I follow her through the hallway and into a poky kitchen which looks out on to a postage stamp-sized back garden with a railway viaduct at the end.
'Do you want a drink?' Alannah asks, pulling an unopened bottle of white wine from the fridge.
I can think of nothing I'd like more at the moment. 'Sure,' I say, noticing that, apart from the booze, the fridge is empty.
She takes a couple of wine glasses out of a cupboard and rummages around in one of the drawers for a corkscrew. As she pours the wine and hands me a glass, a train rumbles past along the viaduct, its vibrations rattling the windows.
'Come on,' she says, and we retire to a small sitting room where the noise of the train isn't as loud.
She sits down on the sofa, and I kick off my shoes and plant myself opposite her in the room's only chair. The springs have gone on it, and I end up sinking down so low that my arse is no more than six inches above the psychedelic carpeting. I find a cushion and stick it underneath me while Alannah lights a cigarette and takes a sip of her wine. I take a big gulp of mine. It's not particularly good stuff, but at the moment it tastes like nectar.
'Well,' I say, 'the most important thing I need to know right now is who Marco and the people he left to torture me work for?'
'The boss's name is Eddie Cosick,' she answers. 'He's what I think you call a people trafficker. He brings girls into England from the Balkan countries. He promises them a new life, with a job and money, but when they get here he puts them to work as prostitutes in clubs like the one today, and treats them as his slaves. If any of them try to escape, they're beaten so savagely that none of them attempts it a second time.'
I'm reminded of what Lucas was telling me earlier about the murders of Maxwell and Spann. The Russian businessman they'd been guarding in a Paris hotel room had apparently been heavily involved in people trafficking and had fallen out with his associates: Bosnians from the former Yugoslavia. Ferrie was very interested in those murders. Ferrie had the briefcase. Marco and his people wanted it. There's a pattern developing here.
'This guy Eddie Cosick. Is he Bosnian?'
Alannah nods, confirming the pattern. 'A Bosnian Serb. They all are.'
But this still doesn't solve the mystery of why they killed Leah, and why they're targeting me.
'You sound like you don't approve of Mr Cosick's methods,' I say, 'which makes me wonder what you were doing at the brothel today.'
She takes a deep breath and eyes me closely. 'I don't approve of his methods,' she says, 'but I think he has my sister.'
There's a pause.
'Maybe you'd better start at the beginning,' I tell her.
She takes a long, elegant draw on her cigarette. 'My sister went missing eight months ago in Belgrade. Her name is Petra and she's eighteen years old. I believe that she's been brought to London against her will and that Eddie Cosick knows where she is. That's why I've come here. To find her, and to take her home.'
'And where did you learn how to fight like that?'
'I'm a police officer.'
I raise my eyebrows. She doesn't look like any police officer I've ever had dealings with. Because of the way she's talking and the fact that she hasn't slapped on the handcuffs, I'm guessing she's not here on official business, and I'm quickly proved right.
'I'm based in Belgrade, which is how I know what happened to Petra. She became involved with the wrong people. You have to remember, Mr Tyler-'
'It's just Tyler.'
'You have to remember that our country is very poor. My sister and I come from a village where the only industry is farming. Seven years ago, when I was also eighteen, I moved to the city. I could have become involved with the wrong people too. Belgrade has many of them. But instead I worked as a waitress to raise enough money to go to college, and after that I got a job in the police force. As soon as Petra reached sixteen she wanted to come and join me. She hated village life, but I told her she had to wait until she was eighteen to make the decision. As a police officer, I've seen what can happen to girls when they reach the city. The brothels are full of them.'
She sighs wearily, and stubs out her cigarette.
'But Petra's always been an impatient girl and she decided to come anyway. One day, she turned up at my apartment, begging to stay. I couldn't let her. It would have been unfair on our parents, so I drove her home, even though she cried the whole way. Our parents are decent people and I knew they wouldn't punish her too severely. But a few months later, she did it a second time. My parents phoned me, terrified, telling me what had happened. By that time, she'd only been gone a day, so I waited at the apartment expecting her to turn up…' The sentence trails off, and Alannah looks thoughtful.
