‘I went into her room to borrow a pair of stockings one day and found her giving herself a shot. She asked me to keep quiet about it.’

‘Which you did?’

Monica Grey shrugged. ‘None of my affair how she got her kicks. It was one hell of a shame, but there was nothing I could do about it.’

‘She was a Catholic,’ Miller said, ‘did you know that?’

She nodded. ‘She went to church nearly every day.’

‘And yet she killed herself after burning everything she owned in the central heating furnace downstairs and ripping the name tab out of the dress she was wearing when she died. It’s only by chance that we’ve managed to trace her this far and when we do, nobody seems to know anything about her. Wouldn’t you say that was peculiar?’

‘She was a strange kid. You could never tell what was going on beneath the surface.’

‘Father Ryan doesn’t seem to think that Joanna Martin was her real name.’

‘If that’s true, she certainly never gave me any clue.’

Miller nodded, turned and paced across the room. He paused suddenly. The table against the wall was littered with sketches, mainly fashion drawings, some in pen and ink, others colour-washed. All showed indications of real talent.

‘Yours?’ he said.

Monica Grey stood up and walked across. ‘That’s right. Like them?’

‘Very much. Did you go to the College of Art?’

‘For two years. That’s what brought me here in the first place.’

‘What made you give it up?’

She grinned. ‘Forty quid a week at the Flamingo plus a dress allowance.’

‘Attractive alternative.’ Miller dropped the sketch he was holding. ‘Well, I don’t think I need bother you any more.’ He walked to the door, paused and turned. ‘Just one thing. You do understand that if I can’t trace her family, I may have to ask you to make the formal identification?’

She stood there staring at him, her face very white, and he closed the door and went downstairs. There was a pay ’phone fixed to the wall by the door and Brady leaned beside it filling his pipe.

He glanced up quickly. ‘Any joy?’

‘Not really, but I’ve a feeling we’ll be seeing her again.’

‘I got through to H.Q. There was a message for you from Chuck Lazer. Apparently he’s been passing round the copy of the photo you gave him. He’s come up with a registered addict who sold her a couple of pills outside the all-night chemist’s in City Square just after midnight. If you guarantee no charge, he’s agreed to make a statement.’

‘That’s all right by me,’ Miller said. ‘You handle it, will you? I’ll drop you off at Cork Square and you can go and see Chuck right away. I’ve a ’phone call to make first.’

‘Anything special?’