Kathy opened her mouth, but he anticipated her question, ‘Mum came with me. We left Dad to rest his foot. He could hardly walk by this stage.’
‘Times?’
‘Oh for God’s sake, I don’t know. We weren’t away long. We got the tube back from Camden Town on the Northern Line to the station round the corner. We stayed a bit, to finish up. Then I went back to the tube station to call a cab for my parents from the phones there, and when it arrived we all left. I walked back to my station. It must have been around 4.’
They put on their coats and went outside briefly to see the yard in the failing light. By the time they came back inside, Kowalski had stoked up his anger once more.
‘I just want it to be understood that I resent this intrusive pressure on elderly people who, God knows, have had enough to put up with. One shudders to think how you lot would behave if we’d actually done something wrong.’
‘We have to speak to everyone who may have seen something of significance on Sunday last,’ Brock said smoothly to him. ‘It’s a little difficult to see why you seem to feel so threatened by that, Mr Kowalski. If everyone we spoke to was as defensive, we might end up having to pay our constables even more extravagant wages than we do at present. Anyway, thanks for your help, and don’t forget your Baedeker.’
It was dark outside as Brock and Kathy ran back through the rain to their car, which was parked beneath a no-waiting sign at the north end of the Lane.
‘Sorry,’ Kathy said as Brock got the heater going on the steamed-up windscreen. ‘I didn’t seem to be able to get anywhere. You were much better with him than I was.’
‘I wonder if he’s like that with all women. His girl students must get a hard time.’
‘Yes, I thought that. But it was my fault, too. I just found it impossible not to be riled by him. All that anger and self-pity-his job, his little digs at his wife, his rudeness…’
‘And his lies.’
‘Yes. The only time he sounded half civil was when he was obviously lying-about the time they returned from Notting Hill. He said 2, whereas his father this morning said 2.30. We can check that, but I’ll bet the father was right. Which means that the mother was on her own in the Lane for half an hour during the period the sisters were out.’
‘And the father was on his own for most of the following hour, lame or not. And we don’t really know for sure that the son didn’t find some time on his own that afternoon either, say when he went out to call the cab. We’ll have to go back over it all again, and talk to Sylvia Pemberton about when she saw Adam Kowalski that afternoon. But it’s interesting that Felix Kowalski should have felt it necessary to lie about the period that his mother was on her own.’
12
The office of Concept Design stood at the end of a culde-sac, off a narrow rear access street in a block behind Tottenham Court Road. It occupied a two-storey brick building which had been built in the twenties as a warehouse at the rear of a retail store. On both sides were pre- and post-war commercial buildings about eight storeys high. Behind a large plate-glass window the name of the firm was spelled out in miniature red neon letters. Stepping inside, Kathy and Brock found themselves on a steel bridge, which spanned a large hole in the ground floor and offered a view of the main draughting area in the basement below. Ahead of them, suspended over the draughting floor, was a reception area with glass walls screened by narrow grey venetian blinds.
‘Hello.’
A figure climbed up a spiral steel staircase from the level below.
‘Secretary’s gone home. My name is Bob Jones.’
He was in his late thirties, of medium height, with a mop of tousled black hair. He wore a black sweater, grey trousers, red shoes, and a spotted black and white bow tie. He smiled at them and held out his hand. Then, seeing it was covered with black ink, apologized and withdrew it.
‘Pens always play up at the worst moment. At least it’s not all over my shirt this time. Come through into the conference room, will you?’
They passed the empty reception desk, made of charcoal-grey laminate, and went through into a room behind the louvred screens. It was lined with grey pinboard, to which a number of coloured free-hand sketches had been attached. Track-lighting overhead threw spots of light on to the walls and on to a grey table that stood in the middle of the room.
‘How can I help?’ He offered them seats. ‘Has there been another break-in next door?’
‘No, sir,’ Kathy said. ‘Nothing like that. Could you tell us if you were in the vicinity of Jerusalem Lane, over on the other side of Bloomsbury, on Sunday last?’
Jones’s expression changed abruptly. He blinked a couple of times and swallowed.
‘Oh.’ He stared at the table.
‘Sir?’
‘I’m sorry. Yes, yes, I was there, on Sunday afternoon.’
‘On your own?’
‘No, with a friend.’
‘What were you doing there?’
‘We’d gone to visit someone we knew.’
‘Who was that?’
‘A Mrs Winterbottom. Look, could you tell me what this is about?’
‘Mrs Winterbottom is dead, sir-you don’t look surprised.’
‘No.’ Jones’s voice had dropped to a whisper. ‘No. I read about it in the paper last night, a short report. I only noticed it by accident. It said her funeral was today. I… half wondered if that was what this was about.’
‘The newspaper report also said that the circumstances of the death were suspicious and that the police wanted to speak to anyone who had been in the neighbourhood on Sunday afternoon. Why didn’t you get in touch, Mr Jones?’
‘Oh my God,’ Jones muttered. They could see that he was breathing in short shallow breaths, like someone in mild shock, keeping his hands pressed to the table so that they wouldn’t shake. ‘I know I should have. I wasn’t sure if it was… necessary. Whether it would achieve anything at this stage. But I think I would have.’ He looked at them anxiously. ‘But how did you get hold of me?’
‘Someone answering your description was seen entering Mrs Winterbottom’s house at about the time she died.’
‘Really? It was about then she died, was it? Oh God. I didn’t actually see her, but Judith said she was asleep. I felt really we shouldn’t have gone in, but we had arranged to see her at 3, and when she didn’t answer our ring at the front door bell, and we saw it was open, Judith said, well, let’s make sure she hasn’t just taken a snooze after lunch. So we went upstairs, and again her front door was open.’
‘When you say open…?’
‘On the latch. She usually left it like that when she was at home.’
‘How do you know?’
‘She’d told us.’
‘So you just walked in?’
‘Yes. I didn’t feel right about it, but Judith had a plane to catch back to the States later that afternoon, and she was so keen to see the old lady. I waited in the living room, and Judith put her head around the bedroom door. She said that she was asleep.’
‘Did either of you actually step into her bedroom?’
‘No… I don’t think so.’
‘Why can’t you be sure?’
‘Well… We weren’t sure what to do. We were talking in hushed voices, you know. We didn’t know whether to go away for a bit and come back, or wake her, or just forget the whole thing. Then Judith suggested I go upstairs
