Vetter waved Farnham forward and Sergeant Raymond, who had looked round at once when he heard the American woman’s semi-hysterical voice, back. Raymond, who liked breaking pickpockets’ fingers like breadsticks (‘Aw, c’mon, mate,’ he’d say if asked to justify this extra-legal proceeding, ‘fifty million wogs can’t be wrong’), was not the man for a hysterical woman.

‘Lonnie!’ she shrieked. ‘Oh, please, they’ve got Lonnie!’. The Pakistani woman turned toward the young American woman, studied her calmly for a moment, then turned back to Sergeant Raymond and continued to tell him how her purse had been snatched.

‘Miss…’ PC Farnham began.

‘What’s going on out there?’ she whispered. Her breath was coming in quick pants. Farnham noticed there was a slight scratch on her left cheek. She was a pretty little hen with nice bubs – small but pert – and a great cloud of auburn hair. Her clothes were moderately expensive. The heel had come off one of her shoes.

‘What’s going on out there?’ she repeated. ‘Monsters…’

The Pakistani woman looked over again… and smiled. Her teeth were rotten. The smile was gone like a conjurer’s trick, and she took the Lost and Stolen Property form Raymond was holding out to her.

‘Get the lady a cup of coffee and bring it down to Room Three,’ Vetter said. ‘Could you do with a cup of coffee, love?’

‘Lonnie,’ she whispered. ‘I know he’s dead.’

‘Now, you just come along with old Ted Vetter and we’ll sort this out in a jiff,’ he said, and helped her to her feet. She was still talking in a low moaning voice when he led her away with one arm snugged around her waist. She was rocking unsteadily because of the broken shoe. Farnham got the coffee and brought it into Room Three, a plain white cubicle furnished with a scarred table, four chairs, and a water cooler in the corner. He put the coffee in front of her.