She seems to have forgotten her argument from before. I think about asking her, Wouldn’t you rather that happened to a doll instead of a real dog? A real child? But we’re not here for an ethical debate.

‘I was thinking something different,’ I say. ‘Giants.’

‘Giants?’

‘Yeah. Women more than, say, seven feet tall.’ On the forums where Biggs had been browsing, Sleeping Beauty had asked if anyone wanted to have sex with a giant in real life. A huge sex doll was the only way I could think of that the offer might be genuine.

Howard nods thoughtfully. ‘You know what? I do remember something like that.’

Thistle looks at me, impressed.

She starts to scroll through emails, talking as she goes. ‘Someone did ask me to make a giant. I assumed it was some kind of art project. I couldn’t help them, though. The moulds and skeletons are a standard size. I can’t make big women.’

I sigh. Another dead end.

‘Who was it?’ Thistle asks.

Howard hesitates. I can tell by the movement of her eyes that she’s found the email. ‘Confidentiality is crucial to my business,’ she says. ‘I can’t just give out customer details.’

‘We’re FBI,’ Thistle says. ‘And this person wasn’t a customer, if you didn’t make the doll.’

‘You got a warrant?’

Thistle and I look at each other.

‘I didn’t think so,’ Howard says. ‘Get one, and I’ll be glad to help.’

‘If we come back with a warrant,’ Thistle says, ‘we’ll end up with access to your whole database. Surely it’s better to tell us about just one customer rather than all of them?’

‘Sorry. But our privacy policy is clear on this. I could be sued if I give away more than I have to.’

‘Can you at least tell us if the customer was Kenneth Biggs?’ I ask.

Howard glances at the screen. ‘I can tell you it wasn’t Kenneth Biggs.’

I sigh, frustrated.

‘How about Shannon Luxford?’ Thistle asks.

‘Also wrong. Now, I can’t keep playing twenty questions with you. I have work to do. Come back with a warrant.’

•

‘Well, that was a bust,’ Thistle says, as we walk back to the car. ‘But it did give me a million-dollar business idea.’

‘Really?’ I ask.

‘Yup.’

‘Let’s hear it.’

‘You’ll have to sign an NDA first,’ she says, deadpan.

‘I’ll do it back at the field office. Spill.’

She spreads her hand wide. ‘Sex doll brothel.’

I laugh.