‘You think he cooperated in this?’
‘Well, there’s no sign of coercion. None at all.’
‘He was obsessed with death,’ Kathy said quietly, almost to herself.
Later Mehta established that Stan had eaten a final meal of roast beef, peas and boiled potato approximately seven hours before his death. There were also traces of a grey putty or clay embedded in the soles of his shoes, which were sent off for analysis.
Within an hour, Yasher Fikret was complaining once again at having his building site closed down for another police search, which yielded nothing.
While that was going on, Kathy returned to 53 Urma Street, on the north side of the square. The uniformed cop who let her in had nothing to report. She went up to the living room where Poppy was reading a newspaper.
‘Where’s Gabe?’ Kathy asked.
Poppy paused a moment before replying. ‘Upstairs, in his studio.’ She didn’t sound happy to see Kathy, who had gone over to the kitchen, now clear of dirty dishes.
‘Those things you were washing up, Poppy…’
‘What about them?’
‘Were they recently dirtied?’
‘How should I know? Anyway, how could they be? No one’s been here for a week.’
‘Could you tell what the meal was?’
‘What?’ She looked at Kathy as if she were mad. ‘No, I wasn’t that interested, actually.’
Kathy was now examining the rubbish bin under the sink. ‘Okay, thanks.’ She smiled at Poppy and made for the stairs. ‘See you later.’
In the dustbin in the backyard Kathy found week-old newspapers on top of plastic bags containing what was obviously old debris. She peeled off her gloves and made her way over to the lane behind West Terrace. Police were standing at the far end where the building site was being searched, but Kathy was interested in the dustbin standing beside Reg Gilbey’s back gate. She lifted the lid and peered in at the plastic bag on top. Its neck was loosely tied, but through a hole she was able to see the packaging for a microwave dinner. She could just see an illustration, of potatoes, peas and sliced roast beef. She closed the lid and went down the lane to find a SOCO.
The call from the solicitor at the Crown Prosecution Service suggesting an urgent conference had left Brock puzzled, but he’d agreed to meet her during the lunchbreak of the trial she was involved in at the Old Bailey, at what she said was her favourite pub, The Seven Stars, just behind the Royal Courts of Justice. He found her perched at a narrow table against the window of the little pub, which was crowded. Some of the customers looked like lawyers and officials from the Law Courts, others like lecturers from the nearby London School of Economics.
Virginia Ashe was small, neat and ferociously bright. Through her narrow glasses she regarded Brock squeezing his way between the tables, and pronounced judgement as he eased into the chair.‘You look worn out.’
‘Thanks. I see you’re as indomitable as ever.’
‘It must be this awful case of yours.’ The relish with which she said it made him smile.
‘Tell me you’re not about to make it worse.’
‘Order lunch first. The food here is fabulous. I think you need a square meal-try the steak and kidney pudding.’
‘Fine.’
Virginia Ashe called,‘Roxy!’ across the room, and from behind the bar an attractive dark-haired woman with bright lipstick looked her way.‘Yes, he will!’ the solicitor cried, and the woman nodded and waved acknowledgement.
‘Wylie’s made a statement,’ Ashe said, ‘through his solicitor.’
Brock’s fist clenched.‘When did this happen?’
‘An hour ago. They phoned me from the office and gave me the gist. I’ll have to give you a proper assessment, but I thought I should speak to you straight away. There’ll be a copy of his statement waiting for you at Queen Anne’s Gate-oh, wonderful!’
Roxy had appeared at their side with two glasses of cognac.‘She said you’d be needing this,’ she murmured to Brock.‘Cheers, darlings.’
They lifted their glasses and Brock let the burn subside in his throat before speaking.‘Go on, Virginia.’
‘He claims that he knows nothing about the abductions of Aimee and Lee, and had no idea that Abbott was using his wife’s flat, although he had given Abbott a key to keep an eye on it for him.’
‘What?’ Brock was incredulous.
‘Yes, I know. He claims he hadn’t been there for several months. He was living in his office on an industrial estate, because of some dispute over the tenancy of the flat with the wife, though he admits he was paying the rent. He provides her current name and whereabouts. Apparently she’s living with another man in the Midlands.’
‘What was he doing in the flat when we caught him then?’
‘He claims he went there because Abbott had phoned him earlier in the day and asked to meet him that evening for adrink.’
‘Yes, we traced that call. Abbott made it soon after my people visited him the first time.’
‘When he got to the estate he discovered that Abbott was dead. He went to his flat and found all that stuff inside, and claims he was as surprised as the police when you discovered Lee in the cupboard.’
‘Rubbish. Why did he wait ten days to tell us this?’
‘His statement doesn’t explain that. No doubt they’ll come up with something. Why did he?’
‘Because the last person who could disprove it was found hanged last night.’ Brock told her what had happened.
‘My God. He was murdered?’
‘Maybe, or assisted suicide.’ Brock stared at his glass, surprised to see it empty. He had anticipated a number of possible strategies from Wylie to mitigate his guilt, but not outright denial.‘They must be confident they can pull it off.’
‘Yes. I don’t think I like this, Brock. There were no photographs of him with the girls, were there?’
‘No, he was the photographer.’
‘And the camera and computer equipment were stolen property and can’t be linked to him.’
‘Not so far.’
‘And no change to Lee?’
‘No, still in a coma. But we know she recognised him in that flat. Her eyes were only open for a few seconds, but she was terrified when she saw Wylie.’
‘Yes, but that will work against us. If she regains consciousness and identifies him, they’ll claim she’s confusing the memory of having seen him that night.’
They were both silent for a time, thinking, then Virginia said,‘No, I don’t like this. Why did they send his statement to us, and not to the police? It was my boss who phoned me about it. He told me to be very careful to get this one right. What did he mean? When I asked him, he made some lame remark about just doing my usual excellent job.’
Brock didn’t reply. Finally he said, ‘Have you come across a judge called Sir Jack Beaufort?’
‘Jugular Jack? Yes, of course. Appeared before him a few times in my youth. Why?’
‘Any rumours?’
‘Only that he’s got a savage tongue. What kind of rumours?’
‘No, nothing, Virginia. Forget I mentioned it. So, where do we go from here?’
‘You get us some hard evidence to pin Wylie down. Otherwise…’ she shrugged,‘… we’re just not going to be able to proceed against him.’
Their food arrived, the best pub food in London, but Brock didn’t taste a thing.
When he returned to Shoreditch he found the copy of Wylie’s statement waiting for him. He summoned Bren urgently and sat down to study it. Bren was stunned by Brock’s account of his meeting with the Crown Prosecutor.
‘That’s impossible! We found him in the flat, with the victim.’
Brock handed him Wylie’s statement and watched his face fall as he read it.
‘He can’t get away with this. It’s preposterous!’
‘Virginia Ashe thinks he can.’
‘His fingerprints were everywhere.’
‘He says he had a good look around before we found him. He’s thought it through, Bren. It does kind of fit with the evidence we have. We’ll have to speak to his wife, of course, but presumably he’s confident about what she’ll say. What have we really got to tie Abbott and Wylie together, in that flat?’