She turned back to Lowry. ‘Body wax. First time.’ She shook her head in disgust. ‘The women come in here, pop up on the couch and get it over with without a murmur.
But the men… God! They want a full consultation first, before they decide. Then they get so worked up thinking about it they’re in a panic before we even begin. You can see why God gave the job of having babies to women-if the men had to do it, there wouldn’t be any.’
‘They’re stripping his body hair off with wax?’ Lowry looked at her in horror.
‘That’s right.’
‘But… why?’
She looked at him as if he was even more stupid than she’d supposed. ‘It’s the look, isn’t it?’
‘The look?’
‘Yes. Don’t you read your wife’s magazines?’
‘I don’t think she has any.’
‘Course she does! You take a gander. All the male models have got totally hairless bods. Nobody would touch a hairy model these days. It’s the look. Movie stars are the same. When did you see a hair on Arnie Schwarzenegger’s pecs? And sportsmen, too, your swimmers and runners and that. Body hair is definitely out.’
‘Christ…’ Lowry’s imagination was still coping with the vision of the hair being ripped from his back. ‘But still, why bother?’
‘Well, it’s ecological, isn’t it?’
‘Ecological?’
‘Yeah, you know, clean and green. And anyway, a lot of them, their wives and girlfriends make them do it. They ask why they should be the only ones to have to do it. They expect their men to take equal waxing responsibility.’
This reduced Lowry to stunned silence.
Kathy said, ‘How much is it? I might treat him.’ She nodded at her fellow DS.
‘Men’s chest wax is the same as ladies’ half leg wax. Nineteen ninety-nine, unless he’s very hairy.’ She looked at Lowry appraisingly. ‘I’ll give you a half-price introductory offer.’
‘Thanks. Think I’ll give it a miss, all the same.’
‘So you do Eddie Testor regularly?’
‘Yes. He comes in once a month. Has the works. I give him a special deal, as a regular.’
‘What, head, body, legs…’
‘Everything, yes.’
‘Everything?’ Lowry echoed.
She nodded.
‘What’s he like?’ Kathy asked.
‘He never complains. Seems to like it. Ideal client.’
‘I meant, as a person.’
‘Quiet. Keeps to himself. He comes to the gym regularly, too. To work out, you know.’
‘Does he have a friend here? Someone he meets regularly?’
‘Not that I know of. He’s a solitary sort of bloke.’
‘What does he talk to you about?’
‘Movies. He just talks about the movies he’s been to see. At the multiplex, usually. He goes to everything that’s on: children’s films, horror films, comedies, thrillers, everything. That’s why the others don’t like to do him, because he spoils it for them, tells them what happens, can’t help himself. I don’t care, cos I never go to the pics. He never mentions friends, or family.’
‘What address do you have for him?’
She looked it up on the computer, but it was the same one they had.
‘He doesn’t seem to be there at the moment,’ Kathy said, and then had another thought. ‘You didn’t see him on the sixth of this month, did you? Week ago Monday?’
‘That’s the day that girl disappeared, isn’t it? Blimey! You think Eddie…?’ It hadn’t struck her before that this might be why they were there, and she seemed startled by the idea.
‘We think he could have been a witness to something,’ Kathy told her soothingly. ‘That’s why we need to talk to him.’
‘Ah, well…’ She checked her computer again. ‘No, not the sixth. He was booked in for his monthly the following day, the seventh, four till five p.m.’
As Kathy and Lowry thanked her and got up to leave, she suddenly added, ‘Oh, hang on! I just thought of something. Have you been to Carmen’s?’
‘What’s that?’ Lowry said. ‘A fortune teller?’
Ms Hislop looked sharply at him. ‘You should take up the offer on the wax, you know. You could do the sunbed, too. It’d make a big difference to you. Your wife would have a nice surprise.’
‘She’d have a bloody heart attack,’ Lowry muttered, looking impatiently at the door.
‘Carmen’s?’ Kathy prompted.
‘Hair salon on this level, other side of the food court, beyond the multiplex, through the Spanish market. Everyone goes to Carmen’s, me included. And I remember her or one of her girls saying that one of their customers was related to Eddie-his aunty or something.’
‘That’s interesting,’ Kathy said. ‘We haven’t come across her.’ She thought of Kerri’s Uncle Dragan. One day, she thought, the computer would have a complete record of the family interconnections of everyone, a map of the hidden blood lines that linked a subject to a second cousin or a step-uncle twice removed who might be waiting in the shadows to provide help, or something else. ‘You wouldn’t have a name, I suppose?’
‘No, but Carmen might.’
The foyer to Carmen’s salon was all blonde timber and gleaming chrome, the only indication of its purpose a few discreet displays of bottles under concealed spotlights, like a museum of rare artefacts. Carmen turned out to be a small, dynamic woman with bright, compelling eyes, and a network that seemed to have got somewhat further than the police computer in mapping the human relationships of this area of Essex. She consulted with some of her staff, her technical director (colour), her creative director and her chief stylist, and finally found the nails consultant, who recalled a conversation with a woman who spoke of her nephew (actually, she thought, the adopted boy of her sister’s husband’s brother and his wife, who’d been tragically killed in a car smash) who was a pool attendant at the leisure centre. The customer, the aunt, was remembered as being in her fifties, blonde, a smoker with problem cuticles, and with an overall style bias described in the private terminology of the salon as ‘fluoro’.
‘That means brassy, hyper, unsubtle, too much,’ Carmen explained.
Together with an approximate date of her last visit, four to six weeks before, the computer came up with three possible names and addresses. Two of the names had bookings arranged for the month ahead, and the receptionist rang their numbers on the pretence of confirming these. As she closed, the receptionist asked if they had a relative working at Silvermeadow, by any chance, since the salon was offering a special discount to centre staff in December. The second one said yes, her nephew worked there, but she didn’t want to get him to come to the phone right now, because he was asleep and hadn’t been well. In any case, she said with a wheezy chuckle, he’d be the last person to need a booking at a hair salon.
‘Carmen, that’s brilliant, thanks,’ Kathy said as the receptionist rang off. ‘I’m really impressed. I wish our information was as efficient.’
Carmen smiled, eyeing Kathy’s hair. ‘Nice basic structure, love. But you need a better cut. And what have you been washing it with?’
Kathy agreed to make a booking once the investigation was over, and meanwhile bought three bottles that Carmen recommended.
When Lowry saw the price on the till display he gave a little gasp. ‘Kathy, if you ever meet my wife, do me a favour and don’t tell her about this place, eh?’
‘Lowry…’ Carmen frowned. ‘I know the name… Yes, Connie Lowry, is that your wife?’
‘Yeah.’ He looked worried.
‘Oh, I know Connie. She’s nice. She comes here regular. Everyone comes here, Gavin. Even your friend Harry Jackson comes here.’
Lowry looked shocked, as if she’d accused Jackson of participating in some morally questionable practice. ‘I
