“Dunno what he was called.”

“Yeah, I tink it was Noel who was sacked,” Orla told Strike. Then, with a sudden and endearing bluntness, she said: “Gimme a tenner an’ I’ll make sure for ya.”

With a mental sigh, Strike handed over a note.

“Wait there, now,” said Orla cheerfully. She slipped off her bar stool, tucked the tenner into the elastic of her pants, tugged her dress down inelegantly and sauntered over to the DJ, who scowled over at Strike while Orla spoke to him. He nodded curtly, his jowly face glowing in the red light, and Orla came trotting back looking pleased with herself.

“I tort so!” she told Strike. “I wasn’t here when it happened, but he had a fit or sometin’.”

“A fit?” repeated Strike.

“Yeah, it was only his first week on the job. Big guy, wasn’t he? Wit a big chin?”

“That’s right,” said Strike.

“Yeah, an’ he was late, and Des wasn’t happy. Dat’s Des, over dare,” she added unnecessarily, pointing out the DJ who was watching Strike suspiciously while changing the track from “Are ‘Friends’ Electric?” to Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.” “Des was givin’ out to him about being late and your man just dropped to the floor an’ started writhin’ around. They say,” added Orla, with relish, “he pissed himself.”

Strike doubted that Brockbank would have urinated over himself to escape a dressing down from Des. It sounded as though he had genuinely had an epileptic fit.

“Then what happened?”

“Your mate’s gorlfriend come runnin’ out the back—”

“What girlfriend’s this?”

“Hang on—Edie?”

“Hm?”

“Who’s dat black gorl, now, with the extensions? The one with the great knockers? The one Des doesn’t like?”

“Alyssa,” said Edie.

“Alyssa,” Orla told Strike. “She come runnin’ out the back and was screamin’ at Des to phone an ambulance.”

“Did he?”

“Yeah. Dey took yer man away, and Alyssa went with him.”

“And has Brock—has Noel been back since?”

“He’s no bloody use as a bouncer if he’s gonna fall down and piss himself just ’cause someone’s shoutin’ at him, is he?” said Orla. “I heard Alyssa wanted Des to give him a second chance, but Des doesn’t give second chances.”

“So Alyssa called Des a tight cunt,” said Edie, emerging suddenly from her listlessness, “and he sacked her too. Silly bitch. She needs the money. She’s got kids.”

“When did all this happen?” Strike asked Orla and Edie.

“Couple of weeks ago,” said Edie. “But he was a creep, that guy. Good riddance.”

“In what way was he a creep?” asked Strike.

“You can always tell,” said Edie with a kind of hard-bitten weariness. “Always. Alyssa’s got fucking terrible taste in men.”

The second stripper was now down to her thong and twerking enthusiastically towards her scanty audience. Two older men had just entered the club and hesitated before approaching the bar, their eyes on the thong, which was clearly about to come off.

“You don’t know where I’d find Noel, do you?” Strike asked Edie, who seemed too bored to demand money for the information.