Kendra nodded. “I saw both of them. I can help the sketch artist generate a fairly accurate drawing.”
“Good.”
“Though I got a better look at the guy you tossed off the catwalk. I was able to pull a few things about him but I don’t know how much help it will be.”
“What do you mean?” She put salve on the first cut.
Kendra winced as pain stabbed through her hand.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, it just hurts like hell.”
“It’ll pass. Get your mind off it. You were about to tell me some things about that asshole.”
Kendra closed her eyes.
Detach. Concentrate.
“He drives a BMW Series 7.”
“You saw it?”
“No, not at all,” she said impatiently. “And he has what looks like day-old stubble. But it’s not natural. He uses a Conair swivel-head stubble trimmer.”
“There are a lot of stubble trimmers out there. Trust me, most of the actors in Hollywood use them.”
“I know, but this guy uses the Conair. And he’s been in a high-end hair salon in the last week. If it was this area, it was probably Renata or Suriya.”
“Good.” Jessie started working on the cuts on Kendra’s left hand. If she was curious about how Kendra had arrived at her conclusions, she hid it well. “What else?”
“He’s left-handed. He probably spent some time in Europe recently, including the U.K. I’d say he was there last summer. And he usually alternates between two different styles of sunglasses: Wayfarer and round rimless. Though he wasn’t wearing either today.” Kendra thought for a moment. “That’s all I got. See? Not much help.”
Jessie had finished applying the salve and was scribbling on a scratch pad she’d picked up from Kendra’s kitchen counter. “I wouldn’t say that. There are things here they can follow up on.”
She made a face. “Maybe. I might have to take your word on it. I’m not thinking too clearly.”
“Not maybe, definitely. But they’ll want to know how certain you are and how you picked up on this stuff. Let’s start with the car.”
“A BMW Series 7.”
“But you said you didn’t see it.”
“I didn’t.”
“And I assume he wasn’t showing off pictures of it as he attacked you?”
“No, but I saw a distinctive bulge in those tight jeans of his.”
Jessie grimaced. “This is starting to get ugly.”
“His key fob. It’s an elongated six-sided fob, very distinctive. Like no other fob I’ve seen. It goes to a BMW Series 7.”
“Got it.” She jotted down the info. “And the Conair trimmer?”
“His beard is too even to be natural. Hair grows at different rates on various parts of the face, but it’s the same short length for guys who use a trimmer. And that particular model is the only popular trimmer with a swivel head that helps keep it uniform. Otherwise, the chin hair would tend to be a shade shorter than the neck skin immediately below.”
“What a tragedy. And I’m guessing his hairstyle is leading you to the salons?”
“Yes, he’s wearing what’s called a messy quiff. It’s a European style you can’t get at a Supercuts. If he got it here in town, those two salons are a good place to start.”
Jessie consulted her notes. “And he’s left-handed because…”
“…because that’s what he used to pick up something off the factory floor to try to beat my brains out.”
“Of course.” Jessie nodded. “That would do it. How do you know he’s been to the U.K.?”
“Two things. First, he was wearing a Boden Alderley overshirt. Boden is an English company, even though they do sell clothing in the U.S. I get their catalogues. But far more of their product is sold there. And he was wearing a pair of Adidas sneakers. They were a pair of commemorative shoes with the Union Jack plastered over them. I think they may have been tied to the World Cup, which means they were sold all over England last summer.”
“And the sunglasses?”
“Tan lines on his face. I’m pretty sure about the Wayfarers, but even more positive about the wireless round lenses. He wears both fairly often.”
Jessie finished her note taking and placed the scratch pad on the table. “Very good. Metcalf should get something from that. I’m not sure about the sunglasses, but there was all that about the car, and the fact that he might be a Brit could be—”
“Whoa,” Kendra said. “I never said there was a possibility he was a Brit. No way.” She rubbed her temple. “Though I can see how you might have thought that. I forgot about the speech patterns. I told