Corpse in Waiting (13 page)

‘If the woman in Romford really is Irma,' I observed lightly. ‘She didn't look much like the mugshot.'

‘I shall make sure you have boiled squid with a double helping of eyeballs if you start saying things like that.'

‘Perhaps Capelli and Co killed Irma, or Imelda, for whatever reason, then installed another woman in her place.'

‘But
why
?'

‘Heaven knows. To conceal the murder perhaps. I'm only doing my oracle thing.'

‘Please switch it off for a few hours,' he begged.

‘Martino will know whether it's her or not when they let him out of prison,' I persisted.

Neither of us spoke for a short time while we perused our menus. Then Patrick said, ‘She was quite happy for me to top him.'

‘Umm.'

‘
They
might be planning to top him when he gets out and before he discovers the truth.'

‘Umm.'

‘And scoop all the dosh from this heist, or whatever he's planning from behind bars, having already decided to take over the entire crime empire.'

‘Umm.'

‘I might trot that theory past Mike.'

The Commander was very interested but restricted in what he could do. As he pointed out, ‘It's not as though we can go and visit him in prison and warn him by saying we think something dodgy's going on at home. I didn't mention it before but a lot of work on the Met's and our part has gone into planning to grab this lot red-handed. What used to be called snouts but now have to be referred to as CHIS, Covert Human Intelligence Sources, have been supplying snippets of information for quite a while. This is coming almost entirely from people who are connected in some way to those who work for Martino Capelli on the outside. There's a lot of resentment. They haven't been paid for months, there are violent, and loyal, characters who keep everyone in line with threats and punishment. A lot of people would like to see the big man in a pair of lead-lined Y-fronts being dropped off Tower Bridge.'

‘Any hints as to what's being planned?' Patrick asked.

‘As of the day before yesterday it would
appear
that it's an armed raid on one of the top London jewellers and then an attack on a central police station as they make their getaway to create a diversion and settle a few old scores by killing as many cops as possible.'

‘When?'

‘Soon.'

I said, ‘Will there be any kind of warning?'

‘At the moment that's only in the pipeline.'

I said, ‘The London, Paris and Florence Diamond Consortium are holding an international jewellery exhibition at a Kensington hotel next week.'

‘That was one of the possibilities mentioned but discounted on the grounds that the security will be really tight.'

‘But
armed
security?' Patrick wanted to know.

‘Quietly, yes.'

My mobile rang and I apologized, leaving the room to answer it.

‘I shall have to go home,' I said, putting my head around the door a couple of minutes later. ‘That was Carrie. She sounded awful and thinks she's got the flu. I suggested she went to bed and stayed there in case she gives it to John and Elspeth.'

‘Take the car,' Patrick said. ‘I don't really need it.'

‘We'll work on this with the rest of my team but keep you right in the picture,' Greenway promised. ‘And please let me know as soon as you're free to return.'

I drove to Hinton Littlemoor without stopping. There are contingency plans in place if Carrie is suddenly taken ill while Patrick and I are away and I had been wondering on the drive whether she was feeling so dreadful that she had forgotten about them or the people who would have taken over from her were somehow all unavailable. And surely we had mentioned to Elspeth what emergency measures were there for the asking. All she had to do was pick up the phone.

Something wasn't quite right.

This immediately became apparent when the first thing I saw was Carrie playing with Vicky on the rear lawn of the rectory, Mark in his pram nearby. Not wishing to worry anyone I parked the car and went over to tell her that I had just ‘popped' home. Mark woke up and welcomed me by filling his nappy so I took him away to change him, meeting Elspeth who had just come out of her own front door.

‘Oh, how lovely,' she said. ‘Have you had lunch?'

I told her I had not.

‘There's a portion of Waldorf salad in the fridge if you'd like it. Is Patrick with you?'

‘Yes, please, I'm afraid he isn't and I must deal with this niffy baby before I do anything else,' I said, hastening indoors.

Thirty-five minutes later, everything having been attended to, I had a one-woman council of war. Point one: I had been lured away from London, point two: I had a damned good idea who was responsible, point three: if I now had to go behind Patrick's back so be it, point four: I would talk to Alan Warburton Kilmartin, Alexandra's one-time boyfriend.

It seemed sensible to apprise James Carrick of what had happened in the event of the architect turning out to be a crazed serial killer in his lunch breaks.

‘I agree, strange,' said the DCI. ‘Do keep me posted. You say you're going to Warminster to see this man?'

‘Yes.'

‘Be careful. And I'll get an area car to drive occasionally by your place – just to be on the safe side.'

‘Thank you. Did Patrick ring you back?'

‘He did, and like him I'm very disappointed that Tony Capelli's still in the land of the living. As far as the murder case is concerned I've been given more time to question Bennett. Put politely, he's an unpleasant character and I'm fairly convinced he knocked the woman around even if he didn't kill her. But he might know who did or put out a contract to someone to have her done away with. He's still insisting he got a letter from her to say that she was going to live with her sister.'

‘Did Patrick tell you about the dragons?'

‘His middle name's George, isn't it?' Carrick responded dryly.

I reached Warminster, in pouring rain, noting carefully the black Merc tailing me: not getting too close, keeping two or three cars between us, but nevertheless present. I had proved quite early in the journey that we were not merely going to the same destination by taking a couple of short unnecessary detours around country lanes. Still the vehicle remained in my rear mirror, but I finally managed to get rid of it by some convoluted driving in side roads on the outskirts of the town.

The address Alexandra had given me was a business one; Kilmartin and Liddlestone-Mitten Associates, so I was hoping that even if the man was not at work they would give me his home address. But I saw when I arrived that the business was run from a private house with a large modern extension, the upper floor of which had the kind of huge windows that denote a drawing office.

