Body Line

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

  ‘Is it?’ Joanna asked of Slider. ‘Are you working tomorrow? Don’t forget Kate and Matthew are coming to stay.’

  ‘I hadn’t forgotten. I shall have to go in, but I hope not to stay too long. There’s stuff being looked into, but until we get answers there’s nothing for me to do but make encouraging noises.’

  ‘Can I look at your baby before we go?’ Emily asked, and Joanna took her upstairs.

  ‘I think she thinks babies are catching,’ Atherton said to Slider when they were alone.

  ‘Oh? Are you at that point already?’

  ‘No use asking me,’ said Atherton. ‘Isn’t that sort of thing always the woman’s decision?’

  ‘Well, you are allowed an input,’ Slider said.

  ‘Don’t let’s get smutty.’

  ‘Seriously, do you want a child?’

  ‘If I wanted one, I’d want it with Emily,’ Atherton said after some thought.

  ‘Very circumspect,’ said Slider.

  The telephone hauled Slider gasping and flapping out of a deep dream on to the dry shore of awake. The bedside clock said ten past three and it was as cold as the dead of night can be. He reached for the bawling receiver and had a moment of blessed silence before the voice of O’Flaherty, the night relief sergeant, took over in his ear.

  ‘Are y’awake, Billy, me darling? Let me hear y’ sweet voice, y’ native woodnotes wild, so I can tell if y’r compost mentis or not.’

  ‘I’d speak if you gave me a chance,’ Slider muttered, hoping not to wake Joanna. ‘This better be good, at this time of morning.’

  ‘Tis not a chat I’m after, tis your company. I’ve had Detective Superintendent Gordon Hunnicutt of Notting Hill on the blower. Your witness, the Aude female, has bought it.’

  The words cut through any remaining fog. ‘Dead?’ he said, not loudly, but sharply enough to make Joanna stir and wake. ‘How?’

  ‘Bashed on the head, poor little eejit,’ O’Flaherty mourned. ‘Dead as Dick’s hatband. So y’d better get up, get out and get over here.’

  ‘I’m on my way,’ Slider said, slinging his legs out of bed in the same movement as putting the phone on the hook.

  Joanna sat up, shivering. ‘It’s so cold,’ she mumbled. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘I’ve got to go in. Our witness, the Aude girl, has been bumped off.’

  ‘Oh God. I’m so sorry.’ Slider was already across the room, dragging clothes on. When he came back, half clad, to briefly kiss her goodbye, she grabbed him by the collar to keep him long enough to say, ‘You’re not to feel guilty about this.’

  He detached her hand but kissed it before giving it back to her. ‘Too late,’ he said.

  TWELVE

  Hello Dubai

  ‘Poor little beast,’ Slider said to Porson. ‘The only good thing about it is that it isn’t our case, so we won’t have to find the men to investigate it.’

  Detective Superintendent Hunnicutt (‘Two ens, two tees, please,’) had made it clear that he didn’t want other firms treading on his hallowed. Big, young and pompous, with a large, gleaming face and a head shaved to stubble to disguise the encroaching baldness, he was a whale on procedure – one of the new generation of promotees who didn’t just have a grasp of all the paperwork required these days, they positively revelled in it. Returns, censuses, reports, analyses, tables, graphs, flow charts, activity logs, productivity ratings – he loved it all. It was meat and drink to him. His overmastering joy was a meeting with a graphic display and a pointer; bullet points gave him an erection. Nothing in the realm of human activity – he had written an article about it on the Notting Hill police website – was of value that could not be measured. Measurement and analysis was what separated man from the animals, he ruled – though the parallel NH Copper’s Blog had suggested it was actually the inability to lick your own balls.

  ‘You needn’t worry,’ Hunnicutt had told Slider graciously, ‘we’ll make sure you are kept informed of anything that may impact on your case. And of course –’ the smile segued into a look of gravity – ‘we expect you to do the same.’

  ‘I’d love to impact on his case,’ Slider said later to his NH oppo, DI Phil Warzynski, which was safe to do because they were alone at the time and Warzynski felt the same way about Hunniballs, if not a bit more so, since he had to put up with him every day.

