Reluctantly, Robin told her about the conversation with Marta, omitting mention of her physical intimidation and threats to the woman, or her information about the church.

‘She definitely knew the police were turning a blind eye?’ asked Maggie.

‘Yeah.’

Elbow on the table, she tapped her fingers against her lips in the way Robin was coming to know well. ‘Is she Serbian? This Marta?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Might be why she was frightened at the door?’

‘It didn’t feel like it. And I told her I didn’t care about her status.’

‘Have you told Samir any of this, Robin? Or Webster, is it?’

‘Not yet. I will.’ At some stage.

‘Do. Then leave it alone – leave it to the people whose job it actually is. Please. There’s no point anyone trying to help you if you’re hell-bent on self-sabotage.’

‘I’m not. I—’

Maggie held up a hand then pointed at the laptop. ‘That’s all. Now, work – our work. How are you getting on?’

‘Nothing. I’ve been through all six of the syndicate now and the worst I can see is a year’s ban for drink-driving.’

‘Which one was that?’

‘Rob Wilson. The accountant from Kidderminster.’

‘How about the one in the picture you showed me? The school reunion.’

‘Steven Baker.’

‘I’m assuming that came to nothing, the connection to Josh? Just a coincidence or you would have told me, wouldn’t you?’ Her expression said it wasn’t a rhetorical question.

‘Of course I would. He did know Josh, he said, but purely from school. That was the only link between them.’

‘Right. So what about the manager, David?’

‘Not a lot so far. He used to run a place in Leeds, apparently, which gets good reviews at first glance. I’m going to poke around a bit more, see if there was anything there. His Facebook’s almost all Top Gear-style reposts about cars, and him and his mates getting hot under the collar about entertainment systems.’ It was a bit disappointing, actually, given the suave appearance; she’d hoped for evidence of an actual inner life. ‘But I’ll keep going. There’s something at The Spot, there has to be.’

‘Have you spoken to Tarryn again?’

‘Trying. I left her a message yesterday lunchtime but she hasn’t called me back. I’ll give her another go now.’

It was amazing, Robin thought, that you could grow up in a city, live there for eighteen years, and still be oblivious to an entire, apparently vibrant subculture a handful of miles from your doorstep. If you’d asked her yesterday, she’d have thought of the Serbian Orthodox church in Ladbroke Grove, her old turf in London, before she’d ever remembered one in Bournville.