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had been drawn into that way of life. It had given him an idea for a possible future article on the subject. He stared at the number for a minute then dialled it. He was about to give up when a male voice answered.
    “Hello, I’d like to speak to Sammy if she’s around,” he said.
    “Sammy? Ain’t no one here by that name.”
    Before he could speak again, the line went dead.
    Just then, he saw Alison and Gillian walk into the A & E Department, passing Strong and his colleague as they left to walk back to their car. He gave it a minute then made his way back inside.
    Alison and Gillian were sitting in the waiting area. As he approached, they both stood up.
    “Thank you,” Gillian said, kissing him lightly on the cheek. She sat back down.
    Alison beamed at him. “Well done. God knows how long she would have been there if you hadn’t found her. So much for the police, eh?”
    “Just good luck, that’s all. What news?”
    “She’s in theatre now. Doctors will tell us more as soon as they can.”
    “Look, I’ve got to get back. Give me a call if there’s any news.”
    “Sure.” Alison reached for his hand and squeezed it.
    He leant forward and kissed her. “See you tonight.”
    By ‘get back’ however, Souter didn’t mean the Yorkshire Post offices. He made his way out to the address Sammy had given him. Frequently consulting his A to Z, it took him about thirty minutes to find the street and another five to find the actual building. It was a run-down Victorian house that had been split into flats many years before. The windows looked as if they’d never been cleaned in decades and the paint for the most part had flaked off. Filthy net curtains hung in a desperate effort to give some privacy to the tenants, augmented by a variety of clothes pegs, drawing pins and other fixings.
    As he approached the building, a youth of about eighteen with greasy hair and severe acne came out.
    “Looking for Sammy,” Souter said.
    The youth looked him up and down. “Oh, yeah.”
    “She in?”
    He smirked. “Room Three.” With that, the obligatory hood came up and he was off.
    Souter pushed the main door open. The first thing to hit his senses was the smell of stale food. That and dampness. The carpet in the hallway was threadbare and did its best to grip his shoes. It reminded him of a nightclub in Manchester he once visited many years ago. Junk mail was piled on a rickety table in one corner.
    Room Three was at the back of the building behind the staircase. He knocked on the door. There was no answer. He knocked again. “Sammy?”
    This time, he heard movement from inside.
    “Sammy?” he repeated.
    “Who is it?” she whispered.
    “It’s Bob … er … Robert Souter. You came to see me yesterday.”
    The sound of a chain being removed then a bolt being slid preceded the door’s opening.
    “Have you got any news? Come in. Come in.”
    Souter slipped inside and she closed the door behind him.
    Dressed only in a man’s shirt, she padded back to her bed, jumped in and pulled the covers up.
    He averted his gaze. Stripped of the heavy make up of the previous day, she looked much younger and more vulnerable.
    He took in the room. Two single beds were side by side next to the window. A bare 40 watt bulb in the ceiling provided a gloomy atmosphere. The curtains were closed, held together in the middle by a couple of safety pins. On the opposite side was a kitchen area with a sink and a small cooker. A few dishes were left out but he was pleasantly surprised how tidy it all seemed. Apart, that is, from the discarded items of clothing on the floor.
    “I don’t normally do this,” she said, seriously.
    “Do what?”
    “Have strange men in the room.” Her face broke into a broad grin.
    Souter smiled. “I don’t make a habit of it either.”
    “Going into girl’s bedrooms?”
    He looked at Sammy as if peering over a pair of reading glasses. “Have you eaten?”
    “I’m okay.”
    “Come on, you need to have