  ‘I’d impact on it with my trusty left boot,’ Warzynski said. He had played stand-off half for the Met Police rugby team, and said boot was respected throughout the London League. ‘But don’t worry, Bill. I’ll make sure you really do get anything as soon as we do. I take it you think this is part of your ongoing, and not just a coincidence?’

  ‘It’d be a bit of a coincidence if it was a coincidence. I’ll send you over my notes on Aude and a copy of her statement. The saddest thing is that she really couldn’t have identified him, so there was no reason to off her.’

  ‘He’s being too clever by half,’ Warzynski said. ‘Overcaution is their downfall as often as carelessness. This could be a murder too far. All right, it was two in the morning and no one about, but there are surveillance cameras everywhere these days. We’ll catch him on something.’

  Slider hoped they would, though it was not certain that having another grainy photo of the man would help, since they didn’t know who he was or what his connection was to Rogers.

  To Porson he reported: ‘Williamson, the manager of Jiffies, is really cut up, because he actually asked Aude to come back. Apparently he’d had a customer phoning up about Ceecee St Clair, saying she was his favourite artist and asking when she was coming back. When the call was repeated he rang Aude on her mobile and said her public was missing her and any time she felt well enough to return she’d get a hero’s welcome. It played on her vanity, poor idiot, and back she came. Third call from the anxious customer, Williamson was able to tell him Ceecee would be dancing again that very night.’

  ‘He didn’t find the interest suspicious, then?’ Porson grunted.

  ‘No. He gets calls like that from time to time. Various acts have their followings. Of course, now he’s kicking himself. Says he wishes he’d asked for the man’s name.’

  ‘Wouldn’t’ve helped. He wouldn’t’ve given the real one.’

  ‘No. Warzynski pointed that out to salve his feelings. Anyway, it looks as though the “fan” rang Aude during the evening and made some kind of date with her. Williamson says he saw her talking on her mobile during a break – though I doubt whether that was unusual.’

  ‘Wait a minute – how would the killer get her number?’ Porson objected.

  Slider almost sighed. ‘She had a website. The number was there for theatrical agents to contact her.’

  ‘Bloody Nora!’

  ‘It’s quite possible the killer posed as an agent when he rang her to get her to meet. I’m afraid she’d probably be quite uncritical about something like that. Anyway, she left the club just after two, and that was that. She was found in an access alley between two shops just off Portobello Road by a couple of blokes walking home after a party. She was lying just behind the wheelie bins. Warzynski says it looks as though she was killed at the entrance of the alley and dragged from there – it was only about ten feet. A single blow to the temple with a blunt instrument, hard enough to crush the bones. It must have been really quick, that’s the only comfort. As they passed the end of the alley, one whack, quick drag, and away.’

  ‘Easy enough if you’ve got the confidence,’ Porson agreed gloomily.

  ‘Yes. There was no real attempt to hide the body, so he could have done it almost anywhere, just looking for a moment when there was no one else in sight.’

  Porson thought, scratching delicately above his ear. ‘Well, she wasn’t much of a witness, so I doubt it’ll make any difference to your case. Except that if he’s killed again you’ve got two chances of catching him.’

  ‘Twice as much human suffering,’ Slider felt obliged to point out.

  ‘But twice as m
uch chance of chummy making a mistake. What’s goose for the sauce is gander for the other. What lines are Notting Hill following up?’

  ‘They’re calling in all the local surveillance camera tapes, putting out Aude’s picture and asking for witnesses,’ Slider said, with the hopelessness that these things always generated in his voice. ‘Not much else they can do.’

  Porson nodded. ‘Best leave it to them, put it out of your mind, carry on with your own case. As you say, the good thing is that this one isn’t ours.’

  So it was back to the grindstone. Slider, having lost most of the morning over at Notting Hill, rang Joanna, rather shamefaced, to say he would not be back soon. ‘Can you cope? I’m sorry to have to ask you.’

  ‘Nothing to it,’ she said blithely. ‘With your dad here. Any idea when you’ll be through?’

