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called Karen’s mother, and she’ll get her up and sensible in an hour,’ said Mercy. ‘Your gut telling you anything?’
    â€˜No,’ Boxer lied.
    It was telling him things and none of them were good. Nothing even specific or relevant. It was just an overwhelming sense that they would all be changed by what had happened. There would be no predictable unfolding, as he’d felt on seeing Isabel last night, walking into her open arms, knowing they had a future.
    He called Esme, his mother, who’d been looking after Amy all last week. No answer.
    Mercy drove. They parked outside the 1970s block where Karen lived. On the way up the open stairs to the second floor she called her contact at the UK Border Agency, gave him Amy’s details and asked if he could help. He said he’d get back to her one way or the other.
    In the living room Karen was sitting on the sofa looking stunned. Her dark hair wasn’t brushed out yet and she was in her mother’s dressing gown. The nail varnish on her toes and fingers was alternately dark blue and fluorescent orange and was chipped. The black tattoos snaking up the olive skin of her calves and forearms made her look more like a Brazilian hooker than a Streatham hairdresser.
    â€˜Your mum told you about Amy?’ said Mercy.
    â€˜Yeah,’ she said, looking at the state of her nails, anything not to have to look at Mercy, who scared her half to death.
    â€˜You got any ideas where she might have gone?’
    â€˜Like . . . no!’ said Karen, suddenly aggressive.
    â€˜Easy up, K,’ said her mother. ‘They’ve lost their daughter.’
    â€˜She didn’t tell me
nothing
,’ said Karen. ‘If she’d of told me, I’d tell ’em, but she didn’t, so I can’t.’
    â€˜Could we talk to Karen on her own for a bit?’ asked Mercy, who could sense the girl’s fear, too many eyes glued to her.
    The panic rose in Karen’s face.
    â€˜Let’s just relax a bit,’ said Mercy. ‘Sit back and breathe. We’re all in a bit of a state. Not enough sleep.’
    â€˜Speak for yourself,’ said Karen. ‘I don’t know what Amy’s up to. I swear, Mrs. Danquah. You know she keeps things to herself, that one. Too many secrets.’
    â€˜So what happened in Tenerife?’
    â€˜You can’t believe the grief I’ve had from Mum about that. How was I to know she hadn’t told you? How was I to know she should’ve been in Lisbon with her dad? That’s what I mean. She don’t tell me stuff. She keeps it all in, like, tight. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Mrs. Danquah, she’s a nice girl, Amy. I like her. But she’s a hard friend to have, know what I mean?’
    They did.
    â€˜Did she get on with anybody in your boyfriend’s gang? I mean . . . ’
    â€˜Get
on
with anybody?’
    â€˜Who did Amy end up in bed with?’ asked Boxer.
    Karen was relieved to look away from Mercy. She wasn’t sure what wrath was bubbling away under that calm exterior.
    â€˜Amy might not have told you things,’ said Boxer. ‘But you saw things. You were all in the same party.’
    Karen nodded. Less of a nod, more of a shuddering blink.
    â€˜Who did she go with?’
    â€˜Glider.’
    â€˜Who’s Glider?’
    â€˜The gang leader. The boss man,’ said Karen. ‘He likes . . . ’
    Her eyes shifted uneasily across to Mercy and then quickly back to Boxer.
    â€˜Black girls?’ asked Boxer.
    Another imperceptible nod.
    â€˜Where can we find Glider?’
    â€˜North London somewhere. Dunno the address. He keeps it . . . ’
    â€˜Does your boyfriend know where Glider lives?’ asked Mercy.
    She shook her head.
    â€˜How come?’
    She shrugged.
    Mercy found communicating with the young immensely draining.
    â€˜You’re not going to get anybody into