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 his 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?’
