The Marx Sisters bak-1

by Barry Maitland

  Gurney passed the transcript over to Brock.

  ‘Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s lying. She mentioned that both her mother and her boyfriend would be highly displeased if word of her having it off with Terry Winter got around.’

  ‘What’s she like?’

  ‘Eighteen going on sixteen. Silly little thing, all giggles and big eyes. I wouldn’t be surprised if she changed her story later, if things got a bit hot for Terry. But still, it could be useful to put the wind up him.’

  ‘Poor Terry.’ Kathy shook her head. ‘It’s not his week.’

  ‘Does he know this?’ Brock asked.

  ‘No. When I brought him back here, we left him alone for an hour with that list you gave him. Then I went through it with him, and for most of the times he has no alibi at all. A couple he claims he was with someone, but we haven’t been able to check them yet. The only times I’d say he might be covered for are those of some of the phone calls, but again, we’re still checking.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘I thought you might like to have a go at him, sir, so I sent him back to the Yard with DS Griffiths.’

  ‘Good. What about his flat?’

  ‘Yes, well, I’m not sure what to make of that. There was a tube of superglue, and a few tools which would have been about right for the damage. We sent the blunt instrument types-a hammer and a monkey wrench-down to the path lab for checking against the wound.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Well, no diary with red crosses against the appropriate days, I’m afraid. There were enough condoms to stock a chemist shop.’ Gurney grinned. ‘This bloke believed in buying in bulk-a real optimist. Not many seemed to have been used, though. Nothing else incriminating. Then it occurred to me, when we called in at his Peckham salon to speak to Shirley Piggott, which is just round the corner from his flat-it occurred to me to take a look at his office there.’

  ‘I don’t think I heard that, Bren.’

  ‘His receptionist was extremely helpful. I explained that I was trying to find a set of keys that Mr Winter had apparently mislaid. She opened up the drawers of his desk and filing cabinet for me to look inside. In one of the drawers we found this…’

  He got up and went over to a cardboard box in the corner of the room. From it he took a transparent plastic bag. Kathy gave a little cry as she saw inside it what looked like a severed head.

  ‘Gruesome, isn’t it?’ Gurney brought it over to the table. It was a plastic mask of a monster’s face with vivid scarlet blood dribbling from its fangs.

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ Brock sighed. ‘Terry has been a very naughty boy.’

  ‘That must have scared the life out of Eleanor,’ Kathy said with disgust. ‘No wonder Peg was petrified.’

  ‘We’ll have to show it to her before we see him.’

  ‘She’s been booked into the Bedford in Southampton Row, down the road. There’s a WPC with her still.’

  ‘And no keys to number 22?’

  Gurney shook his head. ‘I think we should get a search warrant for all his salons.’

  ‘All right. Well done, Bren, we’re getting somewhere. We’ll get over to Peg and then to the Yard and speak to the monster Romeo again. I’ll fill you in on our day as we go. Kathy, I’d like you to check something else if you would.’ He pointed to the diagram on the white board where the two circles overlapped. ‘Bob Jones. Let’s just make sure he hasn’t got any more to tell us.’

  20

  By the time Kathy reached the architect’s office, Bob Jones’s secretary, Sophie, was tidying up her desk for the night, getting ready to leave. She buzzed her boss and gave Kathy a sharp look when she said that she was there on a private matter.

  ‘You’re not a rep, then. Only Bob gets annoyed if reps call without an appointment.’

  ‘No, I’m not a rep.’

  ‘I didn’t think so.’

  ‘Could you tell?’

  ‘Oh yes, the women reps tend to be very sharp dressers. Oh’-she blushed-‘don’t get me wrong. I mean I think you’re more like me, you like to be smart but comfortable too. But they go a bit over the top, you know, all power dressing and shoulders and heavy make-up and enough perfume to knock you over.’

  Kathy smiled. The other woman was wearing a red and white polka dot dress with a wide, white collar, and Kathy didn’t really feel that being told she had the same taste in clothes was much of a compliment.

  ‘Have you been working with Bob since he set up on his own?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, much longer than that.’

