‘Has she been here before?’ he asks, trying not to pry.

  ‘No.’ Bex raises her eyebrows. ‘I told her to be careful not to live separate lives, but she loves Cornwall and he has to be in London and France for his work.’

  They walk back up the street, Bex trying to figure out which building might have once been a factory. Jake is tempted to shout out Kate’s name, see if someone opens a window. Anything to relieve the stress. He barely slept on Bex’s sofa, counting the minutes until they could take the first train.

  ‘I think this might be it,’ she says, standing in front of a solid corner building with old brickwork and metal period windows.

  Jake walks up to the entrance and looks at the panel of buttons. None of them have anything so helpful as a name.

  ‘Penthouse?’ he says, standing back to gaze up at the high building. A row of small palm trees is visible on the roof. Properties here must be worth millions.

  ‘How did you guess?’ Bex says.

  ‘Do you think it makes him happy?’ Jake asks. ‘Having so much money?’

  ‘You’d always want more,’ Bex says.

  ‘Let’s walk around the back first,’ Jake says. ‘Maybe there’s a tradesman’s entrance.’

  They set off down Shepherdess Walk, a narrow street that runs down one side of the building. Jake glances up at the roof again. Kate would want a garden if she lived in London, just like she kept an allotment when they were on the boat. Is she up there now? He’s convinced she wouldn’t have rung him last night if there hadn’t been a serious problem.

  ‘Can’t get much sunlight if you’re in a ground-floor flat,’ Bex says as they approach the back of the building on Underwood Row, also narrow. ‘What’s the time?’

  But before Jake can answer, his phone rings. It’s DI Hart.

  ‘Are you with Kate?’ he asks, sounding concerned. He seemed so relaxed last night.

  ‘We’re outside Rob’s apartment in London,’ Jake says, scanning the street. ‘At least we think we are. Why?’

  He puts his mobile on speaker and calls Bex over to listen.

  ‘It’s just that she asked us to see if Rob has any doubles out there,’ Hart says. ‘You know, doppelgängers. Apparently, Rob is worried about it. She is too.’

  ‘And?’ Jake asks, peach-stoning his unshaven chin as he listens intently. A lorry starts to reverse at the end of the street, alarm beeping.

  ‘We’ve found some lookalikes,’ Hart continues. ‘And one of them is very convincing – based in Thailand.’

  Jake glances at Bex. ‘Don’t suppose he’s called Gil, by any chance?’ he says, turning his back to shield him from the noise of the reversing lorry.

  It’s a while before Hart answers. ‘Gilmour Martin – he entered the UK six months ago. How did you know his name?’

  ‘Long story.’ There’s no time to explain how he impersonated Kate on Facebook and chatted to Rob’s dead friend Kirby. It seems increasingly likely that he was actually talking to Gil, who presumably wanted to send a message to Rob that he was coming for him. And now he’s here in the UK, ready to fulfil his threat.

  ‘A Tesla registered to him was seen driving around Cornwall at the weekend,’ Hart says. ‘I thought Kate should know. She’s not answering her phone. Maybe you could pass it on when you see her?’

  ‘We would if we knew where she was,’ Jake says. ‘We don’t have Rob’s exact address.’

  ‘We’re still struggling to find one for him too,’ Hart says. ‘Seems like he uses his Cornwall address for everything. Businesses, car, tax returns, the lot. What was Rob so worried about anyway?’

  ‘Doppelgängers are meant to be a sign of your imminent death,’ Jake says, not sure how much to elaborate. ‘It’s all a bit Brothers Grimm, but Rob thinks he met his doppelgänger – a man called Gil – at his twenty-first birthday party in Thailand. This bloke Gil apparently threatened to hunt Rob down one day and destroy him, ruin his career.’

  ‘I’ll call you,’ Hart says, hanging up.

  Jake and Bex start to walk back down towards Shepherdess Walk, but they both stop in their tracks as they reach the corner. A Tesla is slowing down by the building’s entrance. They watch as it parks across the street, two wheels up on the pavement. The rear windows are dark. Nobody gets out. It appears identical to the one that ground to a halt on the hard shoulder last night.

  Jake doesn’t have a good feeling about this. ‘Let’s wait here,’ he says, holding out a hand to stop Bex from walking any further.