'Except she didn't. Not that day, nor the next. I reported her missing with my colleagues. Because I was a police officer, I had more influence than an ordinary civilian so there was more of an effort to find her by the authorities, but it made no difference. We were unsuccessful. Belgrade is a big city, and as the days passed and we heard nothing from her, I became more and more worried. I spent every waking hour searching. So did my father, who came to the city from our village for the very first time. We visited the bars, the cafes, the restaurants, even the brothels, anywhere that she could possibly have ended up, but as my colleagues lost interest, so our task became harder. I knew that Petra had been forced into prostitution. She would have been in touch otherwise. Prostitution is big business in the countries of Eastern Europe, and Serbia is no exception. But the people who run this business are very powerful, and I couldn't make them talk to me. Soon, my father had to return to the village to support the rest of the family. But I kept looking. If I pulled someone in for a crime, any crime, I would show them a picture of Petra and ask if they'd seen her. I'd make out that they would be treated more leniently if they had information. But no-one did. Or at least no-one admitted it, anyway. It was difficult to tell for sure because no-one wants to cross the people running the sex trade.
'Finally, a month ago, I got a break. My boyfriend, Martin, arrested a man for attempted murder after a bar fight. The man worked as security in a local brothel and he was looking at a long sentence for what he'd done, but when Martin showed him Petra's photo, he could see that the man recognized her. Petra is beautiful. She has dark hair, gorgeous brown eyes and olive skin. If someone sees her, they don't forget.'
I guess most don't forget Alannah either, but I don't say anything.
'The prisoner knew something,' she continues, 'Martin was sure of it, so he told him he'd speak to the judge about lowering the charges against him if he had any information on Petra. The prisoner still denied he knew her, and Martin couldn't get him to change his mind.'
Alannah pauses again, and fixes me with a cool stare.
'But what Martin couldn't achieve, I could. I managed to get access to him in his cell, and I told him that he was going to help. At first, he laughed and called me a foolish woman, dismissing me with a wave of his hand, and telling me to get back to the kitchen stove.'
Her voice hardens. 'That was a big mistake. After five minutes, when he was writhing in a pool of his own vomit, he got the message and admitted that he had indeed seen Petra some months earlier. She had no money and had approached a friend of his looking for work. The friend worked for a people trafficker called Goran who was always interested in finding pretty young women for work in England, where he and his associates could make big money out of them, not the pittance that's available in Belgrade. So Petra was shipped off, doubtless told that at the end of her journey she'd be provided with a good job and the chance of a happy life, and that she'd have a chance to phone her family to let them know she was safe and well.'
She laughs, but the sound is devoid of humour.
'The problem we have in Belgrade is that most people have very little money, and what money there is is in the hands of the criminals, so there is a great deal of corruption. I knew who Goran was, I knew what he'd done to my sister and the fate to which he'd sent her, but he is a protected man in the city. When I tried to question him, I was warned off by my bosses, told not to interfere, even when I explained to them what had happened. In the end, I knew there was no hope of getting Goran to help me get Petra back. I also knew that if I kept trying I'd lose my job, probably even my life.
'That's when I decided to come to England and see if I had more luck here. I knew Goran worked for a Bosnian Serb called Eddie Cosick. My plan was to take what little money I had and see if I could track Cosick down and somehow buy Petra back. Martin tried to persuade me not to go. He seemed to think it was better to let things be. But I'm not like that. And I refuse to give up on my sister, because I know she's still alive and needs my help.' She balls her hand into a fist and punches her chest, fixing me with an intense stare. 'I know it. Here, in my heart. She is alive.'
So, Alannah was determined to find her sister in the same way I was determined to find out who was behind Leah's murder. It seemed we had something in common after all.
'And have you met Eddie Cosick yet?'
She shakes her head. 'Not yet. He's surrounded by security. I was forced to take a different route. I studied what I could of his organization and found out who the people working for him were. But knowing their identities and being able to do something about it are two very different things. So, I managed to – how do you say it – ingratiate myself with one of them.'
