Alec was annoyed. He had taken the tube out to Tyler’s flat in Hackney and had spent an hour in the small café opposite the laundry, people-watching and intermittently regretting his haste in leaving the station. He could have sent a uniform out to get Tyler and bring him down to Scotland Yard. Somehow, though, the idea of seeing Tyler in his own environment seemed a better idea.
When he saw Tyler’s bike approaching, he stood and left enough money on the table to cover his pot of tea, and went outside. By the time he had crossed the road, Tyler was pushing the contraption down the narrow alley to the side of the building. It opened into the small rear courtyard behind the laundry and the open doors of the establishment spilt out warm, moist air and a variety of clanging sounds intersperse
