It was a big heaving pile of flesh. Hairy backs, tattooed love handles and pimply behinds jumbled up in an orgy of bad taste. It took him several seconds to figure out that there were only four of them – two men and two women, all obese enough that ending up underneath them might be fatal.

Before any of them had a chance to notice him, he backed out into the shower room, pulled off the now much-too-big condom, wrapped his bathrobe around him and stepped into his slippers.

The event served as a reminder why he was there and steered him towards the red door that led out to a larger room with a black ceiling and red drapes along the walls.

The handful of lights in the room were so faint he had to stop and wait for his eyes to adjust again. People were spread out, conversing, holding cups of tea or coffee, as though this were a coffee break in a parish hall, with the slight difference that most people were naked.

There was a lot of paleness and obesity on which years of gravity had left indelible marks. Granted, some were tall and thin, but their posture seemed to be begging for back pain, and almost everyone, whether they were short and curvy or bald with guts so big they effectively concealed their private parts, had at least two or three tattoos.

From time to time, as if in response to a secret signal, a couple or an entire group departed for one of the adjacent rooms, and he was shot a number of inviting looks. But he pretended not to notice, and as soon as he saw the woman from the till enter and step in behind the bar, he walked over and sat down on one of the bar stools.

‘Hi there, how are you getting on?’ she said, serving the woman next to him a raspberry soft drink. ‘Get laid yet?’

‘That’s not why I’m here.’

‘Right, you’re here for a murder investigation.’ She chuckled. ‘Everyone comes here with an excuse the first time, though I will admit I’ve never heard yours before.’

‘Maybe because it’s true,’ he said. He waited until the woman next to him had left together with a couple in their forties. ‘So if you wouldn’t mind telling me what you know about Molly Wessman.’

‘At the risk of disappointing, I don’t know much more than you do.’ She shrugged. ‘She was one of our very first members, always showed up alone and was here maybe ten times, at a guess.’

‘What was her orientation? I mean, was she into anything in particular? Something outside the realm of the normal?’

‘And what exactly is outside the realm of the normal?’

‘I don’t know. Was she into BDSM? Did she like it rough? Or was she—’

‘So BDSM isn’t considered normal?’

‘I don’t know. This is your world. Not mine.’