‘Please sit down, DCI Clay,’ said Norma Maguire, wheeling herself behind her desk.

Clay smiled at Norma Maguire and, in the cold grip of the overhead fluorescent light, noticed just how much make-up the estate agent was wearing. In a glance, Clay saw that the beige foundation that covered the surface of her face looked three layers thick; her eye shadow looked like it had been smeared across her eyelids with a pair of thumbs. The only part of her make-up that was well-applied was her lipstick but, in her view, it was redder than it should have been for a Friday in the office. She was clearly a woman who felt under-dressed without a heavy slap of war paint on her face.

The landline rang on Norma Maguire’s desk. She looked at Clay and said, ‘Excuse me.’

‘Excused.’

Clay looked around the room and her eyes were drawn to the back of a framed photograph on the desk. She glanced back at the wall lined with group portraits and concluded that every last man and woman was smiling a little too enthusiastically.

Norma placed the receiver down and faced Clay directly.

‘Is Francesca in trouble?’

‘Possibly.’

‘In what way?’ asked Norma Maguire.

‘Are you happy for me to call you Norma?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘I understand that Francesca left your employment yesterday, Norma?’

‘It came as a huge and unpleasant shock. I thought we had a good relationship. I was obviously mistaken. She presented as a pleasant young woman but she was also our out and out best salesperson by a country mile. It’s been a double blow.’

‘Why did she leave Maguire Holdings?’

Norma shrugged her shoulders and looked utterly puzzled. ‘I don’t know. When she resigned, she was in no mood for a meaningful dialogue. It was completely out of the blue.’

‘Do you know if or where she went to?’

‘Doherty Estates and Properties. Just down that way on Allerton Road. Can I ask you again, DCI Clay. Why are we talking about Francesca Christie?’

‘She went on a date last night and she hasn’t shown up.’

‘I tried to warn her!’

‘How do you mean, Norma?’

‘The last significant conversation we had before the one in which she told me she was leaving.’

Norma Maguire opened a drawer in her desk and placed a card file in front of Clay. She noticed how Norma’s eyes were troubled, dithering as she processed a string of unpleasant ideas.

She took a deep breath and explained, ‘Francesca had technical problems with the laptop I gave her for work. I sent it away to be repaired and, when it came back, the technician flagged up to me that Francesca had been using her work laptop to conduct discussions with men on an internet dating site.’

‘Which dating site?’ asked Clay.

Norma thought about it. ‘Pebbles On The Beach.’

‘What’s in the file, Norma?’