  85

  Silas

  Silas looks on in the Parade Room as Strover runs the number plates through the DVLA database, confident that the Tesla caught on CCTV in the Gablecross car park will turn out to be Rob’s. Kate mentioned that Rob was considering buying another Tesla and Silas has no desire to believe in doppelgängers. What was it that Jake said? A bit Brothers Grimm.

  ‘Any luck?’ he asks, leaning in to look at Strover’s screen.

  ‘I thought it was familiar,’ she says, scrolling down through the data. ‘Same number plate as the one Kate was given in Cornwall by her gallery friend. Registered keeper: Gilmour Martin, at the “care of” address in N1.’

  ‘Oh Christ,’ Silas says, running a hand through his hair. It’s not what he was expecting at all.

  ‘And the timing fits,’ Strover says. ‘Gilmour flew into Stansted six months ago, a week before the 14th of February, the date of the CCTV footage.’

  ‘We need to visit this “care of” address,’ Silas says. ‘Where is it again?’

  ‘Nile Street. Shoreditch.’

  ‘Shoreditch?’ Silas looks up. He pulls out his mobile and calls Jake, remembering that he was looking for Rob’s flat somewhere in Shoreditch.

  ‘You found where Rob lives yet?’ he asks, glancing around the Parade Room.

  ‘We know the road,’ Jake says. ‘Nile Street.’

  Silas has a terrible sinking feeling, similar to when he found Conor on the floor of his bedroom, unconscious from a heroin overdose. Rob wouldn’t have registered his own car at his own apartment using a ‘care of’ address. Gilmour, whoever he may be, is one step ahead. He’s also mocking Silas. Rob too. Why else would he use Rob’s address? If he didn’t want to be traced, he could have covered his tracks, given the DVLA a false address or a mailbox. It’s almost as if it’s deliberate, a taunting message.

  After giving Jake the exact address in Nile Street, Silas gets up from his desk and stares out of the window at the station car park. It’s still raining. Silas likes rain. It’s less distracting than sunshine, helps him to focus. See things. Join the dots. Gilmour Martin, Rob’s lookalike, flew into the UK on an illegal passport and acquired a matching Tesla, which he promptly registered at Rob’s London address. He was then seen at Gablecross a day before Kate’s accident. Does that mean it was him at the scene of the crash too and not Rob?

  ‘Jake mentioned that Rob is worried about seeing his his doppelgänger again, the one he met in Thailand,’ Silas says, turning to face Strover, trying to make sense of it all. ‘Apparently Rob fears that his double will come back to ruin his life. Rob even mentioned his name – Gil. You know doppelgängers are meant to be a sign of your death? Harbingers of doom.’

  Strover gives him a circumspect look. ‘You believe all that stuff, boss?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’ He pauses. ‘But let’s just suppose this Gilmour has come to the UK to destroy Rob, for whatever reason. How would he set about taking down Rob, a successful tech entrepreneur?’

  ‘Attack his business?’ Strover offers. ‘I don’t know, do something that triggers a share price crash?’

  ‘Or he might try to frame him.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Rob’s company is under pressure, way overvalued, according to Jake,’ Silas says, warming to his theme. ‘He also said that Rob could be getting into facial-recognition software. A boom industry right now, as we know. Soon to be worth twenty billion dollars, so they say. Everyone’s trying to crack it. Law enforcement agencies everywhere are begging for a system that actually works. Rob probably sees it as a lifeline. But what’s its biggest threat?’

  ‘Apart from the fact that it’s intrinsically shit, you mean?’ Strover asks.

  ‘Apart from that.’ Silas allows himself a smile. Strover’s in danger of becoming a fellow Luddite.

  ‘Privacy legislation?’ she offers. ‘Too much faith in faulty algorithms?’

  ‘And?’ Silas says. ‘What do you and I know works better than facial-recognition software?’

  Strover pauses before answering. ‘Humans,’ she says. ‘Super recognisers.’

  Silas nods. ‘Experts reckon it will be a good ten years before the software can match the super recognisers.’

  ‘And a number of them have gone missing in the past six months,’ Strover says.

  ‘Ever since Gilmour Martin arrived in the UK.’

  Strover looks up at Silas. ‘You think he’s responsible?’

  ‘We have to consider it.’