  ‘You didn’t decide to go with the other company to their new offices when they split up, then?’

  ‘Oh no. I like working with Bob. I mean they were a good firm and everything, but I couldn’t work in an office like that. It’s so bitchy, and some of the girls are hopeless. That Janine! Mr Lowell thinks she’s wonderful, but she used to drive Bob crazy. He said she was deaf in her telephone ear, too vain to wear glasses, couldn’t walk properly because of those stiletto heels she wears, and her brain was preoccupied with her latest affair, so the result was that the partners kept getting messages all scrambled up, and turning up for meetings on the wrong day and everything, and no one could ever work out why!’

  They both laughed. Kathy wondered if Sophie was in love with her boss just as it occurred to Sophie that Kathy might be thinking that. ‘Oh well,’ she said briskly. ‘I must push off now. My boyfriend and I have got tickets to The Phantom of the Opera tonight. Have you seen it?’

  Bob’s head appeared on the spiral stair up from the drawing office, and he called out, ‘Sergeant! Hello, I didn’t think I’d have the pleasure of seeing you again.’

  Sophie blinked with surprise and stared after Kathy as she and Bob disappeared into the conference room.

  ‘My God! I had no idea.’ Bob Jones looked appalled. ‘I haven’t read a paper for a couple of days. Miss Harper! She was the upright, dark one, wasn’t she? I thought she had an air of tremendous natural dignity about her. That’s just awful. Is this some kind of serial killer or something?’

  Kathy looked puzzled. ‘But you never met her, did you?’

  ‘Yes, briefly. Just as Meredith was showing Judith and me out of Eleanor’s flat that time, the other two sisters returned. It was a bit embarrassing really, coming out of someone’s flat when they hadn’t invited you there in the first place. She was quite pleasant, but I was uncomfortable all the same.’

  ‘Oh.’ Kathy was still puzzled. ‘Did you mention the books or documents to her or the other sister?’

  ‘No, we left that to Meredith to bring up. Is that why you’re here? Or was it just an excuse to see me again?’ He grinned, and then, seeing her expression, coughed and looked serious. ‘Sorry, that was stupid. Only I’ve often thought about you and that other chap you were working with. You never found out who killed Meredith, I take it?’

  ‘No. But with the new murder we’re reopening that inquiry. We thought you might be able to help us in a few areas, actually. First of all, can I ask you if you have any involvement now in the Jerusalem Lane redevelopment project?’

  ‘The dreaded Citicenter One? No, not any longer. I was upset about the whole situation when we split up, and I don’t suppose First City Properties are likely to put any work my way for a bit. All the same, I’ve kept in touch with some of the people there, and architects are incredibly busy at the moment, so you never know. When some of the fitout work comes along, I might get a look-in. Can’t be too proud when you have to pay the rent at the end of the month. Why?’

  ‘Would you be willing to give us your opinion on one or two things-just advice, not formal evidence? We need a better insight, you know.’

  ‘I don’t see why not. Depends what the questions are, I suppose.’

  ‘Well, try this one.’ Kathy fixed him with her wide green eyes, which he found somewhat unsettling. ‘Can they build this development around number 22 without buying it?’

  Jones scratched at h
is chin in a gesture which reminded her of Brock when he was thinking.

  ‘Anything’s possible, but I’m sure Slade would hate it, and so would everyone else-Herbert Lowell, the Canadian developers, the American architects. The whole aim of the development is supposed to be a corporate identity for the twenty-first century, whatever that means-you know, part of London after the big bang, twenty-four-hour trading round the globe between New York, Tokyo and London, all that stuff. Old Mrs Winterbottom’s house falling apart in the middle of it all would spoil the image a bit, I should think.’

  He thought some more. ‘Have you got plans of the development?’

  Kathy shook her head. ‘I suppose we could get them.’

  ‘Never mind. There was a review of the project the other week in The Architects’ Journal. Hang on. I’ll see if I can find it.’

  He returned in a moment and laid the magazine open on the table, sitting down beside Kathy.

