well-thumbed magazines laid on top of the one nearest to the door. Nobody was there but he could hear the sound of a vacuum cleaner somewhere beyond the door behind the reception area. Perhaps Joe Public was not expected at this time of day, Solly mused. There was no sign of a bell on the counter so he walked up and down, hands behind his back, taking in the state of the place. Lorimer, he knew, was fond of telling his younger officers how much one could learn about a person from the house that he inhabited. What, Solly wondered, could he find out about this establishment from this front-of-house area?
It needed a good clean, he told himself, looking at the dusty sills and fly-blown window panes, and there had been little attempt to make the place attractive. No vase of flowers graced the reception desk and, as Solly peeped over its edge, all he could see was a telephone, a thick ledger and an open laptop with several unopened letters laid to one side. There was an ancient swivel chair behind the desk, some of its seat padding ripped and worn; Solly nodded to himself, concluding that there was probably only a single member of staff who fronted the sauna. The same person who was now behind the vacuum cleaner, perhaps? As he paced back and forth, Solly became aware that the flooring beneath his feet was slightly uneven; whoever had laid the thick blue linoleum had not bothered to put down any underlay. At each step, the professor could hear the squeak of floorboards and he was so fascinated by this, looking down at his shoes, that he failed to notice a door opening to his left.
‘Who are you?’ A man’s voice demanded.
A short, thin fellow in blue jeans and a checked shirt, its sleeves rolled up past his elbows, stood before him, one hand on the hose of the vacuum cleaner.
Solly gave a start then turned and gave the man a smile, holding out his hand. ‘Professor Brightman, University of Glasgow,’ he said.
‘We’re no’ open yet,’ the man said shortly, scowling suspiciously at Solly. ‘And I don’t remember any Brightman in our appointment book,’ he went on, confirming Solly’s first impression that this was a one-man business.
‘Are you Andie?’
The man’s face changed immediately as he hooted with laughter.
‘Me? Naw, son, ah’m no’ Andie. Why? Is that who ye’re looking fur?’
‘Actually,’ Solly stepped forward, nodding in a confidential manner, ‘I’m here on behalf of Strathclyde Police. It’s to do with the murders of some of the Glasgow street girls,’ he went on. ‘I’m a professor of psychology, you see, and sometimes I help the police to establish things like criminal profiles.’
‘’S’at so?’ the man replied, clearly unimpressed. ‘Well, how did ye come in here, then?’
‘Andie’s Saunas was the place of work for two of these women,’ Solly explained. ‘Miriam Lyons and Jenny Haslet.’
‘Never heard of them, pal,’ the man said quickly. Too quickly, Solly decided, and he was forced to take a step backwards as the man bore down on him.
‘I was hoping to make contact with the owner,’ Solly went on, feeling just a shade intimidated: despite the fact that the man was older and shorter in stature there was something menacing about him that put Solly on his guard.
‘Well, now, maybe you should write a letter,’ the man sneered.
Solly nodded. ‘Yes, a letter. Well to whom would I write?’ he asked. ‘And does this Andie have an email address by any chance?’
The man stopped and blinked. Then, to Solly’s surprise, he let go of the vacuum cleaner and went around to the other side of the desk. Picking up the telephone, he dialled a number and waited, all the while staring hard at the psychologist.
‘Boss,’ the man said. ‘There’s a fella here tae see you. Name of Brightman.’
Solly waited, wondering if he was going to be handed the telephone and allowed to speak to the person on the other end of the line.
‘Oh, aye, ’s’that right?’ The man’s eyes flicked across to Solly with an expression of distaste. ‘Aye, aye … okay,’ he continued, nodding as he listened but continuing to regard Solly with what the psychologist recognised as suspicion.
Then, to his disappointment the telephone was replaced and the man jerked his thumb towards the door.
‘See if the polis want tae speak tae ma boss, they’ve tae come ower theirselves. Get it? Now beat it, pal. Ah’ve got work tae dae afore we open up.’
The man