He types missing persons list UK and hits return. Immediately a list of sites appears at the top of which is one that says ‘UK Missing Persons Unit’. He clicks it and we are taken to a page with a kind of form on it.

‘Gender female,’ he says to himself as he fills in the lines. ‘Age when last seen?’

‘I don’t know, late twenties,’ I say, watching him type.

‘I’ll put twenty-five to thirty,’ he says. ‘Ethnicity?’

‘White?’ I say, not sure what the form wants to know exactly.

‘White European,’ he says, and then presses a button that says search. I hold my breath without knowing why.

A moment later the results are displayed.

‘Only one,’ he says. ‘Do you want case details?’

I nod as he presses the button.

‘Oh. She’s been found. Found at the roadside. Eyes: blue. Clothes: waterproof jacket. Possessions: an Oyster card and some cash. And jewellery.’

I stare at the photofit that appears on the screen and realise that I don’t actually know what the woman looks like. All I can see is her dark hair and her body as it is bent back over the table. I remember her bloodstained shirt. No, wine-stained.

‘Not her,’ I say to Amit. ‘Thanks anyway.’

‘We’d have more luck with a name,’ he says then. ‘I know you don’t know it but we might be able to find it.’

This shocks me a little.

‘What? How?’ I say.

‘Well. Who is she, this woman? Where do you know her from? Where does she work?’

I shake my head at every question.

‘Where does she live?’ he says, running a hand through his hair.

‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘Wait – if you know the address, can you find out on the computer who lives there?’

‘Probably,’ he says nonchalantly.

‘How?’

‘Just,’ he says, and then looks at me as I wait for more. Finally, he waves his hands in the air and says, ‘World Wide Web magic.’

‘42B Farm Street, Mayfair,’ I say. ‘Type that.’

We sit at the computer for the next few minutes as Amit slips effortlessly from one website to the next. He has the ability to flick back and forth between lists and sites before I’ve even registered what is on them.

Finally, he looks up and says, ‘I can tell you when it was bought. But that’s all I’ve got.’

‘The flat? Really?’ I say, surprised.

‘Yep. It was bought in May 2017 for – wow, 7.2 million pounds.’

The number makes me blink. ‘Does it say who by?’

‘No. But you could find out by looking at the electoral register, apparently,’ he says after a few more clicks.

‘Can I do that online?’

He taps away for a moment before turning to me. ‘You can either go to Westminster Council and look at it. Or you can buy it.’

‘Buy it?’