  ‘Here we are. These will do. There are basement-level and podium-level plans here. The existing number 22 isn’t shown, but let’s see’-he drew on the plans with his pencil-‘that’s the line of Jerusalem Lane, and number 22 must be about there. Well, yes, that completely screws up the entrance road down to the underground service areas and car park.’

  ‘Couldn’t that be moved over to avoid the existing building?’

  ‘Have you ever thought about becoming an architect, Sergeant Kolla? I could teach you how to draw if you like… Sorry. Where were we? Oh, not really. That would bring the entrance too close to the street junctions at the corners of the site. The highway engineers wouldn’t allow it. That was one of the constraints-the service and carparking traffic had to be taken in off Marquis Street, and had to be just so far back from the street corners.’ He shook his head. ‘Tricky.’

  ‘All right. Next question.’ Kathy found it disconcerting to have him sitting on the same side of the table as herself. ‘Here’s a list of all of the people who work for First City Properties or are involved with the project among the consultants’ firms. If Derek Slade wanted to get rid of Meredith Winterbottom and her sisters, who would he get to do it?’

  Bob Jones blinked at her. ‘Are you serious? Yes, I can see you are. Wow.’ He shook his head and got to his feet. He started to pace round the room, looking at the list. ‘I don’t know that I can help you with this, Kathy. Can I call you Kathy?’

  ‘You’ve got a good memory, Mr Jones.’

  ‘Bob, please, since I’m not a suspect. Look, I can’t see Derek Slade ever doing such a thing.’

  ‘Why not? Aren’t all developers rapacious, rotten and ruthless?’

  ‘No, of course not. Slade is quite a gentleman actually. First City isn’t one of these new high-risk development outfits that have sprung up in the last few years. And they’re not the Mafia either. They’ve been around in the City for a long time. Slade’s father started after the war with his fiftypounds demob money and built First City up to be one of the biggest development companies in the country. They don’t need to prove anything. There’s no way Slade would be involved in something like that.’

  ‘All right, not Slade, then. One of his people who can see a problem and would like to get it out of the way.’

  Bob frowned and stared at his red shoes. ‘Come on, Bob.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure he wouldn’t, but there’s only one bloke here would have the nerve, I reckon.’ He came back to the table and pointed to a name on the list. Danny Finn.

  ‘Launching a big building project is like, I don’t know, launching a war. There’s a lot at stake, and a lot of people who have to perform. Just walking down Jerusalem Lane now you can feel it, can’t you? A great powerful machine in motion, the feeling of things in progress, of important choices and decisions being implemented. And the machine has to be controlled.

  ‘Slade is above all that. He’s the boss, shaking hands, making deals, negotiating with the people outside, the banks and tenants. And people like Quentin Gilroy, and us, the consultants, are too much a part of it, building it, trying to solve the problems it presents. So First City needs someone who can get in there and make sure that everyone else is performing. Someone who is close enough to the machine to feel it tremble, hear it cough, who has oil on his hands and a pair of big boots on his feet for kicking people when the times demand. That’s Danny Finn. He’s a Glaswegian, and you’ve got a lot of ground to make up with him if you haven’t been born in the Gorbals, haven’t been thrown out of work at least once on Christmas Eve, and haven’t had to fight your way out of a waterlogged trench against a drunken navvy swinging a shovel at you.’

  Bob sat down and spread his hands out on the table in front of him.

  ‘I’ve got a lot of time for him.’ He smiled to himself. ‘He likes to go on a bit, usually in the pub, about his underprivileged origins, although now of course, being worth a lot to First City, he lives in an expensive house in Esher. I teased him once that he was a traitor to his class, and he was outraged. “A traitor to the working class, laddie? Never!” and I said “No, Danny, I mean the middle class.” He never forgot that. Always mentions it when we meet: “Here’s the laddie called me a member of the fucking middle classes.”

