John taps a few keys on his computer and the screen comes to life. ‘I’ll have a full report ready soon, but judging from where the points of contact are and taking into account the considerable size of the victim, I’d say that your attacker is a tall man, at least 6 feet tall. I’d also say that he is reasonably strong, considering how far he dragged the body down the alley. He looks up from his desk with a grim smile. ‘I hope that, for now, that is enough to go on.’

I assure him that it is, though the profile fits all three of our suspects and doesn’t narrow the field any. I glance at the clock on the wall and realise for the second time today that unless I get moving, I’m going to be late. After all, it’s not every day one gets to attend a premiere for a Hollywood film.

21

No matter how many times I drag the brush through my hair, the knots refuse to shift. Acknowledging the fact that no amount of brushing is going to untangle the mess, I pull a bobble from a drawer and tie my hair into a high ponytail, pulling it tight. Knowing that I don’t have long before Tom picks me up, I apply a little make up and laugh at the absurdity of it all.

I imagine the long-legged, buxom-chested beauties in their flowing, designer dresses and perfectly coiffed hair, swanning elegantly around the foyer of the cinema, champagne in hand, having spent the day relaxing and getting ready at their leisure. And then I turn up with my messy hair, sparse make up and cobbled-together-at-the-last-minute, borrowed-from-my-pregnant-sister dress.

Still, I console myself with the knowledge that none of these women will have spent the day in a room watching a body being cut open and medically examined. I apply some lipstick before making the decision that it makes me appear washed out, and remove it immediately.

As I’m squeezing the toothpaste out of its tube, the doorbell rings, signalling Tom’s arrival. I move the toothbrush into the flowing water, before plunging it into my mouth and walking down the stairs. I open the door and let Tom in, holding the toothbrush up to show that I can’t speak, and point to the sofa. I run back upstairs and spit out the minty paste, cursing myself as a small white stain settles into the boob area of my dress. Great. If I were a superstitious woman, I’d say all signs point to tonight not turning out well.

Tom is standing near the door with a bunch of flowers. Coming down the stairs towards him reminds me of the scene from Titanic where Leonardo DiCaprio turns to greet Kate Winslet with a wide smile. Except Tom does not look like a third-class passenger aboard a doomed ship, he looks suave and sophisticated.

He is wearing a black three-piece suit with a bow tie and a pair of pointed, shiny shoes. His hair is short and smart and he’s clean-shaven. I point to the space between his nose and lip, where the trendy moustache once sat proudly. He shakes his head sadly.