I gaped at him stupidly whilst the doctor moved towards a now sobbing Maya, and then Zack took me firmly by the arm and marched me to the door, down the front steps and to my car.

‘Help me, Rose,’ I could hear her calling pathetically. ‘Please, help me.’

‘You’re hurting me,’ I complained. ‘That girl needs help. Let me go.’

‘Do us all a favour, love. Get in the car and go now,’ he said. He smelled unpleasant, of stale sweat and something I couldn’t place. Something like ammonia. Something chemical.

‘Is – is Danny here?’ I said.

‘Danny?’ He stared at me like I was stupid. ‘He won’t help you, love. God, you’re all the same, you bloody birds. See those blue eyes and think he’s come to save you.’

He took my car keys from my pocket, opened the door, thrust me into the car, put the key in the ignition and turned the engine over.

‘But I tell you what, love, he’s worse than me. He’s dangerous. He might be a good fuck, and believe me, he’ll fuck anything, but he’d sell his granny for a quid. OK?’

He was so near I could smell his dinner on him, fighting with the chemical stench. I felt nauseous.

‘Go home. Be a good girl, OK? Go home, and stay there.’

By the time I got to the road I was shaking with rage and anxious indignation, and I did what Zack told me. I went home. I went home and I called the police.

Chapter Thirteen

I thought they would send someone but they didn’t. They took details and they knew who Kattan was – but they didn’t seem unduly alarmed or surprised by my call.

‘Are you making allegations of domestic abuse?’ they asked, and I couldn’t really say yes, because I had no evidence.

‘Just talk to her,’ I implored. ‘There’s something very odd going on.’ But they said they already had interviewed Kattan and his daughter in connection with Nadif”s death, and that unless I had evidence of any sort of violence, there was nothing they could do.

‘What is the conclusion about the death?’ I asked casually before I hung up, but the policewoman told me that was undetermined still.

‘The inquest is scheduled for some time next week,’ was the most I could wring from her.

When I hung up the phone rang again. It was James – finally.

‘All right, petal,’ the line was terrible, ‘sorry I’ve been—’

‘What?’ I found I was yelling. ‘I can’t hear you. Where are you?’

‘The mobile doesn’t work on the—’ Another massive crackle. ‘No signal this far south. I’ll be in Ho Chi Minh by tomorrow night. I’ll call then.’

‘OK,’ I said. I could hear my own voice echoing down the line. ‘Have you got a number where you are? At your hotel?’