Gurney sighed and ran a hand across his chin. ‘I’d better get myself a shave.’
‘Haven’t you had any sleep?’ Kathy asked him.
He shook his head. ‘I hung around to process the charges, then to wait for Winter’s solicitor. Brock got an hour or two shut-eye, I guess.’
‘Did he go home?’
‘Doubt it. He lives down by Dulwich. Probably put his head down at the Yard.’
‘Does he have a sister?’
‘Yes. Out in Buckinghamshire somewhere, I think. Why?’ He looked curiously at Kathy.
‘Oh, when I was buying the papers this morning I saw him arrive. A woman brought him, in a red Merc sports.’
A little smile creased Gurney’s tired eyes. ‘Don’t suppose you got the number?’
Kathy reached across and wrote on the pad in front of him. Gurney tore off the sheet and left the office. Half an hour later he strolled back in again, washed, shaved and considerably more cheerful. Without a word he placed a note in front of Kathy. On it was written the name Mrs Suzanne Chambers, a telephone number and an address in Belgravia, barely two hundred yards from Scotland Yard.
At that moment Brock appeared in the doorway behind them. ‘You two want to bring me up to date?’ he said, and then, seeing the note in Kathy’s hand and the smile on her face, ‘Good news?’
She shook her head quickly. ‘Nothing, really.’ She stuffed the note into the pocket of her trousers and followed the two men up the stairs.
It was only when they were seated that Kathy saw that Brock was as tired as Gurney. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he suppressed a yawn as Gurney spoke.
‘Winter will appear this afternoon,’ he said. ‘We’re opposing bail, of course, but I don’t think the court will wear it. Especially not with the solicitor he’s got himself.’
‘Who is it?’
‘Two of them. A little old guy called Hepple.’
‘The sisters’ solicitor?’ Brock said, sitting up sharply. ‘That’s odd.’
‘Yeah. He was really enjoying himself. I must say I could have done without his jolly repartee this morning. But his mate’s the bad news. Apparently Hepple isn’t representing Winter, he just came along to introduce him to this brief that he’d found for him. Your old friend Martin Connell, Brock.’
Kathy froze. She didn’t hear the next part of their conversation, but as their voices began to register again she was suddenly filled with an enormous sense of gratitude to Brock-first because he studiously avoided looking at her, and then because it was clear that Gurney knew nothing about her connection with Connell. Her hand closed around the message in her pocket, and she screwed it into a tight little ball.
‘But how the hell did either Hepple or Connell come in on this?’ Brock thumped his fist on the arm of his chair.
‘And how can Winter afford him?’ Gurney added, shaking his head. ‘The only good thing is that we know for sure that anyone Connell represents has got to be seriously guilty. Otherwise it’s all bad. Christ’-he rubbed his forehead wearily-‘he even knew about me getting into Winter’s office at Peckham without a search warrant. He let it drop that he was going to pin me on unlawful entry.’
Brock swore, pulled himself to his feet and strode over to the window. He stood there for a minute, staring at the snowflakes swirling outside, then walked slowly back to his seat.
‘I spoke to the lab just now,’ he said. ‘It looks as if the plastic bag used on Eleanor was the same type as in one of those packets you brought back from Winter’s house yesterday, Kathy. But it’s a common type, in every supermarket, and Winter’s prints weren’t on the packet we picked up, which isn’t to say that he didn’t take another one. It’s not the same type as was used on Meredith, which came from a packet in her own kitchen. So we’ll have to pursue the hammer as another way of tying Winter in.’
Kathy reported her conversation that morning with Caroline Winter, and that they were in the process of tracing the kitchen contractor whose plumber might have lost a hammer at the Winters’ home.
Brock nodded. ‘Now, about the first murder. We’d better have another word with the woman who provided Winter’s alibi then. What was her name?’
‘Geraldine McArthur.’
‘Yes. In view of their falling out, she might be less keen to protect him now.’
He paused, rubbing his eyes. ‘Bren, go home and get some rest, will you? I cannot stand people falling asleep when I’m talking to them.’
Gurney shook himself and protested that he was only thinking with his eyes closed. Then, seeing Brock’s expression, he got to his feet.
‘Yeah, I wouldn’t mind a couple of hours, chief.’
‘See you later.’
When he had gone, Brock said quietly, ‘Bren is convinced we can pin everything on Winter. I’m not so sure. So, what are the alternatives?’
‘We’ve just got the results of the check Bren organized on that list of names from the developer’s office and the others involved in the building project. Only one with a criminal record. Guess who?’
‘Bob Jones?’ Brock asked wearily.
‘No, of course not.’ She smiled. ‘Danny Finn. They call him their Project Manager.’
Brock nodded. ‘Well, we’d better have a word with him. See if you can find out where he is.’
Kathy phoned First City Properties, who told her he was on site. She rang the site office, but when she put the phone down she looked both puzzled and worried. ‘They say he left. He had an appointment-at the Bedford Hotel.’
‘But that’s where we put Peg Blythe, for God’s sake!’
‘Yes.’
‘Who knew where she was?’
‘Nobody. Nobody knew.’
‘What the hell is going on around here!’ Brock was on his feet, reaching for his coat.
Kathy quickly punched the hotel telephone number, spoke a few words and returned the receiver. ‘He arrived there ten minutes ago. Peg has just phoned down and ordered coffee and chocolate biscuits, for two.’
Brock shook his head in disbelief. ‘Let’s go and join them, then. What did Finn have on his record, Kathy? Is he a thief?’
‘One charge of theft as a juvenile. Since then GBH, resisting arrest, and, most recently, about ten years ago, assault. A charge of attempted murder was dropped.’
She ran after Brock as he thundered down the wooden stairs.
Peg answered Kathy’s knock, looking fresh and with her morale restored. She was wearing a burgundy knitted suit with flowery blouse and pearls, her white hair carefully coiffed, and she welcomed them with a delighted smile, as if they were old friends she hadn’t seen in years.
‘How lovely of you both to come and see me again. And in such terrible weather! You’re just in time for morning coffee to warm you up.’
‘We just wanted to check how you were, Mrs Blythe. Are you alone?’ Kathy was looking over the top of her head into the room.
‘Peg, dear, please.’ She put a neatly manicured, arthritic hand on Kathy’s arm and spoke in a confiding whisper. Kathy bent her head to hear, and smelled her lavender cologne. ‘I have another visitor, a dear friend of mine that I invited to visit me.’ She looked at Kathy with a twinkle in her eye and patted her arm. ‘Come in and meet him.’
Seated in an armchair was a wiry little man of about fifty, with a badly broken nose. In one hand he held a teacup raised to his lips, and in the other the saucer upon which was perched a chocolate biscuit. He put these encumbrances carefully down on the coffee table in front of him and rose to his feet.