  He thinks back to what happened to his own super-recogniser unit. Kate, its best operator, was nearly killed in a car accident, denting the unit’s performance as well as its morale. One month later, his boss closed the unit down and signed a contract for Centaur, a new facial-recognition software system that’s yet to go live.

  ‘Why a Tesla, though?’ Strover asks. ‘Quite a top-end car to abduct someone in.’

  ‘Not if Gilmour’s trying to frame Rob, a well-known techpreneur who’s already got one himself.’

  ‘It’s also electric,’ she says. ‘Silent. And Teslas have a chill mode – it softens out the throttle response.’ Strover really should consider a job on Top Gear. ‘A person wouldn’t even be aware that there was a car behind them,’ she continues.

  ‘Get on to the super-recogniser unit in Nottingham,’ Silas says, a new urgency in his voice. Gilmour might be trying to destroy Rob’s career, but Silas isn’t going to allow him to ruin his. ‘Ask them to go through ANPR records for the night that their star performer disappeared and look for a Tesla registered to Gilmour Martin. Then check in with Dublin, Madrid and Hamburg.’

  86

  Jake

  Jake stands with Bex at the corner of Shepherdess Walk, looking down towards the Tesla, still up on the kerb.

  ‘Something’s happening,’ Bex says.

  The driver of the Tesla gets out and walks over to the entrance to the block of flats where they now know Rob lives. He disappears inside and reappears a minute later with a woman. Kate. He takes her by the arm and walks her over to the car. Is she going willingly? Maybe she’s unwell? The driver now has one hand on Kate’s elbow, either to steady her or to restrain her.

  ‘It’s her,’ Bex says.

  ‘Kate!’ Jake calls out from down the street and starts to run towards her.

  Kate turns to look at them. Jake knows at once that she’s under duress. There is nothing but fear in her face. A moment later, the driver bundles her into the back of the car, helped by another woman standing nearby, who gets in after Kate.

  ‘Wait!’ Jake calls again, still running. Bex is close behind him.

  But the car is already accelerating silently away from them.

  ‘Get the number plate,’ he says, making a note of it himself. ‘You got it?’

  ‘I think so,’ Bex says, out of breath.

  They confirm what they’ve both remembered. Bex writes the number down on the back of her hand with a biro as Jake calls DI Hart on his mobile to tell him what’s just happened.

  ‘She was definitely not going willingly,’ Jake says.

  ‘Number plate?’ Hart asks.

  Bex holds up her hand. He reads it out to Hart, glancing around him. Someone else is coming out of the apartment door. A tall, dignified Asian man with an attaché case in one hand.

  ‘Dr Varma?’ Bex asks the man tentatively. He clearly recognises Bex but tries to ignore her as he walks off down the street.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ Jake says to Hart, hanging up.

  ‘Dr Varma?’ Bex says again, following the man like a reporter in pursuit of a politician. ‘What’s wrong with Kate? We saw her get into a car just now and she didn’t look too happy.’

  ‘I’m late for another appointment,’ the man says, almost breaking into a run.

  Bex is undeterred and grabs the man by his arm. He stops, visibly shocked by the physical contact. He looks down at his arm and then at Jake, who’s caught up with them. Bex has mentioned the neuropsychiatrist that Kate’s been seeing, how good he is. This must be him. Jake moves around to stand in his way, in case he tries to make a run for it.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Bex asks. ‘With Kate? Where was she going?’

  Dr Varma scans the street, shifts his feet. He couldn’t look more guilty if he tried.

  ‘Is Rob in the flat?’ Jake asks, gesturing up at the building behind them.

  Dr Varma shakes his head.

  ‘Where is he?’ Jake says.

  ‘I can’t say anything,’ Dr Varma says, still staring at the pavement. He then looks up at Bex. ‘You have no idea who you’re dealing with here. If he knew I was even talking to you now, he’d—’

  ‘Who?’ Jake says, interrupting him. ‘Who are we dealing with?’

  Dr Varma bites his lip. ‘I can’t tell you anything, I’m sorry. I have two children. A wife.’

  Jake is unable to control himself any longer. He checks the deserted street, then grabs Dr Varma by the lapels of his suit jacket and rams him up against the wall.

  ‘Jake!’ Bex protests, but he’s beyond listening.

