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mused, ransacking my memory banks.
    ‘That’s right.’ Bill frowned. ‘You’ve got me really worried now. I’d better have a word with my new North Yorkshire colleagues.’
    He didn’t add anything, and I wasn’t particularly interested in pursuing the subject. It was all speculation anyway. He got up to go.
    ‘Now you’ve warmed your bones and drunk all my coffee, you’re hitting the road, eh?’
    ‘That’s it.’ Before he left he added, ‘On reflection, it’s probably drugs. I’d put my money on it.’
    Maybe, I thought as I watched his big machine drive away. The girl hadn’t seemed like a drug addict, but you didn’t have to be one to be involved in the transportation of drugs. All you had to be was greedy, or in fear of somebody. I didn’t know if she was greedy or not, but the girl had certainly been terrified and desperate. That seemed a good enough qualification to me.
    There remained the possibility that she had been a trafficked person, or involved in smuggling F16s or Chieftain tanks – or even not involved in events at Port Holland at all, of course. There was always that possibility, too.
    But my money was on her being involved. Somehow. I was sure of it. Otherwise, we were looking at a hell of a big coincidence.

9
    J ust before lunch I set off for Middlesbrough. I was meeting a potential client, a Jack Picknett, who wanted me to check out his place of business. He was worried about security, apparently. So his secretary said. We were meeting in a country pub in Marton, just outside what some people used to call ‘Steel City’, before they stopped making the stuff there.
    I arrived in the car park and sat for a few moments. I was early. So I had time to think some more about my mysterious visitor back at Risky Point, which I would have preferred not to do. She was taking over my life.
    Once again, though, I got no further. I knew no more about her now than I had that first night, apart from the fact that people were looking for her. That seemed to suggest she might still be around. So when I got home I would carry on looking for her as well, just in case she hadn’t got clean away. I was still worried she was supposed to be a fourth headless body.
     
    I was meeting my potential client in the restaurant. I can’t say I was particularly hungry or looking forward to a posh meal. I wasn’t in the mood. But sometimes you can’t afford toturn down an offer you wouldn’t have made yourself. It doesn’t hurt to be gracious occasionally.
    I asked for the table booked in the name of ‘Picknett’, adding that I was a little early. The waitress took me straight to a table by a window overlooking an immaculate lawn that was occupied by a variety of bird life. The feeders dotted around indicated that the birds were part of the regular entertainment. That was OK by me. I quite liked looking at birds that for once were not seagulls.
    The waitress went off to fetch me a glass of orange juice while I waited. I wouldn’t have minded a beer, but first impressions can count for a lot when you’re meeting a prospective new client. I wanted to learn more about the job before I risked blowing it.
    ‘Mr Doy?’
    I turned and looked up at a tall woman somewhere in her early thirties with long blonde hair who was towering over me.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Thank you for coming. I’m Ms Picknett.’
    I stood up. We shook hands. Then she moved round the table to sit down opposite me, giving me time to adjust.
    ‘Anything wrong?’ she asked, picking up on my confusion.
    ‘No, not a thing. It’s very pleasant here. Jack?’ I added.
    ‘Without the “k”.’
    ‘Jac?’
    ‘That’s it.’
    I chuckled and shook my head, trying hard to rid myself of the image of ‘Jack Picknett’ I had conjured up in advance: a fat, balding, middle-aged, businessman.
    ‘It sounds much the same.’
    She smiled and nodded agreement.
    ‘Your secretary could have warned me.’
    ‘She likes to have her little joke.’
    The