her father. And then at the party I remember Mona saying something that struck me as odd, just before everything went wrong.”
“What was that?”
“She said,
“She meant exactly what she said,” said May. “Gail Strong was seeing Robert Kramer, Kramer’s wife was seeing Marcus Sigler, and then at the party we think Marcus and Gail had sex.”
“But did Marcus and Judith know about Gail?”
“Perhaps not, but somebody does. Did Mona Williams have any enemies?”
“Mr May, you reach a certain age when you don’t have enemies any more, just people who find you mildly annoying. You become invisible. Mona had got to the point where she only existed on stage.”
“You can’t think why anyone would want to kill her?”
“No, of course not.”
May sat back with a sigh. “Arthur, is there anything you want to ask?”
Bryant was rooting through his pockets and looked as if he’d been caught out. “Ah, yes – I have this written down somewhere but I can’t find it – bladder complaints.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You said she talked to you about her innards. Any bladder complaints?”
“Well, I suppose the usual, at that age.”
“Only it would make sense if she had.”
“Arthur,
“It’s very simple,” said Bryant impatiently. “The only reason Mona Williams was threatened was because she knew the killer’s identity. Now, she didn’t know it before the party because the first death hadn’t yet occurred. Maybe she worked it out later, but she saw or heard something at the party that revealed the killer’s identity to her. And at some point this realization also hit the killer. I seem to remember from the chart Janice gave me that Mona Williams visited the loo three times. On several occasions during the evening there was a queue in the hall. In those kinds of situations, people tend to talk to each other. I’m wondering if somebody told her something they shouldn’t have.”
“Well, Mr Crofting, I think we can let you go for now,” said May. “You’ve been very helpful.”
Bryant watched the old actor don his coat. “I thought you were marvellous in
Crofting eyed Bryant coldly. “No, I don’t think it was that long ago,” he said, and left.
Bryant trotted off to the kitchen to brew tea, chatting to May as he went. “We’re missing something very obvious in this tangle, aren’t we? Something in plain sight. I should have been able to figure it out in an instant. After all, we’re not dealing with a particularly sophisticated killer. Rather the reverse. A baby shaken to death, an accountant knocked over the head and hanged, an old woman intimidated. And the crude symbolism of the dolls, everything intended to frighten Robert Kramer – but nothing ever does. Have you spoken to him in the last twenty- four hours?”
“He’s annoyed about the theatre being closed but has negotiated it down to three days. They’ll reopen on Tuesday.”
“You see? Nothing touches him. And he leaves nothing to chance. Which brings me to Gail Strong’s father.”
“Her father? What about him?”
“Kramer’s not a nice man, we agree on that? He was horrible to his first wife, he cheats on his second and he has a string of compliant girlfriends who can be relied upon to keep their mouths shut. So why would he choose Gail Strong? She has a high media profile and seems physically incapable of behaving herself. She’s a liability.”
“He’s probably just infatuated with her.”
“He may well be, but if she proved to be a nuisance he’d drop her like a hot brick. He’ll have made sure she knows nothing about his business dealings, but she could still make life very difficult for him.”
“Unless he needs something from her,” May suggested.
“My thought exactly. He’s not sleeping with her because he’s in love.”
“Then it’s her father he’s after.”
“He introduced them. He’s in charge of building licences. The original licence for theatrical performances would be attached to the building, and if Kramer needed to get the licence of the theatre extended, Gail’s father would be the key to that.”
“But surely if her father finds out that Kramer is having an affair with his daughter, he won’t be disposed to grant a licence application.”
“We don’t know what Kramer is capable of doing. He’ll use her to get what he wants, then dump her. It’s more business than pleasure. I don’t suppose we’ll get any more answers from Kramer or his wife, not unless we allow Jack Renfield to torture them – something he’d probably relish the opportunity to do. I think we need to bring in Gail Strong.”
¦
PCs Colin Bimsley and Meera Mangeshkar were sent to Gail Strong’s Notting Hill apartment together to bring her in for further questioning. They were sent as a pair because there was a likelihood that Strong would have reporters and photographers hanging around on her doorstep, and someone would have to distract them.
“Have you noticed we get all the crappy jobs?” Meera complained. “Go through the bins, sit on a roof all night, update the reports. Bryant tried to get me to make him a cup of tea the other day, but I told him to bugger off.”
“I don’t mind making him tea. I always feel guilty when he does those big wet puppy eyes and looks helpless.”
“You’re a pushover.” Mangeshkar swiped herself out through the tube barrier at Notting Hill.
“I don’t know why we couldn’t have taken your Kawasaki,” said Bimsley.
“Because I didn’t want you pushing yourself up against me every time I braked, thank you. What number is it?”
Bimsley pointed. A pair of overweight men were loitering outside one of the terraced houses with coffee cups and telephoto lenses.
“OK, let’s avoid these creeps. See if there’s another way we can get her out of the building.” Meera punched out Gail’s number on her mobile. “No answer. She was there half an hour ago.” She approached one of the photo- journalists. “Oi, you waiting to get pictures of Gail Strong?”
“What’s it to you?”
“I’m a police officer, that’s what it is to me. Sling your hook before I run you in.”
“You got no right to order us around.”
“Terrorism Act. This is a High Alert area. I can bang you up without even bothering to invent a reason.”
The men grumbled, but gathered their equipment together promptly.
“Have you seen her?” Meera called. “Did she go out?”
“What, you want our help now?” The photographer spat at her feet and waddled off.
“Come on.” They crossed the road to the front porch of the house. Meera checked the bells and rang the top one. They heard it buzz somewhere above their heads. Colin stepped back to examine the top floor windows. “No sign of movement. How are we going to get in?”
“Cover me.” Meera put her elbow through a square of glass and felt for the lock.
“Blimey, Meera, that’s B and E.”
“She could be hurt. What would the old man do?”
“Break in, you’re right.” Bimsley followed her up the darkened stairway.
On the fourth floor, they found the door to flat 160D ajar.
“Someone’s forced the lock.” Meera pointed to the damaged hasp. The pair advanced cautiously into the dimly lit flat, searching each room. The kitchen and lounge were undisturbed, but someone had recently been here. A Lily Allen CD was still playing, with four tracks left to go. “Colin, in here.”
It was hard to tell if the bedroom showed signs of a struggle or whether Strong was just untidy. Shoes had been kicked off and clothes were scattered over the floor.
