The knock was singular, but loud and resonant. The knock employed by people familiar with visiting the unsuspecting. Craig put down the London Literary Review and padded barefoot to the door of his SA1 apartment.

“Who is it?”

“Mister Hutchens? Police. Can I have a word?”

Craig slid the door chain into place and opened the door. A large man in a short-sleeve shirt showing thick muscular arms and a tooth to tattoo ratio of one-to-one stood in the hallway.