The man seemed to accept this. “I’m in the flat next to hers. I can usually hear her television.” He was leading Rebus up the narrow flight of uncarpeted stairs. There were two doors at the top, one standing open, revealing what looked to Rebus like a bedsit: sofa, bed, cooker all visible. The man tapped on Susie Mercer’s door. After a moment, Rebus tried the handle, without success. There was no letter box for him to peer through.

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“Few days back. You think she’s in there?”

“Could be.”

“I hope she’s all right.”

“Is there a landlord? He’d have a key, wouldn’t he?”

The tenant nodded his agreement. “Want me to fetch him?”

“He lives nearby?”

“Few streets away.”

“I’d appreciate that. Sorry again to interrupt your dinner.”

“It’s fine,” the man said, heading indoors to fetch his jacket. He hesitated, about to lock his door, then told Rebus he could wait inside if he liked.

“That’s good of you,” Rebus said, accepting the offer.

The room was small, the only available window open a few inches, presumably to release the smell of cooking. Looked like chili from a tin, with a bag of nachos to accompany it. There was no TV, just a computer on a desk, and the bowl of leftover food next to it. A movie had been paused. Rebus recognized the actor but couldn’t put a name to him. He plucked a nacho from the bag and popped it into his mouth. From envelopes on a ledge behind the door, it seemed the tenant’s name was G. Fortune. Rebus could only presume the G stood for something other than Good.

Next to the narrow single bed were a reading lamp and some well-used paperbacks. Thrillers, picked up for between ten and fifty pence, possibly from the charity shop downstairs. No music system other than an MP3 player attached to a large pair of headphones. No wardrobe either, just a rail for jackets, shirts and trousers, and a chipped chest of drawers for everything else. Rebus heard the downstairs door open and close, and two sets of feet begin to climb the stairs.

The landlord took Rebus’s hand when it was offered, but he had a question ready.

“You’re from the hotel?”

“I never said that,” Rebus commented.

“Geoff here says you did.”

Rebus shook his head. “He may have got that impression.” He took out his ID. “I work for the police, Mr.…?”

“Ralph Ellis. So what’s going on here?”

“Just a few questions for Ms. Mercer. She’s not been seen at work for a few days. Called in sick but hasn’t provided a doctor’s line.”

“You think maybe she’s…?” Ellis nodded towards the locked door.

“Only one way to find out, sir.”