Police were everywhere. Police cars, motorbikes, uniformed men, plainclothesmen, inspectors, chief inspectors, superintendents, even the police chief himself. At the fitness center, Lucy Lambert wore her aerobics outfit—gray tights, midriff bare, white T-shirt. The center would be closing soon. She headed for the showers. There was only one woman there, and the room was steamy, but not so steamy that Lucy couldn’t see the lovebirds tattoo on the woman’s left buttock. “Is someone picking you up?” Lucy asked the woman after she emerged from the shower. “Pick up? No.” She was attractive and had an accent, eastern European by the sounds of it. “I was asking because of the murders,” said Lucy. “The West End isn’t safe for walking after dark.” The woman smiled. “Hotel not so far.” “My dad picks me up,” said Lucy. “We could drop you off.” “Thank you, but I am okay.” Lucy tried again. “You know that today is the thirteenth day, don’t you? It’s dangerous out there.”
