Free Corpse in Waiting by Margaret Duffy Page B

way to the nearest hairdresser’s. Apparently the hairdryer in her room isn’t very good so I said I’d attend to it for her.’
    From her expression I knew that Alexandra had given her a tongue-lashing about it.
    â€˜So would that be the Fine Cuts place I noticed?’ I asked, the name the first I could remember.
    â€˜No, I sent her along to Lovelocks . It’s a bit more classy and on the right hand side of Milsom Street about halfway up.’
    I already knew where Lovelocks was, an establishment that positively dripped designer chic. This author has her hair cut in a tiny salon in the village by a Milan-trained and somewhat world-weary gentleman who can nevertheless make you look and feel as though you’re heading off to Cannes Film Festival.
    It seemed unlikely that even Alexandra would be able to bully her way into such sacred groves without an appointment, but one never knew. I decided to wait for her return, whenever that would be, having no intention of starting a war among potentially dangerous chemicals in case she started throwing them at me.
    I had my coffee, pretending to read a newspaper, in a small lounge to one side of the reception area where I had a very good view of all comings and goings. It was fairly quiet. Three-quarters of an hour went by and soon it was almost eleven thirty. Then I saw her, outside, talking to a man. She appeared to have had her hair done somewhere or the other. They parted and she entered the hotel; long strides, body rigid, head held high, eyes flashing, as mad as hell.
    By this time I had positioned myself by the reception desk, reckoning that she might not start yelling straight away in front of others.
    â€˜Sorry to further ruin your morning,’ I said, turning to face her as she approached.
    â€˜You!’ she hissed.
    â€˜That seems to be your usual greeting,’ I said, going on to say before she could interrupt, ‘Patrick was going to interview you but had to catch a train to London instead. He probably sends his love but I don’t yet know that for sure. I suggest we talk down here.’
    â€˜I have no intention of talking to you.’
    â€˜There’s no choice as I work for SOCA too. This is official. So is it here or down at the nick?’
    The woman noticed that the receptionists were trying not to look as though they were all ears, gave them a thousand-watt glare and then said to me, ‘Five minutes, no longer.’
    I led the way to where I had been sitting, making sure that she followed.
    â€˜Well?’ Alexandra snapped when she had perched herself right on the edge of a chair.
    â€˜Who was that man you were talking to outside just now?’
    â€˜It’s none of your bloody business!’
    â€˜Was it the same one who mugged a schoolgirl in Hounslow the day before yesterday, stole her mobile phone and used it to make a threatening call to me?’
    â€˜No!’
    â€˜Perhaps you’d like to think about it for a moment.’
    â€˜I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
    â€˜He told me you always got what you fancied, a fact that I was to remember. He didn’t add “or else” but his tone did.’
    â€˜I still don’t know what you’re talking about.’
    â€˜Making threatening phone calls is a criminal offence.’
    â€˜So?’
    â€˜It’s obvious that this man is someone you know. ’
    â€˜Well . . . perhaps I did sound off to someone about being at risk of losing the house.’ Then, with a toss of her head, she added, ‘I’ve hundreds of friends – I talk to them all the time.’
    â€˜Did you mention it to the man I saw you talking to outside?’
    â€˜No, Stefan’s—’
    â€˜ What ?’ I demanded to know when she stopped speaking, no doubt mentally kicking herself for letting the name slip out.
    â€˜Nothing.’
    â€˜Look, I do have the power to arrest you.’
    â€˜He