[b]Earlsfield
2:37 PM[/b]

Coach took one last glimpse down at the name and address DI Eddie Dunphy had provided him with to make sure he was in the right place. Victoria Mews was a sleepy little road opposite Wandsworth Cemetery that housed mostly pensioners. It was unlikely Fingers was going to be laid up here. He was a professional. The burgundy coupe he’d escaped in was likely stolen from one of the old fogeys here earlier in the week. But the clock was ticking and Crowder didn’t have much else to go on so he made the walk up to to number sixteen all the same.

As Coach reached the dark green front door he removed his hat and straightened out his hair hastily. Once he was convinced that it was all in order Crowder rapped his knuckles against the door gently. There was stirring from inside the house.

The door opened to reveal an elderly woman with wispy hair and thick-rimmed glasses.

“Good afternoon,” Coach said with an unassuming smile. “Is it a Miss Robertson?”

“I haven’t been ‘Miss’ anything for a very long time, young man,” the elderly woman responded with a shake of her head. “You’re after my granddaughter Lucy.”

Coach’s ears pricked up. “Is Lucy in?”

The old woman shook her head disapprovingly.

“I’m afraid not. She’s a very busy girl, very busy, indeed. Ever since she started working at that club of hers, I barely see her anymore. She’s always coming and going.”

Could it be? No, there was no chance, Coach told himself under his breath. Fingers was too slick to have made his getaway girl to use her own car – but from the little Crowder had seen of the woman in the driver’s seat that morning, she had the look of a club girl. Blonde shoulder length hair, piercing blue eyes, full lips. Maybe there was something to it.

A hacking cough from the old woman dragged Coach back. “What were you after, dear?”

“I’m afraid I’m here to offer an apology of sorts,” he said with an earnestness that would have put Bobby to shame. “You see, this morning I gave Lucy’s coupe a bit of a knock while trying to pass her on the road. I didn’t have time to stop but I made a note of her details. I had hoped to apologise in person.”

The old woman nodded along to Coach’s tale intently and then let out a disapproving tut.

“Accidents happen. I didn’t approve of her driving that silly thing in the first place but Lucy insists. You know how they are once they start growing up, they think they know best.”

Coach was on the verge of inventing an adult child of his own to agree with the old woman when one of her greying hands reached out towards him.

“Do come in for a cup of tea, Mr…?”

“Fenwick,” Coach smiled coyly as he shook the woman’s hand. “Roger Fenwick.”

Lucy Anderson’s house proved to be well-kept. Between cups of tea Nancy showed “Roger” pictures of Lucy as a young child, with her parents who had passed away twelve years ago, and of at a ballet recital when she was fifteen. She was a looker, alright. It came as no surprise when the old woman complained to him of Lucy’s choice of workplace.

It was the Playboy Club.

That too set alarm bells ringing in Coach’s head. The Playboy Club had only been open a year but had fast become a success with London’s high rollers. A star-studded cast of actors and sportsmen made their way through its doors on a nightly basis to drink and gamble to their heart’s contents.

As one of the Bunnies, it was Lucy’s job to make sure club members never saw the bottom of their glass – and to look pretty doing it. Coach had heard rumblings of what kinds of things went on behind closed doors there. Girls barely out of school being passed around by whole football teams. It was enough to make your stomach turn.

“I had hoped that our Lucy would become a nurse,” Nancy sighed. “She has the bedside manner for it. Such an agreeable girl. Her mother and I brought her up properly, y’see. It’s an important for a young woman to know her airs and graces in today’s world. Don’t you agree, Mr. Fenwick?”

Coach nodded meekly as he neared the end of his cup of tea. “I couldn’t agree more,”

The sound of a key gliding into place turned Coach’s head.

“Oh, that will be Lucy now,” Nancy smiled as she gestured towards the front door.

Coach heard the door open and shoes being slid off with a contented sigh. He set down his cup and saucer and sat forward in his seat. As the club girl rounded the door into the living room, Nancy announced Mr. Fenwick’s presence.

“Lucy, dear, you have a visitor.”

Their eyes locked. They were every bit as blue and piercing as the eyes that Coach had seen that morning. Her blonde, shoulder length hair was almost exactly the same too, but there was something not right. It wasn’t her – but the flicker of fear as she laid eyes on him spoke volumes.

Whoever Lucy Anderson was, she knew something about what had happened that morning.

“Hello,” the blonde said with a smile. “I don’t think we’ve met before?”

Her grandmother felt the tension in her voice. “Relax, dear, Mr. Fenwick is not some deranged member of that club of yours. He hit your car this morning and stopped by to make amends.”

Coach stood up from his seat and offered Lucy his hand.

“My name is Roger,” Coach smiled. “You do drive a burgundy coupe, don’t you? I do hope there’s not been some kind of confusion.”

“Yes, that glorified baked bean can is hers,” Nancy responded gruffly on her granddaughter’s behalf.

Lucy’s blue eyes darted back and forth as she tried to make sense of what was happening. Were the circumstances not so dire, Coach might have sympathised with her – finding a strange man in your home was unnerving to say the least. Especially when you had something to hide.

“Shake the man’s hand, dear,” Nancy insisted from her armchair. “Don’t be rude.”

Lucy shook Coach’s hand weakly and then proceeded to hang her coat up on a coat stand in the corner of the room. Her limbs moved slowly, as if she thought that each step took her closer to her demise, and prolonging each movement might help her devise some kind of escape.

Coach glanced out of the window at the space in front of the house.

“Don’t tell me you’ve already taken the car to the garage,” he said glumly.

“No, no, I...  The car’s not in the garage.“

Nancy peered up at her granddaughter with concern. “You look famished, Lucy. Why don’t I make some sandwiches for you and Mr. Fenwick here?”

“That would be lovely,” Coach said with a grateful smile.

The elderly woman lifted herself out of her seat and hobbled her way to the kitchen. Coach made sure to close the door behind her and then turned to face Lucy with a scowl.

“Correct me if I’m wrong but I have a feeling there’s something you need to get off your chest, love.”