Archer notices there are two people inside the nightclub. One is a DJ hauling a set of record cases toward a platform. The second is a barman carrying a crate of bottled beer behind the bar. He glances across at Archer with a cautious expression before turning his back and dipping behind the bar.

Archer turns to Travis. ‘Do you think you could turn down the volume for a few moments?’

Travis bellows at the DJ and the music fades.

Archer approaches the bar and peers down at the barman, who is filling a fridge with the beer. ‘Hello.’

He seems to flinch but finishes placing the bottles in the fridge. He stands, wipes his hands with a cloth and curiously doesn’t look her way. He has a slim build, pale skin and dark hair that shines with too much hair gel.

Travis is beside her. ‘Jason, Detective Inspector Archer.’

The barman nods and wipes down the surface of the bar.

Archer holds out her phone. ‘Do you recognise this woman?’

He glances at the phone. His mouth twitches.

‘She was a regular visitor to this club,’ says Archer.

The barman scratches his nose and shrugs. ‘Was she?’

It doesn’t take an expert to see he is lying.

‘Perhaps you served her, or spoke to her?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Take a look again.’

He looks directly at Archer, a cold gaze lingers for a moment, before his eyes drop to the phone.

He shakes his head. ‘She looks like a hundred girls that come ’ere.’

Archer puts the phone back in her pocket. ‘Thank you, Jason.’

Quinn arrives. ‘All sorted.’

‘For the record, Mr . . .?’ she asks the barman.

‘Why do you want to know?’ he asks, frowning.

‘Paperwork.’

The barman can’t seem to stop wiping the bar.

‘Fuck sake, Jay, just tell ’em your name,’ says Travis.

The barman mumbles something indecipherable.

Travis interjects, speaking loudly on his colleague’s behalf, ‘Armitage. Jason Armitage.’

Armitage picks up the tray, glares at Travis and walks to the other side of the bar.

‘Thank you, Mr Travis. Enjoy the party. Both of you.’ She offers a parting glance to the barman and knows that they will be talking to him again soon.

Chapter 36

36

AFTER DROPPING OFF THE INFERNOS CCTV footage with Klara, Archer puts her phone on silent, sits next to Quinn and opposite Frank Kelly, who has slept off the booze and eaten a late lunch washed down with several machine coffees. There is one on the table in front of him, a brown-grey liquid inside a foam-insulated cup, which he holds between his thumb and index finger. He gazes at it as if under a weird hypnotic spell. The on-duty solicitor sits beside him, with a bored expression.

‘Mr Kelly . . .’ Archer begins, placing a manila folder on the table.