'Marco?'
She pulls an expression of distaste. 'Yes. He is a violent pig, but he has a bit more respect for the women than any of the others. I started a relationship with him a few weeks ago. He's high up in the organization and close to Cosick so I've been trying to find out from him where my sister might be. But it's not been easy. Like all these guys, he's not very talkative. All he wants to do is fuck. I've got him to take me to the club on Orsman Road – the one you came to today – a couple of times, and I've managed to talk to a few of the girls who work there, but I've had to be very discreet. It's dangerous to be seen asking questions, both for them and me. The girls are terrified of their bosses.
'But in the last couple of days, the atmosphere's changed. Something big has definitely been happening. Marco has been taking lots of phone calls and disappearing for meetings. He won't tell me what it's all about, and I've hardly seen him all day. So, because the attention of everybody has been elsewhere, I decided to go to the club on my own this afternoon. I know the door staff and they work for Marco, so they let me in. They don't like me, and I knew I was taking a risk hanging round, asking questions, especially with Marco not there, but I've been feeling desperate. My money's running out. London's an extremely expensive city. Even a dump like this costs a lot to rent.
'I'd been there about an hour, talking to the barman and a couple of the girls, when I was told by Pero that Marco was back and he wanted to talk to me urgently. When I got up to his office, he shut the door and started to slap me around, asking me what I thought I was doing coming here on my own. Then he knocked me to the ground and demanded to know who I was working for.'
I nod slowly, adopting a sympathetic pose, though Marco obviously hadn't hit her very hard, because there wasn't a mark on her when we'd first met out in that hallway. I ask her if she saw the burgundy briefcase while she was there.
'No, there was no briefcase.'
'And what about other people? Who was with Marco?'
'Only Radovan and Alexander, the two men who were ordered to kill you.'
'I'm trying to work out who killed my friend, Snowy,' I explain. 'His throat was cut. There would almost certainly have been some blood on the perpetrator.'
'There was no blood on anyone when I saw them.'
'How long were you with the three of them before I came in?'
She shrugs. 'Only a few minutes. Three or four at most.'
I make some rough calculations. It seems extremely likely that Snowy's killer was Radovan, the same man who'd murdered Leah. He'd probably cleaned himself up by the time Alannah saw him. But I wonder why she never saw the briefcase.
'I heard the struggle outside in the hallway,' she continues, 'and the shot. And then Marco came running back in, telling us all that Pero was dead and a man with a gun was outside. Everyone went for their weapons, but then Marco made me go out there with the baton. He said he knew who you were and that you wouldn't shoot a lady.'
'He's right.'
'That's lucky, because he would, and he had a gun pointing at me when I went out to you.'
'Well, I guess you're forgiven, then. But what I don't understand is why Marco was trying to kill you in the flat just now.'
'Because I fucked up,' she answers evenly. 'He was still very angry when we left the brothel.'
'Hold on,' I interrupt, still slightly confused. 'When you left the brothel, he definitely wasn't carrying the briefcase?'
She shakes her head. 'No. I told you, I didn't see the briefcase.'
So now I'm wondering what the hell happened to it? Surely Marco wouldn't have left it behind. Not if it was that valuable. Which means someone else took it. But who?
'Anyway, Marco was still angry with me, but he was also in a hurry. He had to go somewhere urgently – he wouldn't say where – and he told me to go back to his flat to wait for him. As he left, I made an excuse and went back inside the building. I couldn't stand the idea of you being tortured to death in there. Radovan and Alexander are animals. I've heard what they've done to some of the girls who've tried to escape. I wanted to do something that would stop them but which wouldn't blow my cover, and I didn't have much time to think.'
'So you set the fire.'
She nods. 'It was a stupid move.'
'Not the best,' I admit, 'but at least it worked.'
