by Paul Charles
Had KP been trying to tell Kennedy that he was setting up a bluff? Or was he just giving Kennedy the runaround, throwing up dust clouds to confuse the detective? Kennedy forced himself away from these thoughts. He had finally unearthed the man who’d murdered Wilko Robertson. It would be only a matter of time before he caught up with him.
The main difference between Camden Town during market hours and the hours of darkness was the clientele. The daytime community were not all angels; more a case of likeable rogues, but an honourable chap amongst the night-time mob was as rare as an original song on a Baron Knights set list. Or at least it looked that way. Everyone acted suspiciously and itchy when someone they didn’t know passed their turf. This always made Kennedy wonder was there a deal of some kind going down. On the other hand, they could all have been God-fearing patrons who were as wary of Kennedy, in his smart threads, as he was of them. Many are the sins which blossom in ignorance, Kennedy thought, as he walked cautiously on.
Kennedy was now heading towards Chalk Farm. He intended to drop in at KP’s flat, just in case. At the last moment, he turned left into the Roundhouse, suddenly remembering the watchman and thinking it just might be profitable to check whether he’d seen KP in the recent hours.
‘Evening, sir,’ the watchman said, recognising Kennedy instantly.
‘Evening. It’s a cool one.’ Kennedy replied.
‘Coldest one yet, if you ask me.’
‘Yea, you might just be right. Listen, you haven’t by any chance seen KP tonight have you?’
‘Yes, he’s downstairs. Been down there all evening he has.’
‘Oh,’ Kennedy did a quick reassessment of the situation. ‘We were meant to meet earlier; do you mind if I go down and see him?’
‘No problem, here’s a torch. You’ll need it. I’d take you down myself but I’m not meant to leave my post. But you know where it is, don’t you?’
‘Yea, it’s underneath at the other side of the theatre, isn’t it?’ Kennedy recalled.
‘Indeed. All routes eventually lead there – you’ll probably smell the brew-up before you see him.’
A few minutes later, Kennedy wasn’t so sure this had been such a good idea. He’d already come eye to eye with two rats. He felt like stopping and tucking his trousers into his socks. He didn’t fancy rats using his trouser legs for drainpipe practise.
What seemed like ages later, he was too far in to turn back, but not close enough to feel comfortable continuing. The problem was that each turn took him into an identical brick corridor to the one he’d just left. There wasn’t a sound to be heard, except for the crunching of his own footsteps. He was treading through water and mush. He hoped it was mush. Kennedy started to whistle.
It might be the basement of Camden’s much-loved venue, Kennedy thought, but there was a definite spooky vibe around these vaults tonight. He thought of all the men who had once worked down there, turning the large turntable above them so that the trains could go out the way they came in. He wondered if any of those men were ever accidentally killed while working down here in this dungeon? Kennedy knew he was spooking himself.
He realised he must have done about three circuits of the perimeter of the Roundhouse. Was the outer wall to the right or the left? If he knew which was the outer wall, then all he had to do was to keep checking for a break. He reached the point where he thought he’d first entered the maze. So he took the exit to the right, only to find himself in yet another corridor. This one however didn’t have steps to take him back up from the basement. He decided to stick to this new corridor for a while. He might as well try something new, rather than continue to walk around in circles.
Hang on, he thought, his light beam reflecting off something. He’d found it. It was the other stainless steel door which led to KP’s hideaway. He opened it and the torch immediately picked up the inner identical door. He tried the second door. It was locked from the inside. Kennedy sighed a sigh of relief. He’d discovered why KP had failed to keep their appointment. It wasn’t through guilt. No, it was because he had fallen asleep in his secret hideaway, comfortably snuggled up in his chair.
Kennedy tapped on the door. No reply. He kicked it, still no sound from within. He banged on it one more time, as loudly as he could. He put his shoulder to it and pushed. There was no give. He remembered the bolt of the lock being mid-door. It wasn’t exactly a substantial lock, merely a bolt and hook, more one to afford privacy than security. He raised his foot, aimed carefully and kicked the door with all his might. With a few creaks and groans the door gave way to his force, but still some of the lock’s screws held on. He gave the door another massive kick. It sprung open. Immediately he was in the white room. The lights were off. He turned them on.
