She’d started crying, her cheeks were wet. ‘Because of Shannon – she protected me. She looked after me.’ She paused. ‘And I need the money.’

‘There’s other ways to earn money. You were doing something else before, weren’t you, before you met him?’

‘But I wasn’t …’ She looked at Robin. Without saying a word, she pushed up the sleeve of her jacket, revealing the bruised inside of her elbow.

Jesus. She’d guessed but still. ‘What’s his name?’ she said. ‘His real name.’

‘What are you going to do?’ The panic again, knife-sharp.

‘I’ve got a contact in the police, a friend.’ Well, not exactly but she didn’t have to know that. ‘I’m going to tell him what you’ve told me but not who you are or anything about you that would help him find you, okay? I don’t even know your name.’

‘You promise.’

‘Yes.’

Another furtive look in the glass then, lips barely moving, she muttered, ‘Daniel Staverton. Danny.’

‘Do you know where he lives?’

A head-shake. ‘The flats are in Handsworth or Sandwell – somewhere there, I don’t know the area.’

‘Do you know the street? The name?’

‘No. We went there in a van. Into a garage.’

She moved suddenly, slipping round the shop corner like a wraith. Robin followed.

‘I have to go,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t do this – I feel like I’m going to have a heart attack.’

‘Okay. But thank you. For talking to me – doing this. It was very brave.’

‘I want them to get him. For Shannon. And the rest of us. I just want to feel safe.’

‘When they do,’ Robin said, ‘and they will, there are ways out. This doesn’t have to be it. You’ve got my number – call me whenever you want, any time, I’ll do whatever I can to help you. I mean it. Or here.’ She patted her pockets and found the little Muji case of cards Maggie had given her. Robin Lyons, Private Investigator, MH Investigation Services. ‘If you’d prefer, there’s this woman, Maggie Hammond. It’s her business. She works with women who need help, that’s her thing, and she’s good. The top one’s her office number. She wouldn’t charge you.’

‘You work for her?’ The girl looked at the card.

Robin hesitated. ‘Sometimes. And she’s a friend. You can trust her.’

‘Thank you.’ She slipped it into her pocket and turned to move away.

‘Wait,’ Robin said. ‘One more thing. The picture I wanted to show you …’

The girl looked stricken but she stopped.

Robin gave her the photograph she’d ripped from Ana’s corkboard, Ana, Marta and their housemates in the garden, peering into the afternoon sun. ‘This woman,’ she said. ‘The blonde one. Do you know her?’