They were both led to rooms leading off a corridor; through a couple of other doors could be heard more, rather artificial, sounds of passion. Again Costain tried not to respond to the art of those simulated groans. The woman he was with smiled professionally at him and let him into a particular room, a rather bare bedroom with a double bed, a shower in one corner and a single painting on the wall, apparently sourced from the same sort of place that provided anonymous art for hotel chains. ‘One hundred and fifty for a blow job,’ she said, her voice retaining that businesslike composure, ‘two hundred for straight sex, two hundred and fifty for anal, eighty for spanking, and I tell you when to stop, fifty for me using a strap-on on you, and if you want to look in the cupboard, there are toys in there, and I can tell you what each of them will cost to use.’

‘Okay,’ said Costain. ‘I’ll think about it.’

‘But first.’ She went and turned the shower on and, turning back to Costain, started to undress, with a series of practised movements. ‘Please call me Lucy, and let me know what you’d like me to call you.’

Costain wondered how long he could ethically wait to do this, and decided that, especially given who was listening, now would be good. ‘My name is Tony,’ he said, ‘and I’m actually a private investigator. No, keep the shower running.’ He stepped between her and it, and took a roll of bills from his pocket. ‘On top of your cut from what I gave your boss, I’ll give you four hundred for the answers to a few questions, none of which will jeopardize your employer or put you or your job at risk.’

She thought about it for a moment. ‘Money now, and I decide.’ He handed it to her. She counted it, then put most of it in her bag. She put the rest on the duvet. ‘You tell them you had a blow job.’

*   *   *

Sefton was also sitting on a bed, next to the woman he’d come here with, who called herself Mi Ling. He hadn’t come out with any particular cover story. He’d just started talking, which hadn’t surprised her. He supposed a significant minority of her clients did that.

‘You’re going to have to pay for the time,’ she reminded him after a moment.

He handed her some money and gave his background as one of the people he’d been as an undercover once, adding that they must get all sorts through here.

She made a non-committal noise, alert to anything in that direction. More than her job was worth, to give away information. Sefton realized that this was going to take a while. He manoeuvred the one-sided conversation back onto safer ground.

*   *   *