a chance to warn Bren as he and two others charged on up the stairs. After the others filed past Reeves, who held the door open for them like an ironic butler, Kathy said,‘I take it the judge is upstairs.’
At that moment there came a roar of anger from above, and Reeves said, ‘Yes, I think we can assume that. Mind telling me what’s going on?’
‘We found some stuff in Reg’s dustbin that links him to Dodworth, the bloke we were looking for who was found hanged this morning.’
Reeves looked puzzled.‘Meaning what, precisely?’
‘That’s what we’re here to find out.’
‘I take it your guvnor knows about this raid?’
‘Of course.’
‘I mean, he ordered it, right?’
‘What are you getting at?’
‘Kathy, a little bit of advice? Beaufort was steaming mad when I drove him over here. You know how shook up old Reg was after the woman next door was found. He’s been refusing to get on with the judge’s portrait, says his hands are shaking too much. Then this business in the gallery. It was all we could do to get him going today. But that wasn’t the only thing making the judge see red. He was also mad about you lot, and especially your guvnor.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he thinks he’s stuffing up this whole case…’
‘No!’
‘… and because of that stunt your guvnor pulled last week.’ He saw the incomprehension on Kathy’s face. ‘You don’t know about that? DCI Brock paid the judge a visit at his home last week and tried to intimidate him and his missus.’
‘Oh come on, Tom, that’s bullshit. Why would Brock do that?’
‘Because he knows what Beaufort’s got in store for SO1, and he’s trying to use this case to get at him. That’s why you’re here now.’
‘No, it’s just an accident we came when you and the judge were here.’
‘That’s not the point, Kathy. By the time you’re finished with Reg he won’t be painting for weeks, and Sir Jack’s moment of fame at the National Portrait Gallery will be stuffed. Listen, believe me or not, but do yourself a favour-get yourself off this case and distance yourself from Brock. He’s finished.’
Kathy sat in the back seat with Reg Gilbey for the trip back to Shoreditch station. He looked stunned, hands trembling, and Kathy could believe Reeves’s predictions about the effect on his painting.
‘Don’t worry, Reg,’ she whispered. ‘It won’t take long, then you can get back and have a drop of Teachers.’
He shot her a panic-stricken look, his jaw clamped so tightly shut it looked as if his teeth might crack. Kathy wondered if they’d be taking a cast of them too.
When they got to the station Reg was led away to an interview room. Brock met Kathy at the door. ‘Any problems?’
‘Only that Sir Jack Beaufort was there, having a sitting for his portrait. He was mad with Bren for interrupting.’
Kathy knew every shade of expression on Brock’s face, and recognised the neutral screen that seemed to slip across his eyes.
‘Mm. Oh well.’
‘His minder had a word with me. Apparently Sir Jack isn’t happy with us. He told me that you paid the judge a visit last week.’
‘Did he now? Well, let’s get on, shall we? I think I’ll do this with one of the Hackney lads, Kathy. You might like to observe, and tell us what you think.’
He left her standing in the corridor, puzzled. She turned back to the room with the monitors for recording the interviews and took a seat.
The Hackney detective was grim-faced as he led the questioning, while Brock was distant in his manner, as if he didn’t much care what Reg had to say. The detective began with a formal caution. It was hard to tell if the painter understood; he looked as if he were about to be hauled away to the scaffold.
‘Do you like fruit, Mr Gilbey?’
The absurdity of the question startled Reg out of his paralysis. The stare he gave the detective seemed to harden into focus.‘What?’
‘Simple question. Do you like fruit?’
‘Not particularly.’
‘Apples, oranges, pears? When was the last time you had a piece of fruit?’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Perfectly. It’s not a trick question. When was the last time you ate an apple or a pear, say?’
Reg turned to look at Brock, searching his face for some acknowledgement of the madness of this, but Brock just stared impassively back.
‘Well?’
‘I don’t know. Not this week…Not last week. Why?’
‘We found a half-eaten pear in your dustbin.’
Kathy could see the bewilderment grow on the painter’s face. This is Kafka, it said, this is Lewis Carroll.‘Is that an offence now, then?’
‘Who ate it?’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea. It wasn’t me.’ A bit of colour was returning to his cheeks, some spirit to his voice.‘Why, was it a police pear? Was it an undercover pear?’
Brock’s voice broke in sharply. ‘When did you last see Stan Dodworth, Mr Gilbey?’
‘Stan?’ Reg was bewildered again, trying to follow this jump.‘Stan? Not since he disappeared. The week before last…’ His voice trailed off as he saw Brock shaking his head.
‘No. Think very carefully before you answer. When did you last see Stan Dodworth? It was last night, wasn’t it?’
‘Last night? No, no. Who says so?’
Brock suddenly reached into his briefcase and produced the frozen meal packet inside a plastic pouch. ‘You recognise this, don’t you?’
To Kathy, watching Reg’s image on the screen, it didn’t look as if he did.
‘No.’
‘This was the last meal Stan Dodworth ate before he died last night. It was found in your backyard, in your dustbin, in the same plastic bag as the pear.’
Enlightenment seemed to come at last to Reg Gilbey. ‘Ahhh…’ he sighed, and sat back in his chair. ‘You think… But you see, you’ve got it all wrong. I’ve never seen that before in my life, nor the pear. Someone must have put the bag in my bin, mustn’t they?’
‘Why would they do that?’
‘To get rid of it, I suppose.’
‘But why in your bin? No suggestions? Then we’ll go back to the beginning and start again. Where did you buy the pear?’
Kathy watched Brock grind away at Gilbey for another forty minutes without result. As the time passed, and Reg realised that Brock genuinely didn’t believe him, his confidence seemed to drain away again. He became querulous and indignant, then more and more subdued, just shaking his head as he finally seemed to run out of words altogether.
It was at that point that Bren came into the room where Kathy was sitting.‘How’s it going?’ he said.
‘Nothing. How about you?’
‘No, we haven’t found any sign of Dodworth in Gilbey’s house. They’re still collecting fibre samples, but there was nothing obvious. I’d better let the old man know.’
In the break that followed, Kathy continued watching the screen as Gilbey accepted a mug of tea and lifted it with both trembling hands to his mouth. She got up and found Brock and Bren, deep in conversation.‘Can I have a
