He stubbed out his cigarette and drank some coffee. I drank some as well and bet myself he’d light up again as soon as he’d swallowed and put his cup down. He did. That seemed to invite me to speak.

‘How old’s your daughter, Mr Price?’

He exhaled a cloud of smoke. ‘Eighteen.’

‘An adult.’

‘Not really. She lives at home, doesn’t work, is totally dependent. On the surface.’

‘I get the picture. I think you need professional help of a different kind — counselling

‘No, you don’t understand. It’s a matter of who she’s selling the drugs to!’

I had a vision of pimples and school uniforms, knee-length shorts and skateboards even, caps worn back to front, and was still less happy. ‘Selling to children is a serious offence,’ I said. ‘But if she hasn’t been caught and charged you can still…’

For a smooth, apart from the smoking, prosperous-looking type, the bitterness and harshness of his laugh came as a surprise and got my attention. He drew deeply on his cigarette, blew out the smoke and seemed to have forgotten about his coffee. ‘She’s not selling to kids,’ he said. ‘I could deal with that in some way or other. She’s selling it to my wife!’

After that I got the full story, chapter and verse. Eighteen-year-old Danielle was the only child of Price’s first marriage. His wife had died young of cancer when Danielle was eleven. Five years later Price, who was in his early forties by then, had married Samantha, a model who was twenty years younger than him.

‘I… ah, met Sammy a couple of years after Annette was killed but we waited a few years to get married. I wanted Danni to be old enough to understand and accept it.’

Sammy and Danni, I thought. Chummy as all get out. ‘And did she?’

Price shook his well-groomed head. ‘No, not at all. She hated Sammy on sight and there’s been nothing but trouble since.’

I was making notes, being professional, although I wasn’t sure I wanted any part of this. ‘So your wife’s what age now?’