Brownlow made another note. ‘Right. Is there anything else you remember that might be helpful to us?’
‘I’m afraid not. It’s all fascinating, though. An actual locked-room mystery! Well, locked-fuselage, but close enough. Very Agatha Christie. You know, one of her novels was about a murder on a plane in flight. Death In The Clouds; 1935, I believe. Although her aircraft was rather smaller than an A380. Poirot didn’t have over five hundred suspects to consider.’
‘Actually, nor do we,’ said Meadows. During the course of the interviews, the detectives had received a call from Scotland Yard; Meadows’ initial assessment had been confirmed. ‘Our investigation is concentrating on the first class cabin. We know from the plane’s CCTV footage that nobody entered or left it between the times Perch was last seen and his body was discovered.’
She had intended it to sound somewhat threatening, but Gold’s response was one almost of enthusiasm. ‘Really? Now that is exciting! That means I’ve actually spoken with the killer!’
Brownlow raised his eyebrows. ‘What do you mean? Did you talk to everyone in first class?’
‘Oh, yes, of course — either in the airport lounge, or during the flight when I happened to encounter them. I’m a naturally gregarious sort. But yes, I spoke to everyone at some point, even if only as an excuse to avoid dealing with Desmond Perch. I certainly wouldn’t have given that obnoxious man in the cheap suit the time of day otherwise.’
‘Which man?’
‘He was across the aisle from me.’ Gold’s brow furrowed for a moment. ‘What was his name… Jarrow? No, Jarnow.’ Brownlow nodded. ‘Horribly rude to the cabin staff, and wouldn’t shut up with his tedious business calls throughout the entire flight. I now know far more about transporting liquefied gases than I ever thought possible.’
‘Did anyone else talk to Mr Perch?’
‘That old American couple, the Grogans, spoke to him, but then they insisted on foisting their life story on everyone they met. And one of the other British passengers had a chat with him in the lounge — Lewis, Peter Lewis.’
‘You’ve got a good memory for names,’ said Meadows.
‘Remembering who you’re talking to is the key to maintaining a good impression, Detective Constable Meadows,’ Gold said with a grin. ‘But if anyone else spoke to Perch, I didn’t see them.’
Brownlow had another question. ‘Did you notice anyone displaying any… unusual behaviour?’
‘By which I’m sure you mean “suspicious” behaviour, but no. That rather attractive Thai lad with the moustache, Som, seemed very nervous, but I put that down to a simple fear of flying. He’d calmed down later on. Laura Frobisher was a bit on edge too, but a few glasses of 1996 Dom Pérignon sorted that out. Jarnow was in a bad mood, but that seems to be his natural state.’ Gold leaned back thoughtfully. ‘Remarkable. One of those people is a murderer. I wonder if I can work out which one?’
‘You can leave that to the police, Mr Gold,’ said Meadows with a scathing undertone. ‘I’m sure this will all just make an amusing anecdote for your next autobiography, but to us it’s a very serious business.’
Gold bristled. ‘I’m sure it is, Detective Constable. But you don’t appear to be making much progress, do you? You have a limited number of suspects in a confined area, but you’ve obviously found nothing incriminating like blood spatter or gunpowder residue,’ he held up his hands, which had been tested with a swab before the passengers had been allowed to leave the plane, ‘otherwise you wouldn’t still be talking to me, and you haven’t found the gun either.’
‘You seem very sure of that,’ said Brownlow, letting the implication hang in the air.
Now it was Gold’s turn to sound caustic. ‘One doesn’t need to be a police detective to make deductions from things you can see from the waiting room’s window. You still had a group of men in white coats going through the passengers’ luggage when I was brought to you, and more of them bringing binbags full of evidence off the plane. If someone had found the gun, they would have burst in here to tell you by now.’
‘Well, if you solve the mystery between glasses of sherry at your gentlemen’s club, be sure to let us know,’ said Meadows, her tone now anything but under. ‘Us poor dumb coppers, we need all the help we can get.’
Gold looked appalled. ‘Sherry? Good God, no. But I’ll tell you what — I think I will give you my help. I know the crime scene, and I know the suspects. It shouldn’t be too difficult to work out who killed Desmond Perch. I’m sure being a detective can’t be all that hard. After all, you both seem to have made a successful career of it.’
Brownlow and Meadows exchanged looks. ‘I think we’ve just been insulted, sir,’ said the latter.
‘I’m sure of it,’ Brownlow replied amiably.
‘Oh, good — so you can spot clues,’ said Gold, giving them another wide smile. ‘There’s hope yet. Now, is there anything else?’
‘I think we’ve got what we need — for the moment. We may contact you again with further questions in due course.’ Brownlow slid a business card across the table. ‘If you remember anything that maybe be of help with the case, call us.’
Gold gave the card a brief glance before slipping it into his pocket. ‘I’ll be sure to do that. May I go?’
‘You may.’ Brownlow nodded towards the door.
‘Thank you.’ Gold stood, tugging down his jacket before walking away. ‘Best of luck with the case.’
Meadows waited until he had left the room before speaking. ‘My God. I thought he was annoying just on TV. But now I’ve met him in real life…’
‘You don’t like him on TV?’ said Brownlow, stretching. ‘I thought he was pretty funny when he was on Top Gear.’
‘He’s smug, arrogant, a know-it-all toff—’
‘Is he a toff? I know he sounds posh, but I thought he came from Liverpool or somewhere.’
‘I wouldn’t know. But what did you make of him? From our point of view, I mean, not as a celebrity. Think he’s our man?’
Brownlow looked back at his notes. ‘He had the motive; he openly admitted to hating Perch, and to having had run-ins with him in the past, one right there on the plane. Means; he admitted having experience with guns. Opportunity… who knows? The stewardesses said they weren’t always watching the aisles at that time of night, so he might have had the chance to sneak around the cabin without anyone seeing.’
‘And shoot Perch in the chest without anyone hearing?’ Meadows was unconvinced. ‘Much as I don’t want to give him any credit, he was right about silenced — I mean, suppressed guns. They don’t go ptchuf! like in films. They’re still noisy, it’s just a different kind of noise. Somebody would have heard it.’
‘Yeah, I know. And where is the gun? How did the killer get it through the security at Bangkok, and how did they get rid of it without leaving first class? ERU must have stripped the cabin to the bones by now, and we still haven’t heard anything.’ He blew air out through his nostrils. ‘Maybe it really is an Agatha Christie story, like Gold said. Murder On The Orient Express.’
‘Or Excess.’
‘That was my joke. But all the suspects were in it together.’
Meadows made a face. ‘Thanks for giving the twist away, sir. I hadn’t seen it.’
‘Seriously? I thought everyone knew that. Like The Mousetrap. The killer is—’
She threw up her hands. ‘I was joking! Of course I’ve seen Murder On The Orient Express. I haven’t seen The Mousetrap, though.’
‘Saw it when I was a kid.’