He spotted Kevin Paul.
KP was sitting, flopped out in the chair, head bent down towards his chest and arms spread out over the sides of the chair. He looked like a puppet waiting for his master to activate the life-giving strings.
These dopeheads, Kennedy thought. Even the racket with the door couldn’t disturb their cannabis-induced slumber.
‘KP?’ Kennedy began, his voice echoing around the white tiled room. ‘Do you realise how late it is? I’ve been waiting for you down in the Golden Grill.’
Kennedy found himself barely whispering the words. This was silly. What was he scared of now?
‘KP,’ he said again, his voice gaining confidence. ‘Come on mate, time to wake up. Let’s go and have a warm cup of tea somewhere.’
He moved his hand to shake KP, to wake him up. The minute Kennedy touched his shoulder, the tour manager keeled over and fell off the chair. He fell with a dull thud, a bit like a sack of potatoes hitting the ground. Kennedy froze, and then he jerked back. He tried to help KP back into the chair and his hand accidentally brushed the stone-cold skin of KP’s face. This time the eyes were open.
‘Oh God.’
Detective Inspector Christy Kennedy touched Kevin Paul’s neck, searching for a pulse.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Kennedy found no signs of life. There were no noticeable wounds. On the table he noticed KP’s mobile and he dialled North Bridge House. Sgt Tim Flynn was on night-duty and Kennedy left him to get a team down to the Roundhouse. Kennedy stood in the small room, opposite KP.
Within five minutes, members of the team started to arrive and Kennedy watched the scene evolve around him. The only thing static in the room was Kennedy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d considered a corpse so thoroughly. Usually the detective would remain around the body for only as long as was professionally necessary. But Kevin Paul was different. Kennedy felt there was a possibility KP could still be alive if he had done his job differently. What had KP found?
The pathologist, Dr Leonard Taylor, was the last to arrive on the scene. The team was now complete.
‘I say, old chap, these locations are getting stranger and stranger.’ Taylor knelt down beside KP. ‘No obvious marks to hands, face, head or neck,’ he concluded, following his initial examination. ‘Is this the same fellow who discovered the singer the other evening?’
Kennedy nodded in the affirmative and saw the doctor glance at the door, with the catch for the bolt of the lock busted from its holding.
‘Not another locked room murder?’ he proclaimed.
‘Yes indeed, Leonard. Only this time, I was the first on the scene and I can confirm that the door was locked from the inside when I got here.’
‘How extraordinary. I’ve read about such scenes but never actually been on one until Thursday evening. And now a second one. In that case, let’s check…’ Taylor pulled up KP’s black sweater, unbuttoned his black shirt and finally hiked up the black t-shirt, revealing the palest skin Kennedy had ever seen.
‘There wasn’t much to him,’ WPC Coles uttered when she saw how thin he was.
‘Now that’s where you’re wrong,’ Kennedy smiled sadly. ‘There was more to him than anyone I’ve met for a very long time.’
; ‘Good Lord, Yes. Extraordinary. It’s exactly the same,’ Taylor gasped.
Kennedy looked at Taylor but said nothing.
‘See here?’ Taylor said, pointing to a tiny speck on the chest. ‘A single drop of blood. I’ll have to carry out a full examination you understand, but it is my guess that our friend here was murdered exactly the same way as your singer fellow. A thin sharp object, or blade, straight into the heart.’
KP’s body was prepared for removal. Hands and feet sealed in plastic bags, contents of pockets emptied into separate bags with labels to denote the origin of the contents. His mobile phone was also bagged and would make its way back to North Bridge House with all the other bits and pieces.
‘Can we get an itemised list of the calls KP made this afternoon?’ Kennedy asked Coles, examining the contents of the plastic bags as he spoke.
