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around at the surrounding reporters and TV news crews. ‘Have I missed anything?’
    ‘Bugger bleeding all. I’m thinking of packing up. No one’s managed to get further than the front desk.’
    A black cab pulled into the kerb and the throng surged sideways towards it. Angela stuck out her elbows to avoid getting crushed.
    ‘Has it been like this all morning?’ she shouted above the din.
    Frank nodded. ‘Every time a car pulls up. But it’s never anyone important.’
    Angela looked at the greedy faces surrounding the poor unsuspecting soul who had just emerged from the taxi. ‘I can’t work under these conditions.’
    ‘Exactly the conclusion I came to an hour ago. All I’ve got are dozens of shots of camera-shy civil servants holding their hands up to their faces.’ He scratched his head. ‘I feel like a wildlife photographer disturbing their delicately balanced ecosystem.’
    ‘If there’s nothing doing, why are you still here?’
    ‘I’ve been waiting for you to turn up.’
    ‘I don’t need a minder, Frank.’ She dug an elbow into the ribs of the London Tonight reporter as he attempted to record a piece to camera, just to illustrate her point.
    ‘I thought we might get a spot of late breakfast before I head off.’
    ‘Please, Frank – don’t mention the ‘B’ word. The way I’m feeling I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat again.’
    ‘Suit yourself.’ He lifted his camera above his head and snapped a few shots of the man from the taxi as he disappeared through the revolving doors. ‘Oh yeah,’ he said, turning back to her. ‘There was some nugget of news I wanted to impart before I left.’ He unzipped his camera bag and squeezed the camera inside. ‘Not sure I want to tell you now – the mood you’re in.’
    Angela planted her hands on her hips and waited.
    He slowly zipped up the bag. ‘Not five minutes ago there was a buzz going around the tabloid hacks.’
    She edged closer to him.
    ‘We’ve found out who discovered the body last night.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘Some woman called Caroline Barber. She’s a senior executive officer, apparently.’
    ‘Forget about her job title – did you get a picture of her?’
    ‘Might have done – probably got the whole department recorded for posterity.’ He waved the camera at her.
    ‘This needs a more direct approach.’ Angela slipped Frank’s cigarettes into her jacket pocket. ‘Honestly - if you want anything done properly...’ She pressed through the crowd towards the entrance and turned round when she reached the doors. ‘Are you coming or what?’
    Frank raised his hand. ‘I’m off to check on that fire at Waterloo.’
    ‘Chicken!’
    Once she was through the doors and into the reception area, Angela pulled a phone from her pocket and pretended to be deep in conversation. She paced up and down for a few moments, glancing around, checking the possible routes past security. She spotted a man carrying a briefcase who was making for a side door just to the left of the long reception desk. Without breaking her stride she followed him to the door, and passed through right on his heels. On the other side she found herself in a narrow carpeted area, emergency exit to the left and a staircase leading to the first floor in front of her. The man with the briefcase headed left. Angela looked up the stairwell; the stairs disappearing in a giddying blur several flights up. She glanced back at the man she’d followed in, just as he slipped through another door. She hurried after him and discovered another flight of stairs leading down to the basement. She heard a shout behind her.
    ‘Oi! What do you think you're doing?’
    Angela hurried through the door without looking back. At the bottom of the stairs she was confronted with three more doors and no sign of the man with the briefcase. She hesitated for a moment too long.
    ‘Stop right there.’
    She turned to see a potato-faced security guard struggling down the stairs. By the time he