The following morning, the sun was shining and I was full enough of the joys of spring to cycle into work. I was in the office even before Shelley, keying in all the information Richard had unwittingly given me the night before. I couldn’t imagine how it could be relevant, but I’d rather have it neatly stored in my database just in case. It’s a hell of a lot more reliable than my memory, especially when you consider how many brain cells shuffle off this mortal coil with every vodka and grapefruit juice. God help me if my computer ever gets the taste for Stolichnaya.

A few minutes after nine, Shelley put a call through to me. It was my friendly neighborhood copper. Derek’s a career constable. He doesn’t like the hassle that his seniors have to live with, so he tries to keep his head down whenever promotion is suggested. He does, however, like the vice squad. It makes him feel virtuous and he likes the perks. I’ve yet to meet a thirsty vice cop.

“Hi, Kate,” Derek greeted me cheerfully. “I popped round to the house, but I couldn’t get a reply, so I thought I’d try a long shot and call you at the office.”

“Very funny,” I replied. “Sorry I missed you, but some of us have to work long hours keeping the streets safe.”

He chuckled. “With your respect for the police, Kate, you really should have stuck to being a lawyer. Any road, I’ve got what you wanted. Your young lady does indeed have a record. First was five years ago. Soliciting. Fifty pound fine. There are three others for soliciting, ending up with two years’ probation just over a year ago. There’s also Class A possession charge. A small amount of heroin, personal use. She got a three hundred pound fine for that, but the

I scribbled frantically to keep up with his sad recital of what had become of the talented writer of Jett’s best lyrics. “What address have you got?”

“I’ve got as many addresses as there are offenses. All in the Chapeltown area of Leeds.”

Just what I needed. I didn’t know Leeds well, but I knew enough to know that this was bedsitterland. The kind of area where junkies and prostitutes rub shoulders with the chronically poor and students who try to convince themselves there’s something glamorous about such Bohemian surroundings. It isn’t an easy belief to sustain, especially after the murderous depredations of the Yorkshire Ripper ten years ago. I copied down the three latest addresses as Derek read them out at dictation speed. I had no real hopes of them but at least I now knew that when Moira had fled from Jett she’d headed over the Pennines. It was a start.