KP, on his final journey, had one hundred and thirty pounds in notes; three pounds and forty-two pence in change; a Jordan Grand Prix cigarette lighter; a packet of cigarette papers; a small Woodbine tin, old and original, containing an ample supply of hash; a small black telephone book; a few scraps of paper containing illegible scribbles; a Wonderland Lottery keyring, containing three keys, two Yales and one Chubb; a couple of cinema ticket stubs – for the Odeon Camden Town to see Divorcing Jack; a small, leather wallet containing a Mastercard in KP’s name and an American Express Platinum card with “Circles Touring” as holder, and finally, believe it or not, three marbles.
‘Are you okay?’ Taylor asked the detective.
‘It’s just that…I knew him, or was getting to know him. He was a bit of a character,’ Kennedy started.
‘And you feel that if you had acted quicker or…differently,’ Taylor sympathised.
‘Yes, well you see…’
‘Don’t, old chap. You can’t beat yourself up about this. If I started to think like that, I’d be a mess. And you would be too.’
‘Thanks,’ Kennedy replied, comforted by his friend’s words.
‘Not at all. Now, let’s get on with our jobs. Aren’t you meant to ask me, “And what time did he die?”.’
‘Yes, something like that,’ Kennedy agreed, recharged somewhat by Taylor’s charm.
‘Okay, in that case I’d hazard a guess of no earlier than teatime today. Probably six hours ago, at most. Of course, old chap, I’ll give you a more accurate, similar, guess after I’ve carried out the autopsy.’
And with that, the portly doctor departed the room of death, which was now being examined with a fine toothcomb by Kennedy’s team. Within five minutes, Coles discovered something at the entrance door.
‘Look, sir. Over here.’
‘What have you found?’
‘See,’ Coles began, pointing her plastic-gloved finger to the bolt of the lock. ‘here, sir. I just saw it by accident as the light caught it. It’s plastic or something.’
‘It’s a fishing line,’ Irvine, who also joined them, offered.
‘Yes indeed,’ Kennedy smiled as he examined the bolt closely. Some very fine, transparent fishing line had been tied to the handle of the lock’s bolt. ‘Very clever. Very clever indeed. You’ve just solved the mystery of one of our locked rooms, constable. Well done.’
‘What, sorry? I’m afraid you’ve lost me, sir,’ Coles replied in bewilderment.
‘Obviously our murderer had less time to plan this one,’ Kennedy began. ‘It’s not as elaborately done as the dressing room at Dingwalls. This trick wouldn’t have worked there anyway – that was a Chubb lock. But here it’s just a bolt and catch. What our magician has done is place the bolt in the middle position between these two rests, tie the fishing line to the bolt, close the door behind him taking the fishing line outside with him and pull the fishing line after him. The bolt slides into place and locks the door from the inside. There was a very good chance we were going to miss this because it is so small and if the light doesn’t catch it you can’t see it. You can’t see it unless you have the eagle eyes of our WPC here. Well spotted.’
‘Have you seen this done before, sir?’
‘No. But it makes sense,’ Kennedy replied.
‘But why lock the door at all, sir?’ Irvine asked.
‘Well, the watchman knew KP was down here. KP always checked in with him on the way in. This was his den. He brought me here once. So, if the watchman came down and the doors were locked from the outside he’d have known something was wrong, because he wouldn’t have seen KP pass him on the way out again. The watchman takes his job very seriously, he sticks to his system like glue. However, if he found the door locked from the inside he’d obviously assume KP was enjoying himself and leave him to it. This would buy our killer plenty of time to get away.’
‘That must mean that the watchman saw our murderer come down and go out again,’ Coles said.
‘Possibly, let’s check it out,’ Kennedy said.
Smiley Bolger, the watchman, was long past his bedtime and his usually smiling face was grey and drawn. He was visibly upset by the death of his friend.
‘Ah now, he was a good boy, was our KP. Never a bad word to say about anyone. Always had the time of day for me. Aye, and I tell you, he did a mean cup of tea and he wasn’t selfish with his mates. Who’d ever wish to top such a gentle soul?’ Smiley asked.
