When Jessica entered, the two men looked up in unison, eyebrows arched in mutual confusion about why the fully dressed woman in a suit was there. The receptionist knew instantly.

‘Are you Sandra?’ Jessica asked.

The woman was somewhere in her early forties but had definitely kept her looks – and chest. She nodded. ‘Feck off, will ya – all my accounts are in order; the girls are all healthy, all tested, all English, all willingly here. There’s no trafficked European girls here. Oh, and before you ask, I’m not a madam and I’m not running a brothel either. I’m an employee the same as anyone else. You can ask any of the girls.’

One of the men got slowly to his feet, desperately rearranging the crotch area of his trousers. ‘Is, er, everything, er, okay?’

Jessica slipped her hand into her jacket pocket and took out her identification, showing it to both men and then Sandra. Before she could turn back, both men had dashed for the exit, stumbling their way down the stairs and slamming the door at the bottom.

‘Feck’s sake, there was no need for that,’ Sandra said.

‘Aren’t you chilly?’ Jessica asked.

‘Ha ha, aren’t you the funny one.’ She nodded at Archie. ‘And you can stop looking at my tits too.’

‘Where else am I supposed to look?’ he shot back. ‘They take up half the room.’

Jessica put her ID away. ‘Look, we’ll leave quietly – we just need you to tell us something.’ She reached into her pocket and pulled out the printout, folding it flat on the counter until Hamish Pendlebury’s features were clear. ‘Do you know who this is?’

Sandra picked up the sheet and glanced at it, before returning it to the desk, pursing her lips, and rearranging her cleavage. ‘Everyone has confidentiality when they come in here.’

‘You’re not a sodding doctor’s surgery.’

‘Too bloody right we’re not. For one thing, we don’t have a three-month waiting list; for another, our clients always leave satisfied.’

‘If you don’t tell us, then we’ll have people coming here all day every day – hanging around, asking questions. Interviewing all the girls individually, going through your accounts with a fine-tooth comb.’

‘Knowing you bastards, you probably would as well.’ She winked at Archie. ‘Don’t think we don’t have your off-duty lot popping in for a quick in and out anyway. You’re all dirty bastards, you’ve gotta be to hang around with paedos and weirdos all day long.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Jessica replied. ‘And that’s just the superintendent and his mates. Anyway – do you know this guy or not? Believe me, whatever confidentiality you think you’re offering, he’d be grateful for an alibi.’

A grin spread across Sandra’s face as she picked up the sheet again. Somewhere in a back room a woman’s moaning reached what was either a genuine peak, or she was nailed on for some sort of acting award. Sandra nodded at Archie again. ‘That’s Holly – she’d like you.’

‘Do. You. Know. Him?’ Jessica snapped.

‘Fine! He’s one of our regulars. He’s in here at least once a week – you can’t forget that hair. I think he lives nearby.’

‘What days did you work last week?’

Another heave of the bra: ‘Christ, you’re not enforcing working time directive, are you?’

‘Do you ever answer a question?’

‘All right, bloody hell . . . I did daytimes Monday and Tuesday, then evenings Thursday to Saturday.’

‘What about this week?’

‘I’ve been on lates all week.’

Jessica pointed at the picture. ‘What days was he in?’

Sandra demonstrated an impressive set of lungs as she exhaled thoughtfully. ‘He always comes in to see Arianna – so that’s Wednesday and Friday last week and Monday this week.’

‘Is there any proof – a credit-card transaction, a cheque . . .’

‘What do you think we’re running here? We’re not bloody Asda.’

‘So it’s cash only?’

‘Obviously.’

‘But you’re absolutely, one hundred per cent positive he was here on those three evenings.’

Sandra folded up the photograph and handed it back. ‘Darling, when someone with a beard like that starts wanting to do the types of thing he does with Arianna, believe me, us girls talk about it.’

25

Jessica rolled over and fell onto the floor. She thought she was being nice after sneaking in late, not disturbing Adam and instead sleeping on the sofa. The result was that she’d barely slept at all, huddling under a thick blanket and twisting herself around it into such knots that she wasn’t sure what was blanket and what was clothing. Once again, she’d managed to work the entire day and most of the evening. The only thing she had done after getting home was creep up the stairs and peer through the crack that Bex left between the door and the frame to make sure that the teenager was still there. Jessica didn’t know why she felt so protective of Bex, but there was something there, something . . . motherly. No, not that. Sisterly? She couldn’t explain it because she’d never had those instincts before. Her younger self would have nicked Bex for the thieving and then spent the rest of the day congratulating herself for being so clever. Now . . . she didn’t know.

Jessica clawed her way onto the sofa again and started trying to straighten the blanket when the door creaked open. She spun to see the painfully thin outline of Bex standing in a vest top and pair of shorts. Her legs looked like a frog’s, thin with bandy knees, while her arms were wrapped around her midriff as they so often were. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I borrowed your stuff. Adam said—’

‘It’s fine, you can wear what you want. I don’t use half of it anyway. We’ll go through my wardrobe if you like.’

‘I couldn’t sleep – I was worried about you getting home. Adam said you’re always late but I was thinking about you being a police officer and . . .’

‘I didn’t want to disturb anyone, so I slept down here.’

Bex bobbed awkwardly from one foot to the other.

‘Are you cold?’ Jessica asked.

‘A bit.’

‘Hungry?’

She suppressed a smile. ‘A bit.’

Jessica picked up the blanket and draped it around Bex’s shoulders. ‘Let’s see what’s left in the kitchen.’

Bex sat shivering at the table under the blanket as Jessica began picking items out of the fridge. ‘I’m not really in the mood for a sandwich,’ she yawned, peering around the door at Bex. ‘You?’

‘I don’t mind.’

‘It’s too early to cook and the microwave’s too noisy, so we can’t really have anything warm. All the sausage rolls are in the freezer, so they’re off the menu.’

‘Honestly, don’t put yourself out.’

‘I don’t know why we have so much healthy shite in here. This is what happens when you let Adam do the shopping – it’s all bloody fruit and yoghurt. Oh sod this.’ Jessica opened the cupboard, lifted out the tins of baked beans and a packet of cream crackers, and then poked around for her secret stash of chocolate-coated chocolate chip cookies. She placed them on the table in front of Bex and then put the kettle on. ‘Nothing beats a brew and a biscuit – especially at three in the morning.’

With a tremor and a pop, the kettle finished boiling, so Jessica and Bex decamped back to the comfort of the living room, shivering under the blanket together and dunking their way through Jessica’s biscuits.

‘Are you sure you don’t mind me being here?’ Bex asked.

‘This place is too big for Adam and me.’

Bex pressed the mug to her chin, breathing in the warm fumes. ‘Does that mean . . . ?’

Jessica hated the question – it was what she always got from her mother and why she tried to avoid her phone calls. Kids: it always came down to bloody kids.

Bex must have sensed she’d asked the wrong thing. ‘Sorry . . .’

‘No, it’s . . .’ Jessica stopped, remembering – as if the name was ever out of her mind. ‘. . . I lost a baby and now they don’t think I can get pregnant again.’