  ‘Not really. But unless something breaks, I should be able to take tomorrow off.’

  ‘Tush! Don’t say that. Don’t you know the old saying?’

  ‘Any particular one in mind?’ he asked.

  She told him: ‘“What makes God laugh? People making plans.”’

  ‘Comforting thought,’ he said. ‘Someone wants me – gotta go.’

  ‘I want you – but go anyway.’

  It was Swilley at the door. ‘Come in,’ Slider said to her enquiring look. He liked the fact that she had a sheaf of papers in her hand: it looked hopeful.

  ‘I’ve been looking into the various property sales and purchases, like you asked, guv, and it’s quite interesting. Even more interesting when you add the dates in.’

  She held up the papers and raised her eyebrows, and he made a space on his desk and invited her round. It was a perilous venture, for marriage hadn’t done anything to impair Norma’s looks, and having her leaning over him at close quarters only emphasized how nice she smelled. Since the baby (which was seven months old now, a girl they had called Ashley: Ashley Allnutt – how Atherton had rolled his eyes!) she had been wearing her blonde hair in a jaw-length smooth bell, and it swung forward as she bent and brushed against his ear. Made it hard to concentrate. Come on, he was only human!

  ‘Now,’ she said, indicating the table she had laid out in her large, clear handwriting, ‘you see the incident in Harley Street happened in June ninety-eight.’

  ‘Good title for a movie,’ Slider said. ‘Incident in Harley Street, starring Sidney Greenstreet.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Infant! Go on.’

  ‘Oh. OK. And Rogers moves out of the marital home six weeks later, in July.’

  ‘How did you find that out?’

  ‘Connolly’s contact at The Boot, Maureen. She remembers it because it was at the same time her brother was getting married. Anyway, the divorce is filed for in September, so Amanda didn’t waste much time. Now, I’ve managed to track down the London flat. That was sold in the September, for around two-fifty according to the estate agent. The house takes a bit longer – that doesn’t sell until January, and it goes for one point one million.’

  ‘So that’s around one and a quarter million for the two, give or take,’ Slider said.

  ‘And assuming Amanda gets half – she said they shared the money equally – it gives her six-two-five to play with. She buys the house in Ealing, also in January, for three-four-nine-nine-fifty.’ She snorted in derision. ‘These stupid estate agent prices. Who do they think they’re fooling?’

  ‘Well, us, apparently. Anyway, so far so good. Amanda buys a house and has some change left over.’

  ‘You’d think that, wouldn’t you?’ Swilley said. ‘But look here.’ She tapped a finger against an entry. ‘Frith buys the stables in October – that’s before Amanda gets the big money from the house. Frith only got ninety thousand for his house. The stables went for two-ninety, but the agent who sold them said they needed a lot of work – he’d have had to spend at least fifty thou on them. And then there’s buying the horses. The agent reckoned it out for me, and Amanda must have put in at least three hundred thousand.’

  ‘She must have—’

  ‘Let me finish, boss. The Decree Nisi comes through in March the next year, and the Absolute in September, and in between the two Amanda sets up the agency. Now I haven’t got access to her finances, but I’ve spoken to a contact of mine that says she’d have needed around two hundred kay in set-up costs.’

  ‘Why so much?’

  ‘Because she buys the building. And then she’d have had to have the modifications made for disabled access. Then there’s equipment, stationery, wages, utilities. All in all, I reckon our Amanda comes up a quarter of a million short over the three transactions. So where did she get the money from?’

  She straightened up – somewhat to Slider’s relief – and he said, ‘It’s a good point. She may have money of her own, of course. Or she may have taken out a loan.’

  ‘There’s no mortgage on the Ealing house, and only a small one on the stables. I haven’t found out about the agency building yet. It’s a bit delicate. I don’t want the estate agents asking her if it’s all right to tell me.’

  ‘No, I understand.’