'I knew the building was alarmed so I used some petrol to start a small fire in a room at the back that's used by the security. The problem was it spread a lot faster than I was expecting. I think everyone got out OK, because the alarms went off straight away. I dialled the police and the emergency services, but I thought that Radovan and Alexander might leave you to burn, so I came up to see if I could set you free.'
'You did that just for me?'
'I knew we'd be able to get out onto the roof from where they were holding you, but I didn't expect Radovan and Alexander still to be there.'
'You still risked your neck,' I say. 'You know, I'm touched. Thank you.'
As I speak, I look at her and notice once again how pretty she is. I tell myself to be careful. Her story seems plausible enough, but if there's one thing I've learned today, it's that people aren't always what they seem.
'It still doesn't explain why Marco attacked you at the flat, though,' I add.
'I think someone from the brothel must have seen me go back in there. Maybe someone even saw me start the fire. I don't know for sure. But after I got out of there, I came back here and changed and showered. I wasn't sure what to do about Marco. He'd attacked me already so I knew it was dangerous to stay with him, but he was my only hope of finding Petra, which is why I still went to his place to wait for him, like he'd told me to.
'When he turned up, not long before you arrived, he was acting friendly, but as soon as I went into the bedroom to get something, he hit me over the back of the head and jumped on top of me like a man possessed, calling me a traitor once again and demanding to know who I worked for. I knew that this time he really meant me harm, so I tried to fight him off. Then you arrived.'
She smiles, showing perfect white teeth. I smile back.
'This guy, Eddie Cosick. I need to speak to him.'
'I know how to find him,' she says, 'but I want you to do something for me as well. Will you help me find my sister?'
'And how do you think I'm going to be able to do that?'
'Now that I have lost any chance of finding Petra through Marco, you're my best hope. I can see you know how to defend yourself. I want you to get to Cosick. But I don't want you to kill him.'
'I'm not planning to,' I tell her, thinking that on the two occasions she's seen me I've made a real pig's ear of defending myself. 'I just want some answers.'
'Cosick has lots of women working as his slaves, but I doubt if any of them look like Petra. I want you to show him her photograph, and find out where she is. Then I want you to call and tell me, and while you wait with him, I'll go and get her.'
Somehow, I don't think it'll be as easy as that.
'And what do you propose we do about his security?'
'His security will be less now. He had only a few men he trusted to guard him. One was Radovan, another was Pero, and they're both dead. He still has others, of course, but they will be spread more thinly. It'll be a risk, but a man like you will be able to manage it.'
As she says this, she slowly uncrosses her long legs and leans forward, her gaze drawing me in. I know it's a deliberate move on her part, a combination of flattery and sexual allure to get me to do what she wants. I sit back and think about what she's saying. Is she just being naive and clutching at straws, or does she have some other agenda?
'Do you want some more wine?' she asks, standing up.
My glass is empty. Hers is still half full.
She's smiling at me now, and there's confidence in her expression. And something else, too. It's a promise of more to come than simply wine, and even in my state, I know I'm not imagining it. The warning bells in my head suddenly get a lot louder. I'm reminded of something my mother once told me after my father sold his lucrative printing business and ran away with his secretary. 'Women have power,' she said. 'They can make men do anything. Their secret is they always let the man think he's in charge. He never is, and he never will be.' Not exactly original, but wise words all the same, and I feel I really ought to be taking note of them.
But none of this stops me from returning her smile again and telling her that, sure, I'd love a top-up.
My head aches, and even now the adrenalin continues to pump through me. It's been a brutal day, a series of violent snapshots, each following the other so quickly that they almost blend into one: the shock of waking up this morning beside the woman I loved (still love), and seeing what they'd done to her body; the bloodbath at Ferrie's place, and the subsequent chase; finding Snowy with his throat cut and his blood all over the car I'd sold to him only a few months before; the terrible pleasure that coursed through me when I held down Radovan's mask-clad face on the hotplate in the brothel. And now, after all that, I find myself drinking wine in a rundown shithole of a house with a beautiful woman who may or may not be lying to me about who she really is, knowing that very soon I could be making love to her.
And it's still not even dark.