She shook her head.

‘There’s a big road from London to the north of England. The M1.’

‘Rings a bell,’ Edie said.

‘There is a place for petrol and food where the M1 meets the M25. That is where the travel agent dropped us.’

‘London Gateway service station,’ I said.

‘But all this is ten years ago!’ she protested.

‘And who found you work?’ I said.

She bit her lower lip and looked towards the window again. But there were no cars out there now.

‘There were men waiting to meet us at this place on the M1,’ she said, reluctantly sitting on the La-Z-Boy. ‘They knew we were coming. One of them gave me work. Me and another girl from – I don’t know. I think her country was Thailand.’

‘You worked at the Champagne Room,’ I said.

She drew an audible intake of breath.

‘But you ran away from the Champagne Room,’ I said. ‘You went to London. And you met Ginger Gonzalez.’

A car pulled on to the tiny driveway.

‘Please,’ she said. ‘I don’t know anything about those women.’

‘How did those men know you were coming?’ I said. ‘How did it work? Did the travel agent arrange this job for you?’

A key turned in the front door.

‘I don’t want to get into trouble,’ she said. ‘Please.’

Her husband walked into the room. He was a large and burly red-faced man, who looked as though he had played rugby twenty years ago, or at least watched a lot of it.

And he was a sergeant in the Metropolitan Police.

He came into the little living room with a smile on his ruddy face and it fell away when he saw Edie and me, standing to meet him with our warrant cards in our hand.

‘Sergeant Jenkins, I’m DC Wolfe and this is DC Wren of West End Central,’ I said. ‘We’re here—’

‘I can guess why you’re here,’ he said. ‘Ash doesn’t know anything.’

Ash was his nickname for her.

As if she was someone else now.

And perhaps she was.

‘Now get out of my house before I throw you out.’

Most people think that detectives outrank uniformed officers but it is not true. Plain clothes mean nothing to a police officer. As a sergeant, Jenkins outranked us.

Edie and I glanced at each other. I could see it in those blue eyes. We were not going to get much more out of Asuman Jenkins unless we played rougher and brought her in for a formal interview. And I suspected that leading us to the Champagne Room was about as far as she could take us.

We made our way to the door. Asuman Jenkins stayed in the living room but Sergeant Jenkins dogged our steps. Edie slipped out the front door and I turned to look at the big sergeant.

‘One more thing,’ I said.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Nothing else. Sling your hook.’