  ‘But even if there is a mortgage on that, it’s not likely to be as much as two-fifty. There’s a big black hole in there somewhere.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Slider. From out of memory came a voice saying, What did Amanda get out of it? Oh, right, that was Joanna last night, talking about carrots and then sticks. He looked again at the dates. It all happened quite quickly after the scandal. And she didn’t wait long after chucking out her husband before investing in Robin Frith. If Frith sold his house to buy the stables presumably he was living with her from that time – October. Three months after Rogers moved out, one month after filing for the divorce, and a generous year before the divorce was finalized. That could have got her into trouble with the courts, had Rogers wanted to contest the divorce. But he had gone pretty meekly, it seemed. Prompting the question, equally, what did he get out of it?

  Was it possible that there was something in that incident, the Lescroit fumbling, that had turned a profit somehow for the Rogerses? No, not possible, of course. But it was the incident that triggered everything else, and he still could not help feeling there was something about it that he ought to know and didn’t.

  The agency, he thought. As soon as she was shot of Rogers, she had invested in the two things she cared about, Robin Frith and the agency. Well, one assumed she cared about them. Where the cash resides, there shall your heart be also. ‘The agency,’ he said aloud. ‘What does it cost to run? Does it make money? Presumably it must do, if they pay the Fraser girl a wage. And Nora Beale, unless she has money of her own. But does it make enough for Amanda to live on as well? Because otherwise, where does she get her income? Unless she has private money or lives off the stables, the agency is her living. I’d really like to have a look at the books of that little venture. It’s damnable that we can’t touch her.’

  Swilley thought for a moment, and said, ‘What about the Fraser girl, boss? You said she was all cut up about Rogers and didn’t care much for Amanda. Maybe she would find out what you want to know. She’s in there, in the office. If she’s alone at some point . . .’

  ‘Norma, you’re a genius. Get on to that, will you? I want to know if the agency makes a profit, and if not, who pays for it. And if Amanda Sturgess draws a wage. And anything else about the financial side you can squeeze out of her. She might come across woman to woman if you sympathize with her loss. Make her feel she’s the real widow.’

  ‘Yeah, boss. I know. Have we got an address for her? Weekend’s the best time to make a start on her. That’s the loneliest time for someone like her.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ said Slider. He considered the psychology of that. ‘Take some Kleenex with you.’

  ‘Inspector Slider?’ said a cut-glass voice that felt like a very pointed fingernail being run down his spine. ‘This is Amanda Sturgess.’

  ‘Yes, I recognized your voice,’ Slider said, concealing
a tremor of interest. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I – ah – wondered how your – investigation was coming along.’

  ‘We are making some progress,’ Slider said, and stopped to allow the silence to bloom. He wanted to know why she had phoned him. It wasn’t to enquire after his progress. Leave her enough silence and perhaps she would cough up something interesting.

  She did not speak at once, but Slider was an expert at the game and could outsilent anyone. ‘Have you any – are you interested in anyone in particular?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t divulge any details,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, but surely – to me? He was my husband, after all. And I assure you I am discreet.’

  ‘I’m sorry. It would be unprofessional of me to reveal operational matters to anyone outside my team. You of all people must see that.’

  ‘Oh. Yes. Quite,’ she said, without questioning what the last sentence meant. ‘I just wondered . . .’ A long pause. Slider believed he could feel her working herself up for a revelation – but perhaps that was only what he hoped was happening. In the end she said, in a different, brisker voice, ‘I was wondering about the funeral. Whether you wanted me to make any arrangements.’

  ‘The body is not being released at the moment,’ he said. ‘When the time comes I shall of course bear your kind offer in mind.’ She didn’t respond, and after a moment he said, quite gently, ‘Is there anything you wanted to tell me? I can come and see you if you don’t want to talk on the phone.’

  It almost worked. He was sure it almost worked. But then he heard her draw in a breath, and she said in the old, arrogant, sure tones, ‘I have nothing to tell you. I don’t know what you mean. I was merely enquiring about the funeral, and as it is, there is nothing more to say. Good day to you.’

  And she was gone. Slider put down the phone. Had she been going to confess? Was she trying to find out if they were still following the sparkly lure of Frith? Was she protecting someone else? Or her own skin?