cigarette in an ashtray, her last inhalation now issuing from her nostrils. She walked over to one of the other chairs and sat down in it, swinging it to and fro with her feet, checking her hair in the mirror. “She hasn’t been in touch,” she stated.
“And you’ve no idea where she could have gone?”
A shrug. “Her mum and dad are freaking out, that’s all I know.”
“What about this man you saw Ishbel with?”
Another shrug. She played with her fringe. “Short guy, stocky.”
“Hair?”
“Can’t remember.”
“Maybe he was bald?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Clothes?”
“Leather jacket . . . sunglasses.”
“Not from around here?”
A shake of the head. “Driving a flash car . . . something fast.”
“A BMW? Mercedes?”
“I’m no good with cars.”
“Was it big, small . . . did it have a roof?”
“Medium . . . with a roof, but it could’ve been a convertible.”
Angie was returning with a mug. She handed it over and sat down in Susie’s vacated space.
Siobhan nodded her thanks. “How old was he, Susie?”
“Old . . . forties or fifties.”
Angie gave a snort. “Old to you, maybe.” She was probably fifty herself, with hair that looked twenty years younger.
“When you asked her about him, what did she say?”
“Just told me to shut up.”
“Any idea how she could have met him?”
“No.”
“What sort of places does she go?”
“Into Livingston . . . maybe Edinburgh or Glasgow sometimes. Just pubs and clubs.”
“Anybody apart from you she might go out with?”
Susie mentioned some names, which Siobhan jotted down.
“Susie’s already talked to them,” Angie warned. “They won’t be any help.”
“Thanks, anyway.” Siobhan made a show of looking around the salon. “Is it usually this quiet?”
“We get a few customers first thing. Later in the week’s busier.”
“But Ishbel not being here isn’t a problem?”
“We’re managing.”
“Makes me wonder . . .”
Angie narrowed her eyes. “What?”
“Why you need two stylists.”
Angie glanced towards Susie. “What else could I do?”
Siobhan felt she understood. Angie had taken pity on Ishbel after the suicide. “Any reason you can think of why she’d leave home so suddenly?”
“Maybe she got a better offer . . . Plenty of people ship out of the Bane and never look back.”
“Her mystery man?”
It was Angie’s turn to shrug. “Good luck to her if that’s what she wants.”
Siobhan turned to Susie. “You told Ishbel’s mum and dad he looked like a pimp.”
“Did I?” She seemed genuinely surprised. “Well, maybe I did. The shades and the jacket . . . like something out of a film.” Her eyes widened. “ Taxi Driver !” she said. “The pimp in that . . . what’s his name? I saw that on the telly a couple of months back.”
“And that’s who this man looked like?”
“No . . . but he was wearing a hat. That’s why I couldn’t remember his hair!”
“What sort of hat?”
Susie’s enthusiasm drained away. “Dunno . . . just a hat.”
“Baseball cap? Beret?”
Susie shook her head. “It had a rim.”
Siobhan looked to Angie for help. “A fedora?” Angie suggested. “A homburg?”
“I don’t even know what those are,” Susie said.
“Something like a gangster in an old film would wear?” Angie went on.
Susie was thoughtful. “Maybe,” she conceded.
Siobhan jotted down her mobile phone number. “That’s great, Susie. And if anything else comes back to you, maybe you could give me a call?”
Susie nodded. She was out of reach, so Siobhan handed the note to Angie. “Same thing applies to you.” Angie nodded and folded the note in two.
The door rattled open and a stooped, elderly woman came in.
“Mrs. Prentice,” Angie called out in greeting.
“Bit earlier than I told you, Angie dear. Can you fit me in?”
Angie was already on her feet. “For you, Mrs. Prentice, I’m sure I can shuffle my schedule.” Susie relinquished the chair
“And you’ve no idea where she could have gone?”
A shrug. “Her mum and dad are freaking out, that’s all I know.”
“What about this man you saw Ishbel with?”
Another shrug. She played with her fringe. “Short guy, stocky.”
“Hair?”
“Can’t remember.”
“Maybe he was bald?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Clothes?”
“Leather jacket . . . sunglasses.”
“Not from around here?”
A shake of the head. “Driving a flash car . . . something fast.”
“A BMW? Mercedes?”
“I’m no good with cars.”
“Was it big, small . . . did it have a roof?”
“Medium . . . with a roof, but it could’ve been a convertible.”
Angie was returning with a mug. She handed it over and sat down in Susie’s vacated space.
Siobhan nodded her thanks. “How old was he, Susie?”
“Old . . . forties or fifties.”
Angie gave a snort. “Old to you, maybe.” She was probably fifty herself, with hair that looked twenty years younger.
“When you asked her about him, what did she say?”
“Just told me to shut up.”
“Any idea how she could have met him?”
“No.”
“What sort of places does she go?”
“Into Livingston . . . maybe Edinburgh or Glasgow sometimes. Just pubs and clubs.”
“Anybody apart from you she might go out with?”
Susie mentioned some names, which Siobhan jotted down.
“Susie’s already talked to them,” Angie warned. “They won’t be any help.”
“Thanks, anyway.” Siobhan made a show of looking around the salon. “Is it usually this quiet?”
“We get a few customers first thing. Later in the week’s busier.”
“But Ishbel not being here isn’t a problem?”
“We’re managing.”
“Makes me wonder . . .”
Angie narrowed her eyes. “What?”
“Why you need two stylists.”
Angie glanced towards Susie. “What else could I do?”
Siobhan felt she understood. Angie had taken pity on Ishbel after the suicide. “Any reason you can think of why she’d leave home so suddenly?”
“Maybe she got a better offer . . . Plenty of people ship out of the Bane and never look back.”
“Her mystery man?”
It was Angie’s turn to shrug. “Good luck to her if that’s what she wants.”
Siobhan turned to Susie. “You told Ishbel’s mum and dad he looked like a pimp.”
“Did I?” She seemed genuinely surprised. “Well, maybe I did. The shades and the jacket . . . like something out of a film.” Her eyes widened. “ Taxi Driver !” she said. “The pimp in that . . . what’s his name? I saw that on the telly a couple of months back.”
“And that’s who this man looked like?”
“No . . . but he was wearing a hat. That’s why I couldn’t remember his hair!”
“What sort of hat?”
Susie’s enthusiasm drained away. “Dunno . . . just a hat.”
“Baseball cap? Beret?”
Susie shook her head. “It had a rim.”
Siobhan looked to Angie for help. “A fedora?” Angie suggested. “A homburg?”
“I don’t even know what those are,” Susie said.
“Something like a gangster in an old film would wear?” Angie went on.
Susie was thoughtful. “Maybe,” she conceded.
Siobhan jotted down her mobile phone number. “That’s great, Susie. And if anything else comes back to you, maybe you could give me a call?”
Susie nodded. She was out of reach, so Siobhan handed the note to Angie. “Same thing applies to you.” Angie nodded and folded the note in two.
The door rattled open and a stooped, elderly woman came in.
“Mrs. Prentice,” Angie called out in greeting.
“Bit earlier than I told you, Angie dear. Can you fit me in?”
Angie was already on her feet. “For you, Mrs. Prentice, I’m sure I can shuffle my schedule.” Susie relinquished the chair
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