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out,’ Kennedy answered. ‘What time did you say Kevin arrived at?’
‘Must have been about five thirty. He was all business, you know, like one of his big deals was going down. He was always doing a deal. “It’s the big one, Smiley”, he’d always say. There were forever people dropping off things for him here. You know, one day, a gross of yo-yos, the next a couple of gross of Michael Bolton CDs. Said they’d fallen off the back of a lorry. I told him they didn’t look all that damaged to me. He said, “Smiley, wait till you hear the bleedin’ music vibe man, then you’ll realise just how damaged they are”. He laughed his bleedin’ socks off at that one I can tell you.’
‘Did he tell you what type of deal he was doing today?’
‘Nope. Just said he was setting something up. Said it was a bit of a “Sherlock Holmes vibe”. He didn’t hang around for long. Said he had a lot of work to do, down below in the office.’
‘Did anyone else go down with him?’ Kennedy pushed.
‘No, but he said someone would be arriving for him at six.’
‘And did they?’ Kennedy coaxed.
‘Yeah, this woman arrived about six. I’d never seen her before but she said she knew where to go, so she must have been down there before.’
‘Can you describe her?’
‘Well, she must have been cold, because she was well wrapped up in a long grey coat. Her head was well-protected in a large black scarf. The only part of her face I could see were her eyes. She had a pair of big glasses.’
‘Did she speak to you?’
‘Just said she was going down to see KP, said he was expecting her and that she knew where to go. With that she hobbled down the stairs.’
‘Hobbled?’ Kennedy asked, grasping at straws.
‘Yea, she must have had a bad leg or something because she had a walking stick and she leaned on it heavily as she went down the stairs. She was a bit wobbly, I can tell you,’ Smiley offered hopefully.
‘What about her hair? What style? What colour?’ Kennedy continued.
‘Don’t know, sir. Couldn’t see any of it because of her scarf.’
‘What about her voice? Did she have an accent? How did she speak?’
‘It was high-pitched, but not much more than a kind of whisper. I got the impression she was quite frail what with her bad leg and her having trouble getting her breath,’ Smiley replied. He was really trying to find something pertinent to say.
‘Is there anything else you remember about her? What about bags? Was she carrying a bag, a hand bag, a shopping bag, or anything else like that?’ Kennedy was about to give up. He knew that Smiley had seen what someone had wanted him to see.
‘No sir, as I said she was having trouble enough moving along without anything else to hinder her.’
‘How long did she stay down there?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I said, I don’t know.’
‘But I thought everyone would have had to come in and out through this door.’
‘No. She’d have had to come in this way, as would KP. But at six o’clock, when they are preparing for the theatre audience, they take the chains off the fire doors – the emergency exits. So after that point she could have gone out through the theatre by pushing one of the fire doors open. The indoor security would have spotted it within a few minutes or so and secured the door again from the inside. For all I knew KP could have gone out that way too. He’d normally have come and said cheerio to me though. He’s never going to do that again, is he now, sir?’
Kennedy could do nothing but reach out his left hand and pat Smiley a couple of times in the centre of his back.
‘We’ll let you get off to your bed now. We may need to speak more tomorrow, or over the next couple of days. Thanks a million for all your help. I really appreciate it,’ Kennedy said as he turned and left Smiley furiously wrapping his arms around himself to try and shake the chill from his bones.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Breakfast time is a good time to observe how smoothly a household works, Kennedy thought as he made his way to the home of one Dr Ranjee Shareef.
He rang the doorbell. A maid answered and Kennedy introduced himself. He’d like to have a word with Dr Shareef, if possible. The very same maid arrived not more than one minute later with a message from the doctor who claimed to be busy with his family. If Kennedy cared to ring his office at the hospital the doctor’s PA would try to put something in the book for him.
‘Would she indeed,’ Kennedy said. ‘Could you tell Dr Shareef that I am from Camden Town CID and I am investigating the mysterious death of Miss Sinead Sullivan. Could you further tell him that this is police business which won’t wait.’