  ‘He has a heart of gold in many ways, if he likes you. But he can also be a rough bastard. I remember what he did to Herbert Lowell once. Herbert was doing some building for them, and was being even more pompous than usual, throwing his weight around, and he’d complained a couple of times to Slade about Danny getting out of line. So Danny decided to punish him. We’d arranged a site visit to the project, which was half built. I remember it was a bitterly cold day and dark, with a wind so that you couldn’t unfold the drawings outside the site hut. Danny had noticed on a previous occasion that Herbert wasn’t very good with heights, so he insisted that we go up to the top, up one ladder, then another, then a third.

  ‘At the top there was a gap between two parts of the building, about six or seven metres wide, with this beam across it, maybe so wide.’ Bob spread the thumb and little finger of his hand apart. ‘Danny marched off across the beam. There was nothing to hold on to. Herbert hesitated, and I could imagine what was going through his mind. The wind was cutting into us and there were flurries of snow in the air. I was right at his shoulder and there was no room to turn. Finally he set off, concentrating on the beam, trying not to look beyond it into the void.

  ‘Halfway across, Danny suddenly stopped, and turned to face Herbert. “Well, Mr Architect,” he said, “what’s your opinion about that manhole down there?” and he pointed to the ground that seemed miles below our feet. Herbert looked, and just froze. He simply couldn’t move. He was totally paralysed.

  ‘We had to organize a crane with a big bucket on the end to come up for him. The whole site came to a stop to watch the architect being lowered to the ground in a concrete bucket. It made a terrible mess of his cashmere coat.’

  ‘I see,’ Kathy said, ‘but would he terrorize some old ladies who were holding things up? Or even bump them off?’

  ‘No.’ Bob hesitated, shook his head. ‘No, I’m sure he wouldn’t.’

  He frowned and stared at his hands.

  ‘Well, thanks anyway, Bob. One other thing. Did you hear any more about those books you saw at Eleanor’s flat that time-the ones that your friend Judith was so interested in?’

  ‘Well, yes, I did in a way. A couple of months ago somebody rang me up about them. The call came out of the blue. A man. Said he was a book dealer. He said he had bought these books, and understood I had been interested in them, and was I still? I told him it wasn’t really me who was interested but my friend, and I gave him Judith’s name, address and phone number at Princeton. He didn’t tell me who he was.’

  ‘Did you recognize the voice? Could it have been Mr Kowalski?’

  ‘The owner of the bookshop? No, it certainly wasn’t him. I didn’t recognize the voice at all.’

  ‘We may need to speak to Judith. You’d better give me her address to
o.’

  ‘Sure, but she’s here, you know.’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘Yes, in London. At least she was a couple of days ago. I got this message from her on my answering machine wanting me to contact her. She was staying at a hotel in Knightsbridge. I rang back and she wasn’t there, so I left a message. Then when she didn’t get back to me I tried again later that evening. They said she still hadn’t got back and I asked them to give her the message to ring me whatever time she got in. She never did, and after that I didn’t try again. To tell you the truth I felt I’d done enough running around for her the last time she was over here.’

  ‘Which evening was it you rang the hotel?’

  ‘Night before last. Tuesday.’

  ‘Have you got the number? I’d like to try it now, please.’

  ‘Sure.’ Bob found it for her and brought a phone over from a side table.

  The hotel receptionist was helpful. ‘She checked out this afternoon, madam.’

  ‘Oh, I’d been hoping to catch her this evening.’

  There was a pause at the other end while the woman looked something up. ‘Yes, she had booked to stay another couple of days, but apparently she had to return to the United States earlier than expected.’

  ‘She went to the airport?’

  ‘I believe so, madam.’

  Kathy rapidly dialled the airport police at Heathrow and identified herself. Judith Naismith had booked on the 7.10 p.m. British Airways flight to New York, boarding in twenty minutes. She had already checked in and passed through to the departure lounge.

  ‘Hold her there, will you? I’ll get back to you within ten minutes.’

  She dialled again, this time the Yard, and spoke to Brock.

  ‘Right, Kathy,’ Brock said after she’d explained, ‘tell them to pull her off the flight and hold her till we get there. I’ll pick you up where you are as soon as I can.’