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front of Palmer’s desk. The seat was convex and slippery. Balancing took muscle and gave you the body language of Quasimodo. If Palmer found me ridiculous he kept quiet. He seemed to be concentrating on something bad he’d eaten. At least he didn’t tell me I was late. He paid his receptionist for that. Palmer looked at me for a moment then opened the discussion.
    â€˜I hear that Eagle Eye are discreet,’ he told me.
    He stressed our name as if it was the known practice of all other agencies to shout their clients’ business from the rooftops. But his puzzled look let me know that he wasn’t convinced about his information.
    I smiled and kept quiet. With that kind of opener it was best for the client to talk.
    â€˜I have some business that needs absolute discretion,’ Palmer said. ‘Can I trust your agency?’
    No idle chat about the challenges of the trucking business. No mention of who had put in the good word for Eagle Eye. Not even a polite query about which partner he was talking to. Palmer was sticking to the simple fact that this whole thing was giving him indigestion.
    â€˜What can I do for you, Mr Palmer?’
    Palmer pulled a pack of kingsize from his jacket and lit up. Apparently he was running the last bastion of pro-smoking policy in London. It was my second dose of the afternoon. The amount of fug I was inhaling today I’d soon need a respirator to work. Palmer took a drag and blew out a cloud.
    â€˜I’ve got a sensitive matter needs attention,’ he said.
    â€˜How sensitive?’ I said.
    â€˜Big bucks sensitive. If you do the job right I’ll pay.’ He watched me from behind the cloud. ‘I’ll go triple your standard.’
    He waited for me to be impressed. Private investigators don’t come cheap, and Eagle Eye are not at the bargain-basement end of the market. That’s why no one had ever offered us three times our rate. What people usually offer, when we present our commercial rates, is an awed silence. The same as in a good lawyer’s office. Private clients – like Gina Redding – get sixty percent discount. The differentiation lets us cover the market.
    Palmer gave me time to go over what we had. So far we had discreet and we had reliable and we had three times the going rate. The ingredients of a perfect deal. So perfect that I knew straight away that it was going to fall apart. It would unravel the second Palmer described the nature of his sensitive issue. I saw it a mile off.
    Palmer heaved himself from his desk and dragged a smoke trail over to the panoramic window, did his God bit watching over his warehouse. You could see he was proud of his view the way City types love the strip of river they get with their corner office. He sucked on his weed for thirty seconds like I wasn’t there, contemplating his empire.
    â€˜We’re bidding for a haulage contract,’ he said finally. ‘The tender closes at the end of next week.’ He did a ninety and strolled along the other glass to watch his crew down in the maintenance bays. He was talking to the glass but his voice had an edge that said I’d better be listening.
    â€˜The client is a clothing wholesaler relocating from Birmingham. They’re opening a warehouse here in Wembley. They run their own logistics but they don’t own their fleet. They wet-lease thirty units to cover their European and UK distribution.’
    â€˜Wet-lease?’ I said. The thing sounded like some kind of rainy-day service.
    Palmer left his window and orbited back to his desk. He sat down and stubbed the cigarette in a steel ashtray. He looked at me and decided I really didn’t know what wet-leasing was. He leaned forward to educate me.
    â€˜We supply the trucks, maintenance, drivers and fuel. The client pays a retainer and a straight mileage charge. He says where we go and when, controls the schedule. It’s the most efficient way for some