‘What in heaven’s name was going on out there, Sergeant? It was an absolute disgrace. I’ve never seen a more graphic example of insensitive policing.’
Now that he had recovered his composure, he had assumed an icy, patrician air. Kathy guessed he was in his early fifties. Though dressed as a patient, he managed to sustain an air of elegance that had escaped the others. She noticed the insignia of an expensive London hotel on his robe; his hair and nails were carefully groomed. She wondered if he went to the same place that trimmed Beamish-Newell’s crew-cut and goatee.
‘Uniform branch asked for CID assistance with a sudden death here, discovered this morning, sir. Apparent suicide.’
‘Oh?’ He looked with concern towards Beamish-Newell. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Stephen. One of the patients? I didn’t see an ambulance. But even so …’ He turned back to Kathy. ‘A suicide hardly warrants such a gross over-reaction. This is a naturopathic clinic, not some illicit drug factory!’
The Director cleared his throat. ‘One of the staff, in point of fact, Bernard. You’ve probably come across him in the course of your therapy sessions. Well, it’s quite likely anyway. Young chap…’
Kathy was puzzled by his slowness in getting to the point. ‘Alex Petrou,’ she broke in abruptly.
Long looked as if she had slapped his face. For a couple of seconds which seemed to all of three of them to last much, much longer, he gawped at her in astonishment while his brain seemed unable to come to terms with the information. ‘No,’ he gasped, ‘surely not. I saw him — ’
‘Well, as I said, Bernard, you would have done,’ Beamish-Newell interrupted, speaking slowly, deliberately. ‘All the patients would, at some time or another. It’s a terrible shock.’
Long nodded, using the time to control the expression on his face.
‘When?’ Kathy broke in impatiently. ‘When did you see him?’
He frowned, avoiding her eyes. ‘Oh now, I’d need to think.’
Kathy was astonished. It seemed to her that she had never seen a more blatant demonstration of lying and confusion written across a witness’s face. Beamish-Newell’s attempts to deflect her attention only made it worse. He moved forward to the desk, opening his mouth to interrupt again, but she got in first. ‘Doctor, I’d like to speak to the Deputy Chief Constable alone, if you don’t mind. Would you leave now, please?’ She was on her feet.
Beamish-Newell made as if to refuse. He looked down at Long, who glanced briefly at Kathy, then nodded. ‘Yes, Stephen, as she says, thank you, if you wouldn’t mind.’
As he left, Kathy sat down again, watching Long carefully. He seemed suddenly older. ‘I’m sorry, Sergeant. I really don’t know … I don’t know why it hit me like that. I can only assume it’s the diet. I’ve been here ten days now, on a strict diet, water-only the first three days, then vegetable and fruit juices for the remainder. I believe it’s made me light-headed.’
He took a deep breath and straightened his back. His voice was recovering some of its resonance.
‘Yes, I can imagine, sir.’ Kathy didn’t try to sound convinced. ‘Did you know him well?’
‘No,’ head shaking vigorously, ‘no, no, no. I’ve had some massage treatment from him, this time and on earlier occasions.’
‘You come here quite often, do you then, sir?’
‘Yes, when I can find the time. I’m a member of the Board of Trustees, as a matter of fact. Where … where was he found?’
‘In the Temple of Apollo. Hanged.’
‘Good God. But look, even so, it surely didn’t need an army of storm-troopers …’ He was recovering rapidly.
‘There are some inconsistencies in the physical evidence. We won’t know until the post-mortem is done whether they’re significant or not. In the meantime I wanted to interview as many people as possible while their memories were fresh. I must admit, I didn’t expect quite so much backup so quickly.’ She beamed at him brightly, and he permitted himself a hint of a doubtful smile in response.
‘I’m particularly interested in when he was last seen alive, you see. You were about to tell me when you last saw him.’
He examined his even fingernails, and it seemed to Kathy that he was making a decision. ‘I saw him yesterday afternoon, as a matter of fact. I suppose that added to the shock, having seen him so recently.’
‘Sunday afternoon. Did you have treatment or something?’
‘Not exactly. There’s a small gym downstairs. I go there sometimes for a workout. He has … had… charge of the place. He opened it up for me at three, and was there when I finished.’
‘What time was that?’
‘Oh … an hour later, probably. Around about four.’ ‘Do you know if he’d arranged to meet anyone after you?’ ‘I really couldn’t say.’
‘He said nothing at all about his plans for the rest of the day? Please think carefully, sir.’ Long frowned, shook his head.
‘Please let me know if you can be more precise about the time you left him. Were you aware of him being depressed at all, moody, worried?’
‘No … I’d never have guessed.’ Something seemed to occur to him, then he shook his head again. ‘Good Lord.’
‘You’ve thought of something?’
‘No.’ He blinked at her as if he’d momentarily forgotten she was there. ‘No, no.’
Perhaps, she thought, perhaps things are getting on top of you at work. Perhaps you’re going through a bad time with your wife, or your teenage children. Perhaps you’re not sleeping well, having difficulty concentrating. Who knows? But if you hadn’t been who you are, I’d have said you were hiding something for sure. Something you don’t want me to know about.
‘I’ll have someone take a statement from you, sir. I’d be particularly interested in your conversation with Petrou. Anything he might have said. Any indications of his plans for the evening.’
‘I’ll try.’
4
Kathy broke off her account while Brock went to make a fresh pot of coffee. Now that she was well into the story, she was feeling much more confident and relaxed. The visitors got up from their seats round the fire and stretched their legs. When Brock returned, Dowling was casting his eye over the titles of the books piled on the worktop, keeping well clear of the live computer, and Kathy was having another look at the enigmatic little artwork on the wall.
‘Mr Schwitters did me a big favour,’ Brock said, setting down the pot. ‘I’d never be able to get anything as good again, and I’ve never had the nerve to put anything second-rate beside it. If it hadn’t been for that, these walls would have been a mass of flying ducks and faded Gauguin prints.’
Kathy laughed, but he saw the expression on her face and added, ‘Really, it may just look like a mess of old tram tickets, but it is in fact a milestone of twentieth-century art. How I came by it is another story.’
It seemed to Kathy that it was very like Brock to own a treasure that you wouldn’t recognize inside a house you couldn’t find.
‘Well, it’s a great house,’ she said. ‘I love it.’
‘I rented a room here many years ago, when my life was going through a change. Then later, when my landlady died, I bought the place from her estate. They were glad to get rid of it. It was a tiny, crooked little terrace house, and buyers couldn’t find it. A few years later the one next door came on the market and I bought that too and knocked them together, and gradually it’s just sort of grown. What about you, Kathy? Have you kept on your flat in North Finchley? I remember you had a very protective next-door neighbour and a splendid view.’
‘Yes, I kept it on.’ She smiled at the memory of his visit, when she had almost pushed the bunch of flowers he had brought, his peace offering, down the sink disposal unit. ‘While I’m away, a friend is staying there. He’ll move on when I return to London — if they’re prepared to have me back at the Met.’