In the harsh make-up mirror Mann could see how spent she looked. Her eyes were dark and puffy.

‘It’s okay, I make the food before I come to work. Rizal sells it—’

‘Or he gets a girl to sell it whilst he plays dice with his friends and then takes all the money, right?’

Michelle nodded but rolled her eyes and shrugged.

‘You’re a mug, Michelle. He’s more of a pimp than a partner. I thought you would have learnt your lesson by now. You don’t make it easy on yourself’

‘I know. I know.’ She shook her head and turned back to check her make-up in the mirror. ‘Ah well. It’s my fate, huh? It’s the way of the world. I must have been something very bad in my last life, huh?’ She shook her head. ‘Have a heart, Inspector. I know you’ve helped me out now and again and I appreciate it.’ She tilted her head to one side and smiled at Mann.

‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll make a deal with you, Michelle. I’ll keep an eye on Lilly and do what I can, if you start being a proper mother to her and look after her, keep her off the streets. If you don’t, I’ll charge you with stealing from the hotel guests and you’ll be back to singing in the slums of Manila.’

Michelle began shovelling her belongings back into her handbag.

‘You are very kind to me, Inspector.’ She stopped, mid-lipstick application. ‘You are a good man. Are you married yet?’

Mann took that as his cue to leave. ‘Sorry. I’d love to talk about my private life but I have to go. Remember, I’ll be keeping an eye on Lilly for you, Michelle, but get a grip on your life before it’s too late. You have a lot to offer the right person, don’t put up with shit and get clean so you can think straight.’

Michelle had switched off. Her eyes were on the bag of ice. He knew she was just waiting for him to leave before having a quick snort – enough to see her through the next hour or two.

On the way out, Mann passed Peter Thorne. ‘Remember,’ Mann picked up his drink and downed it, ‘regret’s a bastard to live with.’ Peter Thorne blinked rapidly, his eyes magnified by his glasses. ‘Take care.’

Chapter 32

‘What can you tell me about this guest?’ Mann showed the receptionist his badge and the ID card he’d found in the wallet he’d taken from Michelle.

She tapped away on the PC. ‘Mr Max Kosmos. American engineer. He has been with us for three nights and is due to check out tomorrow. He is a regular customer of ours.’

‘Do you know where he is right now?’

‘I rang his room an hour ago but got no reply. He missed a reservation he made for dinner in the restaurant here.’

‘What’s the room number?’

‘One sixteen, on the sixteenth floor.’

‘Is this key going to work?’ Mann took out the key from Max Kosmos’s wallet and handed it to her. She fed it into the key holder.

‘Yes, sir. That’s the one he has been using. He has two keys issued to him.’

Mann took the elevator to the sixteenth floor. He looked down the corridor: turquoise carpet, dried flowers in brass bowls on three-legged tables. He looked back to the door. The ‘Do not disturb’ sign was still hanging from the doorknob. A newspaper was propped up against the wall. The trolley of fresh linen was halted where it had been waiting to change the sheets in the nearby rooms.

Mann knocked. ‘Mr Kosmos. Security. I need a word.’

No reply.

Mann knocked harder. He waited. Still no reply. He slipped the card key in and out and the lock light turned from red to green. He turned the handle and pushed the heavy door open just enough to see that another room key was already in the power slot just inside the door. Someone was home. He slid Delilah from his boot and pushed the door open further. The room was lit by a sidelight. To the left of the door the bathroom light was on. The room was silent except for the air con. It was cold.

Mann held the door open with his foot whilst he stood for a few minutes in the doorway. Even though Mann couldn’t see it, he smelt it. The first rule of a crime scene: take in everything, let your senses register it all. Now he smelt it the way connoisseurs smell wine, the overtones of blood, the undertones of butchery and death. This was a big room – plush. He couldn’t see the bed. The television was on low in the background, it was an English channel, BBC World News. Mann stepped further inside the room. The door sprang closed with a click behind him. To his right was a wardrobe, desk and minibar. There were a couple of used glasses, whisky miniatures and small can of Coke. A half-drunk bottle of champagne was further along the desk. Just where Ruby had left it.

‘Oooh, champagne.’ Ruby picked up the bottle in the top of the fridge. ‘For me?’ she pouted.

‘You must be joking. It cost more than you. Put it back.’ Max Kosmos laughed hard at his own joke.

Ruby pretended to laugh with him. She squeezed his arm. ‘You got great physique. What you weigh, two hundred twenty pounds?’

‘Two hundred and twenty-five pounds of pure beef, baby.’ He laughed.

Ruby smiled as she turned her back to him. She stuck her bottom in the air and hitched up her dress a little to distract him as she reached inside the small fridge to get his drink out. She turned to look at him over her shoulder, made sure his eyes were glued to her rising skirt whilst she stirred the sedative into his drink. She would start with a small amount; she only wanted to make him tired enough so that she could tie him up. She didn’t want to knock him out so that he wouldn’t feel the pain. She poured herself a small shot of gin and a lot of orange.

‘Here, big man.’ She handed him the drink and clanked her glass against his. ‘Down in one, yes?’ She needed to make him drink it fast. She watched him drink it down and she swallowed hers in one gulp and then she poured him another.

‘Cheers.’

She clashed her glass against his. She could see his lips were wet, she smelt his sweat beneath his aftershave. She knew what he’d be thinking: he could handle his drink, and that it wouldn’t be him who was drunk. He would think he was being clever and that he knew these Asian women. They took some loosening up. A few drinks and she’d be legless with her arse in the air. He could be in for a good night. Cheap too: he could probably get away without paying her. After all, who was she going to complain to? She was nobody and he was Mr International Businessman.

Mann pushed the bathroom door open just enough. This was a plush room, marble finish. Toiletries lined up on the back of the basin, once neatly rolled facecloths now soaked with blood. Someone had cleaned up in there and not cared about the mess. Blood ran down the sides of the sink. Bloody pools washed over the marble top. Blood stained the fluffy white towels. He looked at the mirror. In the centre were smudges: kisses in pink.

Ruby breathed onto the mirror and drew a heart in the mist and put an arrow through it. On one side she wrote Ruby and on the other she wrote a man’s name, then she leant forward and kissed the cold mirror. She drew back sharply as her lip caught on a minute crack in the glass. A round drop of blood quickly bulged on her top lip and then dribbled down, she tasted it with her tongue, she touched it and watched it spread across her fingertips, a pretty colour: ruby red. She told herself that was why she had called herself Ruby. Rubies were precious, rare, the colour of a fresh cut just made, fresh blood spilt. But, someone else had named her it, the man who never came back, the man who left her to carry her baby alone and it had all been too much for her to bear. He had named her Ruby but it wasn’t because she was precious.