“You’re not police are you?” says a middle-aged woman in a sparkly jumper eyeing the Guardian suspiciously in a dark alley down the side of a Leeds city centre pub.
She is short, about 5ft 2in, with a sandy coloured bob, a vape pen hanging out of her mouth and a look of high suspicion on her face, which does not diminish during the illicit transaction with three balaclava-clad men.
