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didn’t think I’d see her for a while, but she phoned on Saturday.’
    ‘What exactly did she ask for?’
    ‘An appointment. Quick.’
    ‘She was in a hurry?’
    ‘It had to be Monday or Tuesday morning latest, that’s what she said. And I felt awful because I was fully booked.’
    ‘So what happened?’
    ‘I said no. She sounded dead disappointed. Then about an hour later I got a cancellation and called her back. She was really pleased.’
    ‘And she came in on the Monday morning.’
    ‘Yeah, and it was nearly a disaster because she didn’t say she wanted anything special. I thought it was just a tidy – I only set aside half an hour. But a dye job like that takes about three hours. I had to start it and get her to sit in the corner while it took, then a junior washed it and I squeezed the cut in when I should have been having my lunch.’
    ‘Was she happy with the finished look?’
    ‘She was over the moon. I have never seen her anything like that happy.’
    ‘And you?’
    ‘Oh I thought the whole thing was a big mistake. The colour didn’t suit her, made her look so pale – like a statue. But the customer is always right. Supposedly.’
    Tom smiles. ‘What was she like that day – did she seem nervous?’
    ‘No. She seemed good. Really good – excited.’
    ‘Do you know why that might have been?’
    ‘No. It was just the impression I got.’
    Tom nods. ‘Can you remember what you talked about that day? Did she tell you why she chose the colour?’
    Andi frowns. ‘Not really. She could see I was surprised and not sure about it. I mean, I did try and talk her out of it. I actually thought it wouldn’t take, her hair was too dark to go that shade of silver. It would mean too much bleaching, it could damage the hair and the scalp. I offered her a darker colour but she knew what she wanted – I mean, she knew the exact colour and shade.’
    ‘How?’
    ‘She …’ Andi drops her voice to little more than a whisper. ‘Customers normally have bits of fabric, like T-shirts or dresses. Sometimes they have bits of wallpaper – even paint charts sometimes.’
    ‘But Charlie had something else?’
    ‘She … this is weird. She had a lock of hair, she said she wanted that exact colour.’
    ‘Human hair?’
    ‘Yeah, human hair and it was dry – it wasn’t freshly cut. It looked like it had been kept for years.’
    7 p.m. Tom had asked them to wait for him. When he finally arrives at Charlie Brindley-Black’s flat there are two SOCO officers, all kitted up, and Patterson. Each of them twiddling their thumbs and collecting overtime.
    ‘Let’s start.’
    Once again Tom snaps on the latex gloves, the shower cap and bags his shoes. Then they enter, cutting away the yellow and black tape that had sealed the room off since Charlie had been identified. The SOCO boys are about to enter when Tom stretches out his arm and holds them back.
    ‘We’re looking for letters, notes, photos. We need her phone and diary – both personal and business. The office in the gallery had nothing, so maybe she noted appointments in something she kept here. We need to know if she had any meetings planned for Thursday and names and phone numbers if possible. And we’re looking for anything that explains why she dyed her hair – and of course, why a knot was carved into the floor of the gallery. Okay?’
    Everyone nods, they know the drill. He drops his arm and they enter like spacemen drifting in the vacuum. One of the SOCO men switches on powerful lights to flood the room, there are now no shadows and no hiding places. As the men move about, opening drawers and taking books from shelves, dust billows into the air, caught in the spotlight; turning and twisting like the stars in the heavens. Tom sends out a silent prayer to the deities of these dust galaxies to help him find the killer.
    Four hours later their civilisations have crumbled, thanks to the SOCO hand-held mini-vac. The dust has been sucked up and bagged for