  ‘You need to tell us now where Kate’s been taken,’ he says, his face close to Dr Varma’s. Jake is not a violent man, but the last six months seem to have suddenly caught up with him, all the anger for being so stupid that day with a stranger in Swindon, the hatred he feels for Rob, the boat fire.

  ‘Jake,’ Bex says insistently, a hand on his arm. Jake ignores her. Dr Varma looks from her to Jake and back to Bex again, his frightened eyes darting between them.

  ‘Tell me where she’s gone,’ Jake repeats, tightening his grip on Dr Varma’s lapels.

  ‘I can’t,’ he says breathlessly.

  ‘Tell me,’ Jake says, lifting the doctor off his toes. ‘We need to know.’

  ‘Jake,’ Bex pleads again.

  Jake lets him go, pushing him away like a repulsed lover. Dr Varma is still breathing hard as he adjusts his dishevelled tie. There’s a rip down one side of his jacket.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Jake says, shocked by his own violence. He looks up and down the street, as if searching for an explanation for his own behaviour. ‘Kate’s in real trouble,’ he says. ‘We need to help her.’

  ‘I know,’ Dr Varma says, his voice barely audible.

  ‘You know, but you can’t tell me where she’s been taken?’

  ‘If I do, they will kill me.’

  The two men stare at each other, both still breathing hard. Jake searches his face, pleading now in silence. ‘I get it,’ he says, raising a hand to Dr Varma’s shoulder, tidying up the ripped suit material before patting him. ‘It’s OK.’ Time to go. Jake’s done all he can here. The man has a wife and children to think about. It was wrong to ask. He’s a loyal family man. And then Jake remembers the man’s profession.

  ‘First, do no harm,’ he says, his eyes fixed on Dr Varma’s. ‘Primum non nocere. Isn’t that the Hippocratic principle you’re all supposed to follow as doctors?’ Jake’s father was a GP. ‘If you don’t tell me where Kate’s been taken, she’s going to come to a lot of harm, believe me. You’re the only person who can stop that happening.’

  A siren wails in the distance. It’s a long time before Dr Varma speaks.

  ‘Brittany,’ he says, his voice almost a whisper. ‘Rob’s got a house in Brittany, beyond Brest.’

  Jake looks at him in disbelief and then turns to Bex.

  ‘North of Le Conquet, west of Illien,’ Dr Varma continues. ‘It’s on its own – on a headland.’

  He pauses for a moment before hurrying away.

  ‘He was terrified,’ Bex says as they watch him disappear around the corner of the street.

  ‘So was Kate,’ Jake says, trying not to dwell on what fate might await Dr Varma. ‘How the hell do we get to Brittany?’

  87

  Silas

  ‘I’ve double-checked and Rob definitely only owns one Tesla,’ Strover says, looking at her phone. ‘And that’s registered at his Cornwall address.’

  ‘Get Jake on the phone,’ Silas says. He is driving into London as quickly as a blue light and endless roadworks will allow. Whose idea was it to make the M4 a ‘smart’ motorway? Ten minutes ago, Jake rang from London in a state, saying that Kate had just been bundled into a Tesla outside Rob’s flat in Shoreditch. He had the presence of mind to take down the number plate, which Silas recognised immediately as the car registered to Gilmour Martin.

  ‘Any luck?’ Jake asks as soon as the call connects.

  ‘Not yet,’ Silas says. ‘You sure you didn’t see Rob in the car?’

  ‘No. Just a driver and a woman,’ Jake says. ‘I also had a little chat with the shrink who’s been overseeing Kate’s recovery. Someone called Dr Ajay Varma. He came out of Rob’s flat shortly after Kate.’

  Silas turns to Strover, who writes down Dr Varma’s name.

  ‘Varma says Kate’s heading for Brittany,’ Jake continues. ‘Rob’s been doing a lot of business over there, in Brest. Has a house on the coast.’

  Jake gives more specific details of the location, which Strover also notes.

  ‘And you’re certain Kate didn’t look like she was going on holiday?’ Silas says.

  ‘Absolutely not.’ Jake pauses. ‘I thought you said that she would be safe with Rob last night.’

  ‘I did.’ Silas wonders how to phrase what he’s going to say next. ‘I’m just not sure that it was Rob she was with.’