‘Do you have an appointment?' queried the extremely elegant young woman on the reception desk, the quiet hum of a professional business in the background.

‘No, it's a private matter,' I told her. I gave her my card. The words ‘author and scriptwriter' usually get me into most places.

After a short wait I was shown into a nearby office and into the presence of surely one of the most gorgeous men in the universe. Besides having green eyes and ash blond hair he virtually dripped elegance, refinement, good taste, polish, culture, plus anything else of that ilk Mr Roget could have listed.

‘Miss Langley, how nice to meet you,' he said, voice-of-God. ‘I was just about to have some tea. Would you like to join me?'

‘That would be lovely,' I replied, hoping he could not hear my heart pounding against my ribs.

I fully expected him to call some minion over an intercom but he went over to a corner cupboard, opened it and thus revealed a mini-kitchen complete with a kettle, tiny fridge, microwave, bone china tea and dinner ware on shelves, the entire thing a dream of a design in toning shades of green.

‘Like it?' he asked, giving me a grin over his shoulder that made me feel a bit faint.

‘It's super,' I said inanely.

‘My own design. I'm in the process of patenting it. There's other storage where you can keep biscuits and non-perishable snacks and stuff like that.' He demonstrated quickly. ‘And, this –' he flashed another smile at me that turned my knees to water – ‘Is where you wash up.'

The little stainless steel basin, glitteringly clean and complete with taps, had seemingly folded down from an invisible aperture in the wall.

‘It's perfect for modern offices and there's a bigger version for bedsits and flats where there's no room for conventional stuff. Comes in several colourways too.'

‘I hope you're wildly successful with it,' I said. I had already decided that I must have one but where, exactly, to put it?

‘Thanks. China or Earl Grey?'

‘Earl Grey please.'

He made the tea, every movement of the tanned slim hands adept and graceful.

‘Now, what can I do for you?' Alan Kilmartin said when it was brewing. ‘Molly said something about it being a private matter. But have we previously met?'

‘No, but it concerns someone we both know,' I told him. ‘Alexandra Nightingale.'

‘Alex!' he almost yelped.

‘She's not for one second a friend of mine,' I hastened to add.

‘I'm really pleased to hear that,' he responded grimly.

‘In the smallest of nutshells,' I said. ‘My husband works for the Serious Organized Crime Agency and so do I, in an advisory capacity. It appears that he knew Alexandra years ago and she's turned up and—'

‘Stolen him from you?' he interrupted.

‘It's worse than that. She's—'

‘Chewing him up and spitting out the bits?'

‘Sort of.'

‘It's what she does.'

‘Alan . . . May I call you Alan?'

‘Please do.'

‘You're obviously a very intelligent man. So is Patrick. He used to work for an undercover army unit and after that for MI5 and is the kind of person they used to let loose on so-called traitors. He's an expert on people and subversion is one of his specialities. He once subverted a whole bunch of foreign terrorists and they turned against their leader. But now . . .'

‘She's steamrollered all his talents and rendered him blind as to the kind of person she really is.'

‘Yes.'

He poured the tea. ‘She should have gone on the stage – fantastic actress. Biscuit?'

‘Please. But I haven't come here expecting you to sort this out for me. Do you know anything about this agency she runs?'

Kilmartin looked surprised. ‘Not really. Only that it's in the West End and hires out home helps and nannies in that general area. Why do you ask?'

‘Did you ever wonder if she was involved with anything illegal?'

‘No! I wouldn't go out with anyone like that.'

I just looked at him.

‘Oh, but look, I don't think I was that blind.' He broke off and then said, ‘You must understand that Alex and I used to get on really well, at least for a while. We had fun. All quite normal really although she could be very silly sometimes and intolerant of other people. And then she started flashing her big blue eyes at a friend of mine who was engaged to a lovely girl. They had an affair. The poor guy was putty in her hands and the wedding was suddenly all off. As you might imagine, I had words with Alex about it and she swore she was sorry and would never do it again. But she did, she wanted all the blokes who loved someone else, even the married ones. She didn't really want them of course, only to play with them and ruin their relationships. We were living together at the time – before I got this place. I moved out and the last I heard was she'd got a flat in town.'

‘She told us you'd found someone else.'

‘Not true.'

‘She's moving down to Bath – plus the agency.'

‘Plus the agency? What, starting all over again, you mean?'

‘Presumably.'

Thoughtfully, he sipped his tea. Then he said, ‘I really wish I could help you.'

‘Is there anything you can remember, or something of hers you still have that would give some kind of insight into what she's up to in her business life? Please think.'

‘You really think she's up to something illegal?' he asked dubiously.

‘I have what my Dad used to call cat's whiskers, intuition, and no, this isn't me trying to get her out of my marriage by cooking up accusations about her. To give a little weight to what I've already said I feel I ought to tell you that I've had a mildly threatening phone call from someone who said that what Alex wants, she gets and I'm to remember that.'

‘She does,' Alan muttered. ‘I wouldn't call that
mildly
threatening.'

‘I take it you haven't spoken to her lately about me wanting to buy a house she's set her heart on?'

‘Have you? No, we haven't exchanged a word since we split up.'

I told him about the non-existent case of flu.

He chewed thoughtfully on a biscuit for a few moments and then said, ‘You were lured away from London. That's worrying.'

‘Did she never talk about what she did?'

‘No, but, be honest, it wouldn't be the kind of thing a mere male would be interested in.'

He had a point. I said, ‘Would you say she made a fair living out of it?'

‘Oh, yes, a very good living. She bought a Porsche, cash, just before we split up.' He frowned, thinking. ‘I know there's a man who sort of works for her.'