looking for the owner of the, um, establishment,’ he said brightly. ‘Andie?’
‘S’no’ in the noo,’ one of the girls replied, looking at Solly with thinly disguised interest. ‘If ye’re wantin’ a session see an’ phone fur an’ appointment, okay?’
‘I’m Professor Brightman,’ Solly said. ‘I’m actually here on behalf of Strathclyde Police.’
The reaction was immediate. Both women sat up straight, uncrossed their legs and tugged at what passed for their skirts. If it hadn’t been part of a serious case, Solly would have burst out laughing as he observed their body language.
‘Andie’s away over at the other place, far as I know,’ the younger of the women told him. ‘We’re jist keeping things tickin’ ower, isn’t that right, Jessie?’
‘Aye,’ agreed the other, churning a wad of gum around in her mouth while looking at Solly as if she had found some new species of humanoid. ‘Yer no’ wantin’ a session then, mister?’ she asked regretfully, her eyes slipping over him in a way that made his face burn with embarrassment.
‘No thank you. Maybe you can help me, though,’ he said suddenly, squashing the urge to back out of the place at once.
‘Oh, aye, sure we can,’ the girl called Jessie giggled as she stood up.
‘Miriam Lyons and Jenny Haslet,’ he said quietly, looking intently at them from behind his horn-rimmed spectacles with an expression that he hoped was sufficiently professorial. Hearing the names had an immediate effect on the women whose faces both became suddenly serious.
‘Mind the names,’ one of the women said with a frown. ‘D’you ’member them, Francine?’
‘Aye,’ the younger woman said shortly. ‘Knew them from before … used to see them both down in Robertson Street.’
‘And on the Big Blue Bus, perhaps?’ Solly asked gently.
‘Aye, there ’n’ all. Whit’s with the questions, Sherlock? Jenny an’ Miriam are both deid,’ Jessie protested.
‘I know that,’ Solly said. ‘That’s why I’m here. You see, ladies, I’m a psychologist and I’m trying to create a profile of whoever killed these young women.’
The nervous glance that passed between the two women gave Solly the idea that some revelation was about to be produced. But he was wrong.
‘Better come back anither time, son,’ Jessie said, walking towards him so that Solly had to back towards the door again. ‘An’ make a proper appointment tae see the boss, okay?’
‘Aye, an’ we wisnae here when ye called, right? Got that, professor?’ Francine insisted. The timbre of her voice had heightened and Solly knew that, if he were ever asked, he would admit that he was hearing a young woman who was now under a good deal of stress.
*
The whistling stopped as soon as the man heard the door slide closed once more. Stuffing the oil-soaked rag into a pocket of his dungarees, the mechanic shuffled his body from under the Mercedes-Benz and emerged from his prone position beneath the luxury car. Anyone seeing the big man would be surprised at how nimbly he sprang to his feet, smiling as though there was a secret joke he was keeping to himself. He stretched upwards, flexing his muscles after their confinement below the car, making him appear even taller than his normal six feet and five inches. Then, looking around at the cars parked in a careful row, he nodded to himself as his glance rested on one particular model. The white Merc was due for its trade-in, Vlad had told him, in clipped tones that made the mechanic aware that the boss was less than well pleased at having to part with this particular model.
The big man shrugged. It would be one less car to wash and polish for weddings, he supposed. Pity, though. There were still a few white Mercs but there was something alluring about the sporty model that made customers want to take it out for hire. A babe magnet, he’d heard one of them call it. The mechanic turned away, still smiling as he wiped his hands on a fresh piece of paper towel. He liked that idea. A magnet attracted metal to metal, didn’t it? His grin widened as he looked in a rectangle of mirror that someone had placed by a shelf near the wooden staircase that led to the offices above the garage. A dark-haired man with deep brown eyes stared back, his finely chiselled cheekbones giving just a hint of his ethnic origin. He’d been told more than once what an attractive man he was. A throwback, Vladimir had called him once, and, though he did not fully understand