Chapter 15When I arrive back in the office my colleague is on the phone. His chair is tilted back against the wall and his feet are crossed at the ankles and resting on the wastepaper bin. He has a long suffering look on his face, and when he sees me, he covers the mouthpiece and rolls his eyes.
“She's been talking for ten minutes about dog poo,” he informs me, nodding at the receiver, “Ten solid minutes without a break.
He hands me a single typewritten sheet of paper.
“My interview with Phoebe the prostitute,” he explains. “It's just like with the other girls. She saw and heard nothing and she knows nothing. Still no sign of Veronique,” he adds.
I take the paper and drop it into the file with the others without even bothering to read it, then I go into the toilet and change into my un
