs Benowitz,’ Nash said loudly. ‘I’m going away for a bit.’

It took longer than Koenig would have liked, but eventually woman and cat were coaxed back into the apartment.

‘I hate that fucking cat,’ Nash said when Mrs Benowitz had finally shut her apartment door.

‘Come on,’ Koenig said, keen to keep moving.

The next obstacle, the only one he’d thought might be a problem, was what Nash would see on the half-landing between the third and second floor. Koenig hadn’t moved any of the bodies. There was one coming up: the body he’d thrown to knock their point guy off his feet. Stillwell Hobbs.

Nash looked at her dead father without emotion. She shrugged and said, ‘It’s what I’d have done.’