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tell.
    Keffer’s block of flats seemed just as deserted at half past seven in the morning as it had done the evening before, the only difference being that there were more BMWs parked in the residents’ parking spaces.
    This time they were lucky. After five minutes of earnest doorbell-ringing their endeavours were rewarded by the appearance of a bleary-eyed man in his forties. A short towelling robe, insecurely fastened, fell open to reveal a pair of garish red boxer shorts decorated with a yellow slogan which, Wesley guessed, was probably rude, but he wasn’t prepared to study it long enough to read it. They producedtheir warrant cards and the bleary eyes widened into suspicious wakefulness.
    They were led into a darkened living room. It looked as though someone at least had had more fun the previous evening than Heffernan and Wesley had experienced at the St Dominic Hotel. An empty wine bottle stood on the tiled coffee table amongst tumbled lager cans, overspilling ashtrays and dirty glasses. The fuggy air reeked of cigarette smoke and perfume. Keffer made himself decent and drew the curtains back. The place looked more squalid in the grey daylight.
    Heffernan addressed the wary Keffer with impeccable formality. ‘Ever been to Devon, sir?’
    ‘What’s this? Tourist board making house calls now?’ Keffer smirked at his own wit.
    ‘Just answer the question please, sir.’
    Keffer shook his head. ‘Florida’s more my scene.’
    ‘We’re investigating the death of a young woman. She was found near Tradmouth. Know where that is, sir?’
    ‘No idea.’ He looked as if he might be telling the truth.
    ‘I wonder if you’d have a look at this photograph, sir.’ Heffernan nodded to Wesley, who handed the photo over. They watched Keffer’s reaction.
    ‘Karen … it’s Karen.’
    Heffernan’s eyes shone with the excitement of the chase. ‘Karen who?’
    ‘She’s not, er … is she?’
    ‘What can you tell me about her?’
    Wesley got his notebook out and prepared for some serious writing.
    ‘Look, I didn’t know her well and it was three years ago … more. She only modelled for me a couple of times – tasteful stuff, you know.’ Wesley raised his eyebrows. ‘She was a nice kid, just a bit short of cash; you know how it is.’
    ‘No, I don’t. You tell me.’ Heffernan leaned forward, challenging.
    ‘Well, there are girls who’ve been in the business years but sometimes the punters like a new face – someone different.’ He paused, waiting for a reaction. He got none. ‘Karen was a friend of a friend. She needed the money.’
    ‘Drug habit?’ Even though no traces had been found in the body, it was worth asking.
    ‘No way. She wanted to go on a modelling course. I was offering her some experience.’
    I bet you were, thought Wesley.
    ‘Look, I was helping the girl out, giving her some modelling experience, and she was getting paid for it. What’s wrong with that?’
    Heffernan assumed the question was rhetorical. ‘What can you tell us about her?’
    ‘I’ve told you. I hardly knew her.’
    ‘Anything you can tell us … anything at all.’
    Keffer sat in silence for a few seconds, gathering his thoughts and his dressing gown round him. ‘I didn’t know her well, mind, only professionally. I just arrange the models and take the pictures.’
    ‘So who introduced you?’
    ‘One of my usual girls.’
    ‘Name?’
    ‘Sandra.’
    ‘Sandra what?’
    ‘Don’t know … forgotten. Something ordinary. Smith or something.’
    ‘Where can I find her?’
    ‘Dunno. Haven’t seen her in eighteen months. They come and go.’
    ‘This Karen. Where did she live?’
    ‘With her mum.’ The policemen exchanged glances. Now they were getting somewhere.
    ‘Got an address?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Surname?’
    ‘Something foreign. She said her dad was American, killed in a car crash. Dunno if it was true. Sometimes they make things up to make themselves more … you know … glamorous.’
    ‘Who do?’ The