Bish stumbled to his feet, searching the oval and grandstand. She was here?

‘Violette?’

But she’d already hung up. He punched Grazier’s number just as the starter’s gun went off. He looked up to see Bee, and she was beautiful to watch. He hung up. He didn’t know for sure what Grazier’s people had in store for Violette, and he didn’t want to be the one to tell Noor LeBrac that he had found her daughter and had no idea if she had been taken to a twelve-foot-square cell in Paddington Green.

Violette had rung him. It was progress. He’d find another way.

Layla Bayat walked into the pub and most of the men turned to have a second look. Bish was no exception. She was beautiful. Long, thick, wavy black hair, and a pretty impressive body fitted in a black suit. She slid onto the bar stool beside him and he tried not to stare at the way her skirt rode up, because he was almost twenty years older than her and women like Layla made him feel past his prime.

‘What can I get you?’ he asked.

‘The Sangiovese.’

He signalled the guy behind the bar and fought the urge to order a second Scotch. He settled for a tonic water.

‘What did I overhear Violette saying to Eddie?’ he asked, getting straight to the point.

‘You need to talk to Noor about Violette,’ she said. ‘Not me.’

‘Noor and I aren’t exactly on chatty terms, Layla. In fact I’m up there with the top three people she’d prefer to see under the wheel of a bus.’

She studied him suspiciously. ‘Were you one of the arresting officers?’

‘No,’ he said, then decided to go for broke. ‘But I was sent into the cell to take Violette from her that day.’

She looked horrified. ‘I think I could hate your guts for that too.’

‘But then you’d have to remind yourself that no one from the neighbourhood went down to the station to collect Violette,’ he said. ‘Didn’t family and friends turn their backs on the Sarrafs?’

Her wine arrived and she took a sip without answering.

‘I reckon that’s something Noor and Jamal will never get over,’ Bish continued. ‘They expected it from the government, but not their neighbours.’

She looked away. He could tell it was a sensitive issue for Layla. Perhaps he should have pointed out that she was only seventeen at the time, but he doubted it would make her feel better.

‘My mother’s only way of dealing with the whole mess was to nurse Aziza Sarraf when she was released from jail,’ Layla said. She looked up, angry tears in her eyes. ‘Jimmy should have been there with her.’

‘What did Violette say to Eddie, Layla?’

‘You could have got this translated by anyone without mentioning Violette,’ she said. ‘What do you want from me?’

‘I care what happens to those kids and I figure you do too. That’s why I came to you with this. You were still there for a Sarraf after everything that happened. Not many people were. Etienne LeBrac certainly wasn’t there for his daughter.’