We went down a short passage to an open plan office holding three desks.

‘You’ve expanded,’ I said. ‘You used to have half this space.’

‘I’m doing okay. I’ve got two part-timers. I get a government subsidy for employing them, would you believe? You ought to be in on it.’

‘I’m just starting up again after a break. Barely enough work for me so far.’

She sat behind the biggest, most cluttered desk and pointed to a chair.

‘Good to see you, anyway. I guess one of my people must be in trouble. Who is it?’

Direct, that’s Sophie, at least when she was sober, which wasn’t always. She was in her fifties, overweight, vividly made up, energetic. She’d done most of the jobs she now handled as an agent herself in her time except for stunting, and she could be hard as nails or marshmallow soft as required.

‘Bobby Forrest,’ I said. ‘Trouble not really of his own making.’

‘It never is. Well, I know how it works. You won’t tell me a thing about it, and I have to tell you everything I know about him.’

‘Not quite like that. He hasn’t committed any crimes, isn’t a drunk or on drugs or a pedophile, as far as I know.’

‘That’s a relief. I can tell you that he’s a good kid. Good actor, a natural. Limited range but he’s working on that. In a way he’s got too many skills. He can do just about anything and the producers use him a lot, but in snatches, if you know what I mean. He’s yet to get any good, solid roles but he keeps busy.’

‘How bright is he?’

‘How bright are any of them? Not very.’

I showed Sophie the photograph of Miranda and asked if she’d ever seen her. She put on glasses and studied it carefully.

‘Chocolate box,’ she said. ‘No, don’t know her.’

‘Is Forrest, let’s say. . prone to violence?’

‘Ah, now we’re getting to it, are we? It’s not what he’s done, it’s what he might do.’

‘You’re talking. Go on.’