on him now, wiping a few flakes of croissant from her lips. ‘Thanks, Mr Lorimer.’
The detective shrugged. ‘That’s okay, Lily. Now. You wanted to tell me all about this man?’
She nodded, hunching over once again as though to protect something painful deep within her body. Lorimer read the signs, knowing that whatever hurt this girl was more mental than physical.
‘I was out on the drag last night,’ she began.
Slowly the story unfolded: the waiting by the kerb; the white car crawling along; the strange-looking man and then his attempt to catch her. Lorimer listened without interrupting, taking in each shudder as Lily recounted her experience. A look of pained relief crossed her face as she told how the gritter lorry had stopped and the driver had jumped down from his cab, catching her in his arms as she fled. The big man with the scarf had turned and disappeared back down the lane, but the lorry driver told her afterwards that he had got a good look at his face.
‘And you’ve got the driver’s name and other details?’
Lily nodded. ‘He said I was to go straight to the police but when I told him about you he said that sounded all right. Didn’t want to call you in the middle of the night,’ she added, shamefaced as though the incident were her fault.
‘The white car,’ he began at last. ‘Did you notice what type of car it was?’
Lily’s face grew doubtful. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m not very good at cars. It was really big, though.’
Lorimer nodded then took out his pen and doodled on a napkin. ‘See this?’ he said, turning the paper towards her. ‘Did the car have something like that on it?’
Lily squinted at the circle he had drawn, the lines creating the three segments of the Mercedes-Benz logo, then looked up at him and nodded. ‘I think so,’ she said at last.
‘Can you describe the man, Lily?’
The girl bit her lip, looking uncertain for a moment.
‘He was very tall. Bigger even than you,’ she began. ‘And he looked different. He was kind of good-looking,’ she stopped then blushed, realising her gaffe. ‘I-I didn’t mean that,’ she stammered. ‘I mean you look nice and …’
‘Lily,’ Lorimer said gently. ‘Let’s concentrate on trying to picture exactly what he looked like, eh? Colour of hair, shape of face, that sort of thing.’
The girl nodded again. ‘Sorry. He frightened me. Like one of those vampires you see on TV. They’re dead handsome as well, aren’t they?’ Her blush deepened as she tried to extricate herself from the unintended insult.
‘Take your time, now. Remember we can always get one of our clever folk back at headquarters to create an e-fit image from anything you and the lorry driver tell us.’
‘Would I have to go there?’ A worried expression crossed her face.
‘Not if you don’t want to,’ Lorimer shrugged. ‘But it might help us to trace this man.’
Lily looked into his eyes as though she were making a momentous decision.
‘There’s this woman called Doreen,’ she began. ‘She said I’d get money if I told her things.’
The morning simply flew past as DC Knox tapped away at her computer keyboard, her eyes gleaming. Andie’s Saunas were owned by a company purporting to be part of a health organisation, according to what she had found. Barbara had snickered at the blurb, wondering how healthy the punters felt after a quick shag. It was a registered company all right, but then any company that was trading had to give some account of itself for legal purposes. And the police were able to access such classified information pretty speedily if they wanted. Barbara scrolled down, wanting to see the names of the directors. She sat upright, suddenly, her lips parting in astonishment as she read the three names.
Vladimir Badica and Alexander Badica sprang out at her as though their names had been illuminated. ‘Bad Vlad!’ she exclaimed in a whisper. Then she nodded in sudden understanding as she read the first name on the list: Andrea Badica, owner.
‘Andrea. Andie’s!’ Barbara sighed. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book. Put a company into the wife’s name and if anything goes pear-shaped then the real owner gets off scot free. Or, she mused, maybe Bad Vlad had put it into this woman’s name for tax purposes. But who was Alexander? The son, most probably, Barbara decided.
The owners didn’t want poor Professor Brightman snooping around. Wonder what they’ve got to hide? Barbara asked herself, grabbing her jacket