Lance took the stairs slowly, listening for signs of life behind each door he passed. Voices approached from the stairwell above, and he dragged an old receipt from his pocket and pretended to be reading it as a couple approached.

‘So I told the doctor, there was no way I was going into hospital just for that …’

‘Excuse me,’ Lance said, an apologetic but winning smile, practised over many journalistic years to chivvy information from the unsuspecting, plastered on his face. ‘I’m looking for Janet Vargas. I know this is the right block, but it seems I haven’t got her flat number written down right.’

‘Vargas?’ the woman repeated. ‘I don’t know anyone by that name. You sure you’re in the right place?’

‘I thought I was … sorry, I don’t want to keep you. She’s about thirty, slim, roughly five foot five inches, dark hair, kind of Spanish-looking.’

‘You mean Janet Monroe,’ the man said. ‘Pretty, brown eyes, dark hair …’

‘Oh, really?’ the woman chipped in. ‘So she’s pretty, is she?’

The man sighed and Lance felt a twinge of guilt at the amount of grovelling the man was going to spend his evening doing.

‘That’s her,’ Lance said. ‘Do you know her flat number?’

‘Not sure exactly, but it’s on the third floor, right-hand side near the end of the corridor,’ the man offered, looking anxious to move on.

Lance didn’t blame him. His partner had adopted a hands-on-hips stance that didn’t bode well.

‘Thanks,’ Lance said. ‘Appreciate the help.’

‘Why do you want to know, anyway? She can’t be expecting you if you didn’t even have her name right,’ the woman said.

However much of a hard time she was about to give her partner, Lance was pleased she was suspicious. Too many people gave out information thoughtlessly.

‘I’m a journalist, actually,’ he said, getting his semi-official credentials out of his pocket and handing them over for inspection. ‘There was an incident in the city this afternoon that Janet was involved in. I’m just following up the story. Feel free to take a note of my name if it’ll make you feel better about it.’

‘What sort of incident?’ the man asked.

‘Why are you so interested?’ the woman shot back.

As the argument got into full swing, Lance took the opportunity to raise a hand in both thanks and farewell, taking the stairs to the third floor two steps at a time.