She hovered a second on the threshold of the back room, locating Maggie in a nook on the right as advertised, then plotting a path that avoided the three waiting staff she could see. All were young women, all dressed in tight-fitting black under long white butcher’s aprons. This room was packed, too, but with everyone at tables, minus a bar, plus soft furnishings, it was a degree or two quieter, a little easier to navigate. She glanced around as she made her way over – couples, groups of friends in their twenties and thirties, a table of three blokes in their forties who looked slightly out of their element, possibly on a post-divorce pick-up mission. At another table, a guy of about thirty-five was drinking with two much younger women. He was moderately attractive, light brown hair cut almost as short as his stubble, a black leather biker jacket that looked expensive. The girls were both bottle-blonde and pretty in an over-made-up way, eyebrows plucked to near-extinction. As Robin passed, the man made a joke she didn’t quite hear and both of them laughed as if something depended on it.

A candle in a green glass cast Maggie in a witchy half-light. ‘I’ve just ordered a glass of vino,’ she said as Robin sat down. ‘And that trio of sliders.’

‘Haven’t you eaten? It’s nearly ten.’

‘Oh, I’ve had dinner,’ she said, dismissive. ‘Thanks for the Ladywood pics earlier, by the way. How did you get on in Selly Oak?’

‘Nothing,’ said Robin, full of guilt. ‘No-show.’

‘Happens all the time. As you know. Glass of wine?’ She held up a hand and caught the attention of the waitress, who came straight over.

‘Good evening. What would you like?’

What was her accent, Robin wondered, Italian? She was eighteen or nineteen and very pretty, with large wide-set brown eyes under a pale forehead and a full lower lip. Her hair was in a graceful, plaited kind of up-do, as if she’d come direct to her shift from a Renaissance fresco.

‘Red? Your friend ordered the Malbec. Would you like the same one?’

‘Yes, that’s fine. Thanks.’

Maggie waited until she’d retreated. ‘So,’ she said quietly, shifting closer. ‘Nuttall called just after I spoke to you. They’re not changing Becca’s status.’

‘Really?’ Robin frowned.

‘I know. Other more pressing cases, resources, the usual. He’ll keep checking in with us and obviously we’ll let him know anything pertinent ASAP.’

‘How did Valerie take it?’

‘I haven’t told her. She knows I’ve told him about the painkillers but not that they reviewed her status. What good would it do? I think it’s because she said she didn’t know about it, that Becca wasn’t off her face all the time, that they can justify stalling.’

‘How long have you been here? Seen anything?’