It was nearly twenty hours later and he and Rik were walking along a quiet back street in Harrow. It was after six and the light was fading, the predominantly residential area morphing into shadows and yellow lights, and the homeward rumble of through traffic. The houses on each side were part of a small redevelopment, neatly terraced and upmarket, with a variety of large potted plants flanking the doors to give an illusion of greenery. Glossy vehicles were parked on hard standings immediately in front of each house, although none looked as if they were used much. Only one house showed a vacant space, and had done since their first drive-by earlier that day. ‘She might have dumped it,’ said Rik. ‘If she’s in with Param, they’d know it would be too hot to keep for long.’ They had left Karen and her banks of screens late the previous evening, hopeful possessors of a tenuous lead to Silverman’s whereabouts after he left Heathrow’s Terminal Two. A private cab had arrived minutes after they had watched a tape of the area immediately outside the main exit.
