‘I’ll have a go,’ he said, without much enthusiasm.
Kathy had just described what she’d been doing, and one by one they’d made their reports. There wasn’t much to be enthusiastic about. Information had been pouring into the HOLMES computer from interviews, records of phone calls made from the area around Cunningham Place, CCTV cameras, witness statements and calls from the public, but little of significance had so far emerged. Frustratingly, the camera over Moszynski’s front door had been disconnected for several spells during the previous ten days while a new system was being installed, including the period on Monday when Dr Stewart had claimed to see Nancy visit. About the only solid fact to emerge was that Moszynski’s letter to The Times had passed forensic scrutiny and was considered genuine.
‘The thing is,’ Zack said, ‘there didn’t need to be anybody in the square to see him come out for a smoke.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, the killer could have had a camera hidden somewhere, watching the front door, and removed it once he was finished.’
‘He didn’t have much time,’ Bren said. ‘My bet would still be on one of the people inside the house tipping him off.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Zack insisted. ‘Could be anybody. Could be Vadim.’
‘No it couldn’t. He was in Moscow.’
‘So what? He could have arranged for the house security cameras to be relayed to his laptop, in Moscow or anywhere else. He could have watched Mikhail open the front door and phoned the killer as easy as if he’d been there on the spot.’
Bren gave a groan. Kathy sympathised. She’d had the same sense of helplessness when she’d been talking to Sean Ardagh, who’d been so much better informed than she was. She wondered how Brock would have moved forward.
As if thinking the same thing, their action manager, Phil, who hadn’t been told that Brock wasn’t really in Scotland, said, ‘When’s the chief getting back, anyway? Should be here I reckon.’
‘We need much better profiles of all the main characters,’ Kathy said forcefully. ‘Bren, get on to your friends in Fraud and Financial Investigations, see if they’ve done work on any of them-the Russians, Shaka, Freddie Clarke, Hadden-Vane. The money has got to be a big part of this.’
She was late getting to the Red Lion, telling herself that she was stupid to come at all and should have phoned to cancel. John was standing by the bar, looking subdued. He glanced up and his face brightened as he caught sight of her, and she felt a little better. He showed her to a small table in the corner.
‘What can I get you?’
‘Just mineral water, thanks. I’ve got some driving to do.’
She watched him blink away disappointment and say, ‘Certainly. Ice? Lemon?’
‘Please.’
‘You didn’t mean a sandwich here literally, did you?’
‘Yes, I did. Sorry, I’m short of time.’
‘Of course.’ He looked chastened and hurried away.
He returned with her water and a pint of beer for himself. ‘Sorry, no sandwiches.’
‘Oh.’ She shrugged.
‘Look, you’ve got to eat. Can’t I buy you a decent, quick dinner?’
‘Another time.’ She took a sip of water and sat back against the wall with a sigh, thankful to be off her feet. ‘So, how was your day?’
‘Not as exciting as yours, I dare say. I went to the Summer Exhibition at the Royal Academy. Big crowds, but I enjoyed it.’
‘Good.’ Kathy looked around the room, checking. On reflection it wasn’t a good idea meeting there, so close to Queen Anne’s Gate. ‘What did you want to tell me?’
‘Did you ring that Montreal number I gave you?’
‘Sorry, didn’t have time.’
‘Oh.’ He frowned down at his beer. ‘This was a mistake, wasn’t it? I’m imposing on you when you’re so busy.’
She looked over and felt a little sorry for him, aware of the brusqueness in her manner. ‘Why don’t you tell me about Chelsea Mansions? Is it a dump?’
‘Well, it isn’t the Savoy, that’s for sure. I’ve no idea how it stays solvent with so few guests. But I like the people, Toby, Deb and the others. They’re real characters and would do anything for you. They met in Saudi during the first Gulf War, he was in the army and she in the Foreign Office.’
‘Yes, they told me.’
‘And did they tell you that’s where he lost his son?’
‘No.’
‘Toby doesn’t talk about it, but Deb told me today. Apparently he was with special forces. He disappeared somewhere out in the Iraqi desert. What made it especially tragic was that Toby was on the team at headquarters that planned the operation. He was keen for his son to go, to have a chance to see action.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘Yes. Deb thinks that’s why he gave me a room. I’m the same age as his son was apparently, twenty-eight, and Deb says I look a bit like him.’
‘He has to like you to give you a room at his hotel?’
‘Absolutely!’ John laughed. ‘And what he charges depends on how much he likes you. My room’s ridiculously cheap. That’s what I mean about wondering how they stay in business. And that’s why he feels so guilty about Nancy Haynes. He thinks that if he’d turned her down and she’d gone somewhere else she might still be alive. But according to Deb she wrote him this really charming letter about how she didn’t want to stay anywhere else in London, and he said okay.’
‘Do you know why she wanted to stay there?’
‘Good location for the Chelsea Flower Show, I imagine. So tell me, how did you come to be a detective?’
‘Oh…’ She didn’t feel like going into it, but made an effort. ‘One day I was having a cup of coffee in a cafe. Across the street was a police station. I watched the people come and go through the doors-uniformed men, shirt- sleeved for the summer, chatting in pairs as they returned from their beat; people in civilian clothes looking like any other office workers, running down the steps to catch their buses; and, most of all, the uniformed women. I watched the way they moved through the evening crowds, and the way they spoke to each other. When I finished my coffee I crossed the street, followed three women constables up the steps, and asked the desk sergeant for information on joining up.’
‘Just like that? No regrets?’
‘No. I felt like I’d come home.’
He gave a puzzled smile. ‘I guess I’d have to know the back story to understand that.’
But Kathy didn’t want to say any more about herself. ‘You’d make a pretty good detective. You seem to be good at getting information.’
‘Oh, don’t say that. My mother would kill me. She told me I could be anything I wanted, except a cop.’
‘How come?’
‘She was married to one once-my dad.’
‘Ah.’
‘Yeah. So I became an academic, but still, I’ve always been curious about the police. I guess it must be the sense of comradeship that made you feel at home, the people you work closely with.’
She laughed. ‘Not all of them.’
‘No, but, well there’s that guy you were on TV with. Brock? Was that his name?’
‘Yes, I’ve been on his team for a long time now. He’s the best.’
‘Right. You must get pretty close, emotionally.’
She stared at him, eyebrows going up, and he blushed. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to pry.’
‘Yes you did. Brock and I are colleagues.’
‘Right, right.’
‘So what would your Lieutenant Ledoux have told me if I’d got around to ringing him?’
