‘Don’t fucking pretend, nigger. You were after the Bridge of Spikes. The object that lets you come back from the dead. But you’re going to go away empty fucking handed. ’Cos some other fucker broke in here yesterday and took it.’

Ross found that she could barely breathe. She felt as if rocks had fallen into her stomach. Costain spun and kicked the sofa. ‘Who?’ he said.

‘Like I know!’ The woman sat down and made a noise that was halfway between a laugh and a sob. ‘You can tell everyone else it’s gone and all.’

‘Everyone else?’ asked Costain.

‘Two blokes came after it the night before. Most of my defences got used up on them. They finally got out, on fire, with me screaming at them. I should have legged it then; I should have taken it with me. I made all these fucking sacrifices, just so some—’ She had to stop, looking away. She wasn’t trying to fool them, Ross was sure. Someone had indeed looked inside their heads and seen what they were after, and they had come and taken it. Two lots of people, somehow, had known and had had a go. What did that mean?

Feeling almost a need to get close to someone with whom she shared such pain, she went to sit next to her. The woman looked puzzled at her, sure there was nothing more Ross could want from her.

‘You’re Anna Lassiter?’

‘How do you know my name? How did you know it was here?’

Ross reasoned that the next time this woman was among her subculture she’d hear about the auction anyway, so she told her about the price she’d paid.

‘Good,’ said Lassiter. ‘Your sacrifice was in vain too.’

Ross ignored that. ‘Tell us about the two blokes and the burglary the day after,’ she said. ‘All the details, from the top.’

‘Why should I? You only want to find it so you can have it for yourselves!’

Ross looked to Costain. He reached into his pocket and produced his police warrant card.

‘Oh, what?’ Anna Lassiter looked between them as if her week had, if that was possible, actually got worse. ‘You have got to be fucking kidding.’

*   *   *