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friends?”
    â€œThey argue like all sisters.”
    â€œAny notable jealousy?”
    â€œHer sister’s a bit envious of Mrs Sinclair’s wealth I suppose but they’re still close.”
    â€œWhat else does Mrs Sinclair like to do?”
    â€œKeeps fit, watches movies and reads a lot.”
    â€œNo clubs or charities?”
    â€œNot to my knowledge.”
    â€œAny male friends?”
    Jones took his eyes off the road for a second and gave Archer a bemused sideways glance in total disbelief.
    â€œYou must be joking, Mr Sinclair wouldn’t have any of that.”
    Archer had finally made a dent in the stiff-lipped driver. Jones showed he had some personality hidden somewhere beneath the surface. This was the exploratory foot in the door Archer was after; he had to bond with someone on the inside. He was about to change tack and make the move, when the mobile phone in the cradle lit up. He answered it on the second ring on speaker.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œTurn left and park in front of the Hilton.”
    Archer hit the mute button.
    â€œTurn left up there.” He pointed but Jones was already indicating.
    They had just passed the turning for Curzon Street and took the next left and another immediate left which brought them right in front of the hotel entrance. They reverse-parked next to two other German-made cars in front of the high-rise hotel, the boot facing Park Lane and the park. Jones turned the mute button off and the sound system’s volume up.
    â€œOkay, what next?” Archer said.
    â€œPut the flask on the ground in front of the car while letting down the driver’s side front tyre. Then take the bag to the concierge. Tell him it’s for Mr Jefferson.”
    â€œAnd then?”
    â€œPump the tyre back up and go home. Don’t hang around the lobby or follow anyone otherwise she gets a bullet in the head.”
    The line went dead.
    â€œOpen the boot and I’ll take the bag to the concierge. Here, you take the flask and let the tyre down,” Archer said.
    Jones pressed the button to open the boot and it started to lift slowly. He took the flask and opened the door. Archer opened his door and got out. People were milling around in all directions but nobody was taking any notice of them. Taxi drivers were talking in a group, the doorman was talking to a cab driver. A group of couriers were smoking near their bikes.
    Archer lifted the heavy bag out, carefully placed its two wheels on the pavement and closed the boot. He looked up at the twenty-seven-storey hotel and wondered if they were being watched. A vivid image of his friend free-falling flashed before him. He had died base jumping off the hotel roof when they were twenty. The chute had snagged and his arm was torn off on the way down. Archer had witnessed it from the rooftop and had never base jumped since.
    He watched Jones place the flask in front of the car and unscrew the dust cap. Jones then squatted down beside the wheel and used his nail to depress the valve and let the air out.
    Archer wheeled the heavy case past Jones and yanked it up the kerb. The doorman asked if he wanted any help but he politely declined, shimmied through the revolving door into the lobby and casually strolled across to the concierge desk. He waited in line behind a tourist getting directions to a restaurant and then stepped up to the desk. He was greeted by Sergio from Spain, or so his badge stated.
    â€œLuggage for Mr Jefferson.”
    The young concierge’s eyes bulged greedily and his face lit up.
    â€œWe’ve been expecting that one, thank you, sir, let me come and get it.”
    The concierge grabbed the handle and pulled it towards the lifts. He seemed to wait for a lift, but as Archer exited the front entrance he looked back and saw the concierge walk away towards the rear entrance pulling the case behind him.
    Archer walked out of the front entrance and saw Jones take a small bag from the boot. He