“George from the Hambleton Hotel. He said you could help me.”

Stick made a great show of carefully chalking his cue, but I could tell he was sizing me up from under his heavy eyebrows. Eventually he put his cue on the table and said to his opponent, “Be right back. Do not move a fucking ball. I have total recall.”

He strode across the hall and I followed him as he unlocked a side door and entered a stuffy, windowless office. He settled down in a scruffy armchair behind a scratched wooden desk and waved me to one of the three plastic chairs set against the wall.

He pulled a silver toothpick from his pocket and placed it in his mouth. “I’m not like George,” he said, the traces of a Caribbean accent still strong in his voice. “I don’t usually talk to strangers.”

“So what’s this? A job interview?”

He smiled. Even his teeth were narrow and pointed, like a cat’s. “You too little for a cop,” he said. “You wearing too much for a whore. You not twitchy enough for a pusher. Sweatshirt like that, maybe you a roadie’s lady looking for some merchandise for the band. I don’t think I’ve got anything to be afraid of, lady.”

I couldn’t help smiling. In spite of myself, I felt a sneaking liking for Stick. “I hear you might be able to help me. I’m looking for somebody I think you know.”

“What’s your interest?” he demanded, caution suddenly closing his face like a slammed door.

I’d given the matter of what to say to Stick some thought on the way there. I took a deep breath and said, “I’m a private inquiry agent. I’m trying to get in touch with this woman.” Again, I took out the photograph of Moira and handed it over.

He glanced at it without a flicker of recognition. “Who she?”

“Her name is Moira Pollock. Until recently, she was working the streets round here. I’m told you might know where she went.”

Stick shrugged. “I don’t know where you get your information, but I don’t think I can help you, lady. Matter of interest, what you want her for?”

In spite of his nonchalant appearance, I could see Stick had taken the bait. I reeled out my prepared speech. “Some years back, she was in the rock business. Then she dropped out of sight. But all those years, her work’s been earning her money. The record company held on to it and they won’t hand it over to anyone. Now her family badly need that money. They want to sue the record company. But to do that, they either need to prove Moira’s dead or get her to agree.”

“Sounds like a lot of bread to me, if it’s worth paying you to find out. So you working for this Moira’s family?”