He paused, gathering strength to continue.
‘She promised to have a look. Then she said that it would be best if she could discuss directly with the customer exactly what he was looking for. She said I should give her his name, and in exchange she would forget all about Marie’s rudeness.’
Kowalski sighed and spread his long fingers.
‘This was not what I had intended, but I couldn’t refuse her the name and telephone number. I just wanted some peace. Both women were quite… implacable.’
He raised his eyebrows to Brock guiltily. There was another long pause, and again Brock was on the point of giving up when Kowalski’s faint voice resumed his story.
‘Some while later, just before we moved, Meredith came to me again. It was the last time I ever saw her. She had a book. She wanted to find someone who could value it for her. I gave her the name of a friend. Later I spoke to him. He told me what he had told her.’
More silence. Brock waited patiently for him to continue.
‘It was a first edition of a book by Karl Marx: The Fourteenth Brumaire. In itself that was something. But inside there was a dedication from Marx himself, to “Tussy”, his youngest daughter, which made it worth much more than it would have been otherwise. He thought she might get four or five thousand for it. She had told him there were others. A dozen.’
‘It’s as if they’d been cast adrift,’ Kathy said as she drove slowly back through the fog. ‘Apparently he just sits up there all the time staring out of the window, wasting away. She said he was like a plant that’d been pulled up by the roots and left to wither. It was about the only thing I could get her to talk about.’
‘He’s sick,’ Brock grunted. ‘She didn’t look her old self, either.’
‘I think she’s declining in response to him. She’d probably be lost without his life to screw up and protect. She’s still very bitter towards Meredith, though.’
‘Difficult to see why.’
‘It seems the people who held out longest got the best price for their properties. The rumour was that Brunhilde Capek got a hundred thousand more for her place, which was the same size as the Kowalskis’, because she held out for another six months. Marie Kowalski feels they could have done the same if the fuss Meredith started up over Adam’s past hadn’t driven them to sell when they did.’
The incident centre at 20 Jerusalem Lane was humming when they returned, its illuminated shop front the only light shining in the dark street. From the front counter where they took off their coats Kathy could see Sergeant Gurney in the back room, moving among his officers and a couple of civilian staff, checking, chatting, pondering. He had the build of a prop forward, and a face that looked as if it had been squashed in a scrum. His hair was slicked back as if still wet from the changing-room showers. She noticed that he had a nice smile and a twinkle in his eye when he spoke to the women. He had been a Navy pilot before joining the force, flying Harriers from Invincible.
Gurney was evidently pleased with the results of his day, and they settled in the upstairs room with coffee to hear his news. A partial report had come in from the pathologist, confirming that Eleanor Harper could have been smothered by the plastic bag. The two blows to the forehead had come after death, and were of token force, barely fracturing the front of the skull. There were no other signs of violence to the body. The time of death couldn’t be placed more precisely than somewhere between 6 p.m. Tuesday and 4 a.m. Wednesday.
There was a possible lead in the search for the weapon used to inflict the two blows. That morning an old hammer had been handed in by the scaffolding crew to the office on the construction site across the Lane. It was possible that it had been thrown into the site from the Lane and might have been there for some time before it was found. The pathologist was now examining it.
‘This is a summary of the results of door-to-door inquiries so far.’ Gurney handed Brock a couple of sheets. ‘Actually I think we’ve just about exhausted the possibilities there. The blokes on the site were the most useful, I’d say. We’ve interviewed them all now, including the drivers of the concrete mixers and other delivery trucks. You’ll notice that they seem to remember women more than men, and young women more than older women. An interesting gestalt phenomenon, I’d say.’
‘That’s one way of describing it,’ Kathy said dryly.
‘You’ll notice the attractive blonde who appears twice there at the beginning of the week, Monday or Tuesday. Then we’ve got the list of the employees of First City Properties and all the people from other organizations involved in the development project here. Mr Slade spoke to me on the phone about it after I’d left the request with his secretary. He insisted on knowing why we wanted the list, so I told him about Miss Harper. He sounded shocked-hadn’t read it in the papers this morning. Said he’d cooperate in any way. He offered his congratulations on catching North, by the way, sir. So much for that.’
Gurney set the documents to one side and reached for another set of typewritten sheets with the look of an amateur magician moving on to a much more interesting trick. ‘Now, Mr Terence Winter.’ His eyes scanned the sheet with satisfaction. ‘Transcript of interview with his alleged girlfriend, Ms Shirley Piggott. She claims she didn’t spend last Tuesday night with him. In fact claims she’s never slept with him.’
Gurney passed the transcript over to Brock.
‘Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s lying. She mentioned that both her mother and her boyfriend would be highly displeased if word of her having it off with Terry Winter got around.’
‘What’s she like?’
‘Eighteen going on sixteen. Silly little thing, all giggles and big eyes. I wouldn’t be surprised if she changed her story later, if things got a bit hot for Terry. But still, it could be useful to put the wind up him.’
‘Poor Terry.’ Kathy shook her head. ‘It’s not his week.’
‘Does he know this?’ Brock asked.
‘No. When I brought him back here, we left him alone for an hour with that list you gave him. Then I went through it with him, and for most of the times he has no alibi at all. A couple he claims he was with someone, but we haven’t been able to check them yet. The only times I’d say he might be covered for are those of some of the phone calls, but again, we’re still checking.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘I thought you might like to have a go at him, sir, so I sent him back to the Yard with DS Griffiths.’
‘Good. What about his flat?’
‘Yes, well, I’m not sure what to make of that. There was a tube of superglue, and a few tools which would have been about right for the damage. We sent the blunt instrument types-a hammer and a monkey wrench-down to the path lab for checking against the wound.’
‘What else?’
‘Well, no diary with red crosses against the appropriate days, I’m afraid. There were enough condoms to stock a chemist shop.’ Gurney grinned. ‘This bloke believed in buying in bulk-a real optimist. Not many seemed to have been used, though. Nothing else incriminating. Then it occurred to me, when we called in at his Peckham salon to speak to Shirley Piggott, which is just round the corner from his flat-it occurred to me to take a look at his office there.’
‘I don’t think I heard that, Bren.’
‘His receptionist was extremely helpful. I explained that I was trying to find a set of keys that Mr Winter had apparently mislaid. She opened up the drawers of his desk and filing cabinet for me to look inside. In one of the drawers we found this…’
He got up and went over to a cardboard box in the corner of the room. From it he took a transparent plastic bag. Kathy gave a little cry as she saw inside it what looked like a severed head.
‘Gruesome, isn’t it?’ Gurney brought it over to the table. It was a plastic mask of a monster’s face with vivid scarlet blood dribbling from its fangs.