harmonious in proportion, exquisite in detail, white-stuccoed, with the original fanlighted doors, and a little wrought-iron balcony at each first-floor window. ‘It’s a gem,’ he said, pausing in admiration.
‘Unexpected,’ said Atherton, who had had to start noticing architecture since he had been working with Slider.
‘They’re earlier than anything else around here,’ Slider said. ‘They must have been here first – when Shepherd’s Bush was still a country village. They’d have had a view over the fields in those days.’
‘Must be worth a fortune. I had a look at a cottage like one of
‘I think we can surmise that our victim is a man of means,’ Slider concluded.
‘Well, thank God for that. Maybe we won’t need the industrial strength cologne after all.’
Detective Constable Kathleen ‘Norma’ Swilley, returned at last from maternity leave, was co-ordinating the troops on the scene. She had arrived back just in time to replace Hart, who had passed her sergeant’s exam and secured a posting to Fulham – a good promotion, though she went with many a wistful backward look. ‘You’re fam’ly,’ she had informed Slider’s firm tearfully at the leaving do, and had insisted on kissing every member of it full on the mouth – even McLaren, which was quite a feat. She’d had to compete with a vegetable samosa. McLaren never saw the point in wasting his lips on anything other than eating, which was perhaps why he hadn’t had a date since the Thatcher administration.
Swilley – whose sobriquet, bestowed for her considerable machismo as a policeman, seemed rather inappropriate now she was a mother – was sensibly wearing a trouser suit over a roll-neck sweater, and a big, thick overcoat: cream wool, wrap-around and belted, Diana Rigg style. She looked warm and delicious. Well, Slider thought she looked warm, and Atherton, slightly wistfully, thought she looked delicious. Swilley had been his one notable failure in his pre-Emily career as a hound.
Connolly, the newest member of Slider’s team, was talking to the next-door neighbours at Number 5, a well- dressed elderly couple, so tiny and immaculate they could have earned spare cash standing around on wedding cakes. They huddled in their doorway as though sheltering from a storm.
‘Deceased’s name is David Rogers, guv,’ Swilley reported. ‘He’s a doctor, according to the neighbours. That’s Mr and Mrs Firman.’ She gestured discreetly towards the elderly couple. ‘Lives alone – divorced or maybe single, they’re not sure – but has girlfriends round. Neighbours in Number 1 and 7 are young couples, but they’re out at work. No one at home in Number 7, and all there is in Number 1 is the nanny. Fathom’s in there having a go at her, but I don’t think he’ll get much change out of her. She doesn’t speak much English.’
‘Who’s inside?’ said Slider.
‘Forensics and the photographers. Doc Cameron’s not arrived yet. The local doctor pronounced, then had it away on his toes. He looked nearly green. Probably never seen a gunshot wound before.’
‘They are reassuringly rare,’ Slider said.
‘Well, it wasn’t pretty,’ said Swilley, who had seen her share of nasty sights. ‘Shot in the head.’
‘Suicide?’ Atherton queried. If so, they could get out of this icy wind double quick and back to the nice warm station.
‘Not unless he was a contortionist. Also—’
Connolly joined them at that moment and said, ‘Are we going in, so?’
Slider eyed her. ‘What’s this “we”?’
‘I’ve never seen a gunshot wound. Wouldn’t it be grand experience for me?’ she said innocently. ‘I’ve got everything we’re going to get outta the owl ones. Not that they know much. Didn’t hear the shot – deaf as Uncle’s donkey. They didn’t know there was anything going on at all until the girl dropped in.’
‘The girl?’
‘The girl outta Rogers’s house.’
‘There was a
‘I was just about to,’ Swilley said, ‘when I was interrupted.’
‘Where is she?’ Slider asked.
‘At the hospital,’ Connolly answered. ‘She jumped out the window or fell offa the balcony – they don’t know which. Landed in that bush outside their front window.’ It was a large, clipped bay, which had been flame shaped, but was now hit-by-a-heavy-body shaped. ‘She literally dropped in.’ Connolly grinned. ‘Frit the life outta them, banging on the window. She was in bits, sobbing with fright and babbling about your man being dead. So the owl ones took her in, made some tea—’
‘Ah, yes, tea. I’m glad they got their priorities right,’ Atherton said.
‘—and phoned for the peelers and the ambulance. Well, they didn’t have a key, and the girl was in a dressing gown so she hadn’t one either, so there wasn’t much else they could do. Anyway, the ambulance got here first and took her to Charing Cross.’
‘Was she conscious?’
‘Oh yeah. I don’t think she was bad hurt, from what they said. But she was in rag order from the shock, you know?’
‘We’ll have to interview her ASAP,’ Slider said. ‘She could be a suspect or an accomplice. You’d better ring the factory, get them to send someone to sit with her,’ he said to Atherton. ‘She shouldn’t be left alone. I might as well have a quick look at the scene now I’m here. There’s Freddie arriving, if I’m not much mistaken,’ he added, seeing a grey Jaguar XJ6 pull up beyond the barrier.
It was indeed Freddie Cameron, the forensic pathologist, well bundled-up in a camel cashmere overcoat and navy scarf, his face looking lean and brown from his ‘summer’ holiday in California. He never went away in June, July or August because that’s when his garden was at its best. He had an – to Slider – incomprehensible passion for dahlias.
‘You’d better go back to the Firmans,’ Slider said, breaking Connolly’s heart. ‘Since you’ve got a relationship with them. Get their statement down while it’s still fresh in their minds. Anything they saw or heard, however trivial. Everything the girl said. And find out everything they know about the victim – where does he work, what are his interests, who does he see, is he in financial or woman trouble?’
‘Righty-oh, sir,’ Connolly said glumly.
‘You’ll see all you’ll want to see in the photographs,’ Slider reassured her. ‘It won’t be pretty.’
‘I need to see it for myself, but,’ Connolly grumbled. ‘How’ll I learn?’
Slider turned away. ‘Freddie! Good holiday? You’re looking brown.’
‘My dear boy, this is rust! They’re having freak rainstorms over there. It was just like home.’
‘Not beach weather, then?’
‘I went whale watching, and Martha read seven books.’ Cameron paused a moment to consider the memory. ‘Not all at once, you understand. Sequentially.’
While Cameron went in, Slider had a word with PC Dave Bright, who had been the first officer on the scene, and was now keeping the log at the door. He was the citizen’s dream copper, big and burly, unflappably good- tempered, but with a core of steel that made villains think twice about lipping him.
‘Had to break the door in,’ he told Slider, with a gesture towards the splintered frame. ‘The neighbours didn’t have a spare key. Said they weren’t that friendly with the man.’
‘It hadn’t been tampered with already?’
‘No, sir. Looked perfectly all right. But it was only on the Yale – not deadlocked.’
‘So the killer didn’t break in,’ Slider said.
‘No, sir. I did a quick check before I called it in, and there was no sign of a break-in. All the doors and windows at the back were locked. Upstairs windows were locked except the French windows of the main bedroom, but that was where the young lady went out, apparently.’
‘All locked up, even though he was at home. A careful citizen.’
‘Yes, sir. So maybe he let chummy in, and chummy let himself out the same way.’
‘What time was this?’
‘Working it back, sir, it must have been about half past six or thereabouts. The 999 call came in at a quarter to seven, and I got here just after seven.’
‘On your own?’ Atherton said. ‘To a firearms shout?’
‘There wasn’t any mention of shooting,’ Bright said. ‘Whether it was the young lady or the old people who
