“Don’t tell Marcel, please,” Florence said, touching Annie’s arm. “It was nothing, really. They’re good customers, and he’ll think I want him to bar them. He’d never forgive me.”

“Forgive you?” Annie said.

“You know what I mean. If it seemed like I was complaining and trying to make something out of it. He wouldn’t tolerate behavior like theirs, but he’d blame me. It was no big deal. It happens.”

“Not so often in a restaurant like Le Coq d’Or, I shouldn’t think,” said Annie.

“You’d be surprised. Just because they’re posh doesn’t mean they’re not nasty. Plenty of regulars seem to think they’ve got ‘coqs d’or’ themselves.” Annie stared at her, mouth open for a couple of seconds, then they both burst out laughing.

When they’d quietened down, Florence said, “I’ve got to go now. I still have a few things to do before we open. But there’s one more thing that might interest you.”

Annie’s mobile started to vibrate but she ignored it for the moment. “What’s that?”

“The creepy one. He looked as if he’d been in a fight. He had a cut over one eye and bruising on his cheek.”

“Ah,” said Annie. “At least we know there’s some justice in the world, then.”

ZELDA HAD expected Keane to have changed his name along with his profession, especially as he was still wanted by the police for the attempted murder of Alan Banks, so she was hardly surprised by what Faye Butler told her. “Perhaps we could have a private chat somewhere?” she said. “The cafe? I promise I won’t keep you long.”

“All right. You’ve got me curious now. Fifteen minutes.”

They headed up the stairs to the cafe and found a secluded corner table. Zelda fetched them two coffees and sat down opposite Faye.

“What I’d really like,” Zelda said, “is to find this man, whatever name he’s going under.”

“What’s he done?”

“What makes you think he’s done anything?”

“Well, the NCA is asking after him, for a start. And if he had a reason to change his name . . . I mean, why would someone do that if they didn’t have something to hide?”

“Did you feel he had something to hide when you were with him?”

“He could be very secretive. I never felt I really got to know him. It’s like there was always another layer. That was one of the problems, I suppose. I didn’t feel I knew the real Hugh Foley. If there was one.”

“We don’t know that he has done anything yet,” Zelda said. “We just know that he was friendly with one or two criminals we had under surveillance.” She lay the picture on the table and tapped it. “What do you remember about this other man in the photo with the two of you?”