And when she finally let it go, my phone began to vibrate and I fought the urge to throw the damn thing out of the window.

GINGER GONZALEZ CALLING, it said.

Her voice was soft and low and urgent.

‘The woman in the cab,’ she said. ‘Rabia Demir. The one who lived, Max. She’s sitting in my office.’

PART THREE

The Girl in the Cab

27

The lights were coming on all over Chinatown.

I drove as close as I could get, the blues and twos flaring and screaming, all the city making way for me. I left the BMW X5 on Gerrard Place but it was only when I saw the shrine of dead flowers that I realised exactly where I was parked.

For a long moment I stood under the red-and-gold awning of the dim sum restaurant, staring at the flowers that marked the spot where we had found the lorry with twelve women who died and one woman who lived.

And then I ran.

I ran through the dawdling late afternoon crowds on Gerrard Street to the doorway by the duck restaurant halfway down and then up the ancient wooden staircase three steps at a time to the bright white room on the first floor.

The door to Sampaguita was closed.

Low voices were coming from inside.

I went in without knocking and stared at Ginger Gonzalez and a man I didn’t recognise. He was not yet thirty, a clean-cut City type, lean inside his good suit, the kind of man who goes to the gym for a serious cardio workout before he goes to move money around in one of the big glass towers. He looked privileged but not soft. It was a look you were seeing more and more. He was smiling at Ginger as he moved slowly towards the door, about to make his exit.

I was about to knock him to the ground when Ginger spoke.

‘Max, this is Kris. Max is a colleague of mine, Kris.’

He held out his hand, smiling politely, and I had shaken it before I knew what I was doing.

‘Good to meet you, Max.’ He turned to Ginger. ‘I’ll call you later.’

As he left, I stared at her wildly.

‘Where is she?’ I said. ‘Where’s Rabia Demir?’

‘She’s gone, Max.’

‘How can she be gone? Where did she go? Have you got a number, an address? Why the hell didn’t you keep her here?’

‘I’m sorry, I tried, but Kris showed and she got spooked.’

‘How long ago?’

‘Fifteen minutes.’

I went to the window and desperately looked down at the crowds.

Then I banged my fist hard against the wall and cursed.

‘You don’t know where she went, Ginger? You let her walk out just because some john from Deutsche Bank shows up?’

Her face clouded.

‘Kris is not a client, OK?’

I looked at her for a moment, long enough to work it out.