“How did she die?”
“She was strangled, then mutilated.”
Charlie waited for that to land before continuing:
“When did you last see her?”
“Three or four days ago.”
“Friend of yours?”
Edina shrugged, clearly not wanting to commit either way.
“What did she do here?”
“She was a dietitian.”
“Popular?”
“Yes,” Edina replied, though she looked bemused by the question.
“How much did she charge?”
“We have a price list here. I can show—”
“Did she give the full service or did she specialize in certain areas?”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“I’ve checked out Agneska and I don’t see too many diplomas in dietary science. Her real name was Alexia Louszko and she was a prostitute—a good one by all accounts. She was also Polish. Like you.”
Edina said nothing, clearly not liking where this was going.
“Let’s start again, shall we?” Charlie resumed. “Why don’t you tell me what Alexia did here?”
There was a long, long silence. Then, finally, Edina said:
“Like I said, the manager will be back tomorrow.”
Charlie laughed.
“You’re good, Edina, I’ll give you that.”
Her eyes flitted to the corridor of treatment rooms.
“What would happen if I walked into one of those treatment rooms right now? Room 3 is in use. If I were to kick it open right now, what would I find? Shall we go and see?”
“Be my guest. If you have a warrant.”
Edina was no longer even pretending to be friendly. Charlie paused to reconsider her line of attack—this girl was no amateur.
“Whose boy is that?” Charlie said, gesturing toward the kitchen.
“A client’s.”
“What’s his name?”
A tiny pause, then:
