With a nod, the girl turned on her heel and hurried off down the corridor.
‘Thank you.’ He turned back to Boduka. ‘Let’s get started then.’
‘Just remember, Inspector,’ said the lawyer, placing a hand on Carlyle’s arm as he lowered his voice, ‘you were the last person to see their son alive.’
‘One of the last people,’ Carlyle corrected him.
‘Yes, well, it’s effectively the same thing.’ Boduka resorted to a stage whisper. ‘The point is, please treat them with respect.’
‘I always treat people with respect,’ Carlyle lied.
‘But under the particular circumstances. .’ The lawyer’s voice rose with his exasperation.
‘Yes, yes,’ Carlyle said gruffly. ‘Let’s just get on with it, shall we? As you said, they’ve been kept waiting for long enough.’
On entering the room, the first thing he noticed was the view. The vista through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the law firm’s boardroom — directly across Park Lane towards Hyde Park — was quite spectacular. The inspector, however, was the only one enjoying it. Everyone else was on the far side of the table, with their backs to the window. Next to Boduka was Ivor Mosman, ramrod straight in an expensive-looking navy suit, with a light blue shirt. Even though he was unshaven and looked tired, Mosman was still an imposing-looking man, tall with broad shoulders, a strong chin and a full head of hair that showed only a slight sprinkling of grey. He held his wife’s hand tightly as they waited for the inspector to get this unpleasant meeting under way.
Zoe Mosman was clearly not holding up as well as her husband. In a grey polo shirt, with a white sweater wrapped around her shoulders, she looked like she was heading for the Tennis Club, but her face was crumpled and she had clearly spent much of the last twelve hours in tears. Her gaze remained lowered towards the table as she rocked gently in her seat. With her hair pulled back into a simple ponytail, she looked extremely young — easily a good fifteen years younger than her husband when, in fact, Carlyle knew that their actual age difference was less than half that.
Boduka’s two assistants made up the numbers. Taking a sip of his macchiato — disappointingly insipid and cool — Carlyle arranged his papers on the table before letting the Skoob plastic bag, in which he’d transported them over, drop to the floor. Flipping open a notepad, he pulled a biro from his inside jacket pocket and began listing all the names of those present. When he’d finished, he placed his pen on the pad and looked up at the parents directly.
‘My condolences for what has happened,’ he said, waiting for a nod of acknowledgement from Ivor Mosman before continuing, ‘and my apologies for keeping you waiting this afternoon.’ Another nod. ‘As you will know, there is a huge amount of effort and resource going into this investigation.’ He tapped the A4 folder in front of him with an index finger. ‘There is only a limited amount that I can say at this moment. However, I can assure you we are moving things along as quickly as we can.’
I can assure you: Standard Operating Gibberish as used by a policeman.
Finally, Zoe Mosman looked up. ‘So, what can you tell us about who did this?’
Trying not to appear too impatient, Carlyle held up a restraining hand. ‘I will come to where we are currently in the investigation in just a moment. And I will share with you as much information as I can. First, however, let me just make a few. . personal remarks which, I trust, will go no further than this room.’ He looked over at Boduka who gave his assent. ‘As you know, I myself was at your home last night when the. . incident happened.’ He paused, his gaze moving along the line of faces opposite. ‘I sat with Horatio while the explosives officers sought to deal with. .’
Zoe Mosman let out a loud sob. For a horrible moment, it looked like she was going to convulse into hysterics, but her husband whispered something in her ear and she managed to regain control.
The inspector cleared his throat. ‘I would just like to say,’ he continued, ‘that Horatio showed great courage and determination in dealing with what was obviously a very difficult and frightening situation.’
The parents looked at him blankly. Feeling like a complete idiot, Carlyle let his gaze drift towards the trees outside, swaying in the wind. ‘Personally and on behalf of the Police Service, I would like to express our deepest sympathy at your loss and reassure you that we will be seeking to catch those responsible as quickly as possible.’ Letting out a deep breath, he then sat back in his chair.
For a moment there was silence. Finally Melvin Boduka spoke up. ‘Thank you, Inspector. On behalf of Mr and Mrs Mosman, I would like in turn to express the family’s gratitude for your efforts at their house.’ At this point, Carlyle glanced at Zoe Mosman, whose expression seemed to be suggesting a rather different train of thought. ‘And, of course, we will provide you with all help and assistance possible, regarding your investigation.’
‘Thank you,’ Carlyle said quietly.
The lawyer pulled a silver-plated Waterman Carene from his inside jacket pocket and scribbled something on the pad sitting on the desk in front of him. ‘I am sure you have a lot of questions,’ he said. ‘How can we assist you at this time?’
The inspector had been waiting for this moment. Sitting up in his chair, he addressed himself directly to the lawyer. ‘What I would like to do,’ he said gently, ‘is to speak to both Mr and Mrs Mosman — but separately.’
Frowning, the lawyer looked over towards his clients. Ivor Mosman gave an Up to you kind of shrug. Zoe Mosman continued staring into space. Boduka turned back to Carlyle. ‘I presume that you are happy for me to be present in these. . meetings?’
‘Of course,’ Carlyle replied. ‘Maybe we could start with Mr Mosman.’ He smiled at one of the assistants. ‘And maybe I could get another coffee? And could you make it really hot this time?’
Glancing at the expensive-looking watch on his wrist, Melvin Boduka paced the corridor while they waited for a second meeting room to be cleared. ‘How long do you think all this will take?’
‘Not too long.’ Carlyle took a sip of his second macchiato. If anything, it was more insipid and even cooler than the first. A pang of intense frustration stabbed through his chest. Why couldn’t these people understand what the word ‘hot’ meant?
‘You do know,’ the lawyer lowered his voice as one of his colleagues slipped past, ‘that the family are considering legal action against the MPS.’
‘For what?’
‘For missing the bomb,’ Boduka replied. ‘What do you think?’
How the hell did he know about that? Carlyle wondered. ‘What do you mean?’
Boduka waved an admonishing finger in the policeman’s direction. ‘Come, come, Inspector, don’t try and play me.’
‘That’s not my style.’ The inspector seriously doubted that Ivor and Zoe Mosman would really want to sue the Met while it was still trying to find their son’s killer. Then again, stranger things had happened. If they did sue, Carlyle himself would be appearing in the dock. He made a mental note to contact his Union Rep, just in case the Met tried to hang him out to dry.
‘As you well know, the device around Horatio’s neck was a fake,’ the lawyer persisted.
Saying nothing, Carlyle eyed the lawyer carefully. Clearly, old Melvin here was sharper than he looked. Equally, however, someone must have given him a copy of the preliminary report. The very thought filled the inspector with something approaching despair. If the report had indeed been leaked, then it would almost certainly appear on the internet and in the newspapers before the end of the day. That would inevitably make his job a lot harder.
‘But you were so busy focusing on the collar bomb,’ Boduka continued, ‘that nobody bothered to check for a secondary device which, it seems, had been hidden in the bottom of the sofa.’ The lawyer’s face crumpled into a conventional picture of disappointment and concern. ‘Which was rather remiss of you, don’t you think?’