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what you do fucking best! Sniff around. See what you can find out. Look, I know you think Melinda’s just upped and left. But you’re wrong. Something bad’s happened to her, the same as it’s happened to all those other girls.’
    Reece’s heavy brows angled down into an intrigued, if slightly bemused, frown. ‘What other girls?’
    ‘I don’t know their names or how many of them there are. I just know other girls have gone missing.’
    ‘Are you suggesting there’s someone out there abducting prostitutes?’
    ‘I’m not suggesting anything. I’m stating a fact. It’s been going on for years. Everyone who works the streets around here knows it.’
    Reece pursed his mouth doubtfully. ‘Nothing’s reached my ears.’
    ‘Maybe that’s because you’re not listening,’ Staci retorted with an accusatory ring in her voice. ‘You’re not even hearing what I’m saying. Melinda hasn’t moved on. Some sick fuck who gets his kicks out of hurting prostitutes has taken her. Am I getting through to you? Are you understanding me?’
    ‘Alright, Staci, take it easy. I’ll look into it.’ Reece took a notepad and pen out of his jacket. ‘So tell me what you know about Melinda.’
    ‘She’s a lovely girl, really down to earth. The kind of person who’d do anything for you if—’
    Reece held up a hand to cut her off. ‘Let’s start with the simple stuff. What does she look like?’
    ‘I’ve got a photo of her on my phone.’ Staci scrolled past numerous photos of Amelia until she found what she was looking for. In the photo a girl in her late teens or early twenties was sitting on a stool at a bar, bottle of alcopop in hand. Melinda was a skinny bottle-blonde with a pretty face marred by acne scars visible even through heavy makeup. She had smiling blue eyes and smiling lips. She was wearing an off-the-shoulder black lacy top, a tight black miniskirt and calf-high wet-look PVC boots. A silver stud in the right-hand side of her nose caught the camera’s flash.
    ‘I’m going to need a copy of this.’
    ‘I’ll text it to you.’
    ‘How tall is Melinda?’
    ‘Maybe a couple of inches taller than me.’
    Reece jotted down ‘5′2″, 7½ stone’. He tapped the phone’s screen with his pen. ‘When was this taken?’
    ‘A couple of weeks ago. We were celebrating because she’d had an HIV scare that turned out negative.’
    ‘Is it possible this scare made her decide to stop prostituting herself?’
    ‘No way. It wasn’t the first time it’d happened. It’s an occupational hazard.’
    Reece couldn’t help but wince a little.
    ‘Don’t worry,’ said Staci, reading his expression. ‘I’m clean. I get tested every month.’
    ‘Have you got a phone number for Melinda?’
    Staci nodded. ‘But her phone’s been switched off ever since she disappeared.’
    Staci scrolled through her contacts to Melinda’s number. Reece punched it into his own phone. The call went straight through to an answering service. ‘Hi, Melinda, my name’s Reece Geary. I’m a friend of Staci’s. She asked me to contact you because she’s concerned for your safety. If you’re in trouble, whatever it is, I may be able to help you. Please don’t hesitate to contact me on this number, anytime, night or day.’ Reece left his number and hung up.
    ‘You’re wasting your time,’ said Staci. ‘I’ve already left her dozens of messages.’
    ‘Not necessarily. People in trouble are often more willing to talk to a stranger than a friend.’ Reece picked up his pen and notepad again. ‘Where did Melinda live?’
    ‘In Wayne’s flat on Wicker. She was his flavour of the month.’
    ‘And how was their relationship?’
    ‘Stormy. You’ve seen how Wayne is. But Melinda knew how to handle him.’ Staci darted a glance at the door. Her voice dropped. ‘If you’re thinking Wayne might have something to do with her disappearance, you’re barking up the wrong tree. The guy’s a nasty prick, but he’s not a