Chapter FiveLee Talbot was late for something and it showed. Firstly, there was the speed at which he tore along the street – somewhere between a brisk walk and a jog, his face beetroot red, his forehead glistening with sweat, his chest heaving as might be expected of a man, even a fairly young man like Lee, who had just run 200 metres or so from the train station.
Further clues that this fast-moving man was pushed for time were the petulant demonstrations of impatience, the muttering and the agitated flinging of hands in the air, his neck craning first one way, then the next as he waited for a gap in the rush hour traffic that would allow him to cross the Seven Sisters Road. He stared at every passing car with loathing in his eyes, as if each was driven by the world’s biggest and most da
