Standing beneath the footbridge that spanned the platforms, Sasha could see the rear of the train where it had finally come to a stop a quarter mile further up the track. CSIs moved about the front carriage like ants, swabbing its steel surface. A PolSA team, trained police searchers, moved methodically along the tracks in a tight line.

A single white tent had been erected fifty yards beyond the end of the eastbound platform, which meant the body was at least partially intact. Sasha and Ajay walked down the slope at the end of the platform towards it.

A couple of CSIs stood outside the tent chatting as they approached. Sasha paused at the entrance for a moment, steeling herself to face the body inside. Ajay waited patiently for her to gather her thoughts.

‘That girl who disappeared,’ she turned to ask him. ‘Was she ever found?’

He shook his head. ‘No.’

She gestured at the tent, inviting him to go in first. ‘Brains before beauty.’

3

‘Hey, Abs, thanks for coming.’

‘Sure, no problem.’

‘It’s not often we get someone as famous as you in one of our retail units. Have you ever opened one of our shops before?’

‘No.’ Abs looked around QuidStore, with its shelves of products at rock-bottom prices and its automated tills. It smelled of bleach and air freshener. He tried to sound upbeat. ‘This is my first… discount store.’

‘We’re really pleased you’re here.’ The assistant manager was a young Asian man, who looked like he’d just left school. ‘What we’d like you to do is say a few words outside about what you love about QuidStore, and then cut the ribbon, maybe chat to some of our customers.’

‘Sure thing.’

Abs gave the guy a big grin, because that’s what everyone wanted from him, that’s what they expected – a flash of his famous pearly whites – but inside he felt depressed. He had fallen a long way since that time he was flown out by private jet to make a personal appearance at a millionaire’s party in Ibiza. Here he was, opening a discount shop – a QuidStore – on Basildon High Street.

‘Excuse me.’

A woman with a shopping trolley came up to him and he took out his Sharpie, ready to give her an autograph. In his career, he’d had to sign all kinds of things, even cheeky bits of flesh, although it had been a few years since women had thrust their chests at him.

‘Yes, darling?’

He waited for her to ask him to sign something, but she pointed over his shoulder. ‘I just want to get to the detergents.’

‘Oh,’ said Abs, moving out of the way. ‘Sorry, love.’

‘We got word out to the local press, but to tell you the truth we were expecting more of a crowd,’ the assistant manager said, embarrassed.

There were half a dozen people outside with their phones in their hands. But Abs didn’t kid himself. Some of those were passers-by who had seen the balloons and ticker tape and had stopped to see what was going on. It was all very different from the days when he arrived in a limo to open luxury apartments, state-of-the-art spas and glitzy nightclubs. He missed those receptions with champagne and canapés on silver platters; he used to love those little prawn things, the biscuits covered in creamy pâté, and pulled pork sliders, served by sexy women in tight black dresses. In those days, everyone was eager to get into his orbit.