Rafferty strode across the room and flung the door open. 'What the hell's going on?' he demanded.
A woman of about thirty stood at the head of the stairs. Looking sheepish and flustered, PC Smales stammered his apologies. 'She sidled past me when I was looking the other way, sir.'
Rafferty guessed she was the Latin American woman, Mercedes Moreno, that Astell had mentioned. Dressed completely in black, a long flowing creation, covered by straight midnight dark hair, her skin was very pale, unnaturally so, he thought, as if she was ill or had deliberately powdered it that way for effect. She looked like an extremely exotic witch.
Smales, putting as much authority into his voice as his twenty years could muster, said, 'Come along now, Miss. You've no right to be here.' His colour deepened
