It took an hour of searching the Internet to find Benjamin Hartman. He lived near the hospital in a house set back in its own grounds. I scoped the place out a couple of times, strolling past without a care in the world. Wrought iron gates, seven foot high, CCTV either side pointing down. More cameras along the length of the railings that bordered the property. But there was a dead space towards the back.

It was only a couple of feet wide but it was enough. I took a step back and watched to see if anyone had noticed me. I had a fluorescent jacket on, I.D card on a lanyard around my neck and clipboard in my hand, the uniform of the invisible.

So many times a fluorescent jacket had got me where a suit would not. The workman, the to be ignored workman. Even as I ran up and over the railings, no one looked my way.

I landed on the grass on the other side. Taking my time, I crossed the lawn to the side of the house. I was making for the open window. If anyone stopped me, I was looking for a leaking drain, I even had the paperwork to prove it.

I was close to the window when someone appeared. He was dressed like a butler but I could tell by his build that his uniform was as fake as mine. I knew a bodyguard when I saw one.

"Can I help you?" he asked, walking across to me, standing between me and the window.

"Sure you can," I said in the thickest Irish accent I could manage. "I get sent out here without a single bloody blueprint for the entire street and told to just find the sodding thing as if I haven't got anything better to do. You don't know the layout of the pipes do you?"

"The what?"

I twisted the clipboard in my hand. "Have a look at this, would you?"

He lowered his head just enough for me to swing my arm and connect clipboard to his neck. He went down in an instant. Not dead but he wouldn't be moving for a while.

Stepping through the window, I listened. TV playing somewhere to the left. I headed that way.

I had climbed into a library, leather bound tomes stretching from floor to ceiling. Beyond that was a hallway filled with vases on stands, framed paintings on the wall. A door opened and another butler wannabe appeared. Before he got his mouth open, I got him down on the floor, not letting go of my grip on his neck until he was asleep as the first one.

I turned a corner and there was an open door. The sound of the TV was louder here. I walked in slowly. Facing away from me, a man was sat watching the news, laughing loudly. The news was in French. I saw footage of the hotel I'd so recently left.

"Enjoying the show?"

The man jolted around, his face a mixture of panic and confusion. "Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?"

He reached for something but I got to his hand before it could hit the button on the low table in front of him. "Stay still," I said. "I won't hurt you if you tell me what I need to know."

"Are you...are you the new guy?" He nodded towards the TV.

"Tell me everything you know about Mr Sharp."

"Who?"

I pulled out the paper I'd brought back from the hotel, waving it in front of his face. "Don't bullshit me. I can be gone in a minute if you talk. Help me out."

No point threatening him. I could tell already he'd be the type to clam up and then I'd have to spend all day finding out what he might hand over straight away if I played this right.

"Talk to me about Dexter. Why did you want him dead?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Just watching the news?"

"No law against that is there?"

"No but there is a law against hiring a hitman to kill someone for you."

"You've no proof-"

"I did it, Mr Hartman. Now why did you want Dexter dead." I lowered my voice just enough to show him what was waiting if he didn't co-operate.

"I wanted to buy Sharp's restaurant chain."

"How did that involve Dexter?"

"Sharp told me he wouldn't sell, said his accountant wouldn't let him."

"And Dexter was his accountant, right?"

He nodded. "I thought it would send him a message, you know? Encourage him to change his mind."

"So you've seen Mr Sharp recently then?"

"A couple of weeks ago."

"At his place?"

"Yes, all right. Now what is this about? Did he send you? If he doesn't want me to buy, I won't all right. It's not worth the stress. Tell him I'm sorry about Dexter. I knew I shouldn't have done this, oh God, what have I done?"

He looked on the verge of tears. "Lower your voice," I said.

"Sorry, I'm sorry."

"You're going to give me Mr Sharp's address."

"Of course. Look, here." He scribbled it on the corner of my clipboard. "Okay, we're good, right?"

"We're good." I headed for the door.

He called after me. "Is this about the girl? Because I can get you better ones, trust me."

"What girl?"

"The girl at his place. Was she your girlfriend or something? That's why you're after him, isn't it. Take my advice, let her go. Let me hook you up instead."

I turned back, my fists slowly clenching.

"What did she look like?"

"I don't know. Blonde hair, green eyes. Tiny tits. Listen, no woman is worth this much trouble."

"She is," I said, pulling out my gun.

"Wait, you said you wouldn't hurt me. You promised."

"You're right, I said I wouldn't hurt you." I pulled the trigger. "I never said I wouldn't kill you."