“That will be the Heckler and Koch MP5 currently exhibit ’A’,” Jones said for the benefit of the tape recording.
“Yes.”
“What did you do next Mr Dennis?”
“Well as I said I was with my partner Natalie and I saw her across the room, she saw me, but one of the gunmen came towards the toilets, I think he noticed her looking, and I hid in one of the cubicles. I could hear him opening all of the doors one by one and when he opened the one I was in I sprang at him. I knew I had one chance and surprise was essential. We fought, but thankfully I was able to overpower him. I’m just glad he was wearing that heavy Roman toga which hindered him. I managed to get his gun, the one you’ve presented to me in that plastic bag, and I ran outside with it as they escaped.”
“And what did you intend to do with the gun?”
Dennis shrugged.
“I have no idea.”
“Did you intend to use it, to hurt any of them, to kill any of them.”
“No I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so.”
“No.”
“But they’d threatened you, threatened your girlfriend,” Jones looked down at his paperwork searching for the name, “Natalie. That must have made you angry.”
“Angry?”
“Yes. I mean, “Jones continued, “You must have wanted revenge on them. They’d already killed a museum security guard and then came after you after having threatened your partner. You must have been a little angry. I mean who wouldn’t.”
“Well I wasn’t. I don’t know what I intended to do. I wasn’t thinking straight. But revenge wasn’t part of it.”
Jones stared at Dennis for several moments.
“Very well. And you’re unable to give us any clues about the vehicles they used. Three black Range Rovers without number plates.”
“No. I’ve already told you there was nothing unusual about them.”
“Is there anything else you can think of that may help us in our enquiries?”
Dennis was tempted to mention Nguyen and her cameraman just so the police would bring them in for questioning. He found himself smiling at the thought. She wouldn’t thank him for it. He liked Kim and decided against it. The police no doubt took names of everyone and knowing Nguyen she would probably come forward anyway.
Jones and Harding cross questioned him for a further hour when the detective inspector thanked him and formally ended the interview.
“Am I being charged?” dennis asked.
Jones shuffled his papers into a neat pile.
“No Mr Dennis. You are free to go. DS harding will take you to the duty sergeant where you can collect your personal items. Thank you for your help. We may need to question you further so please stay in the local area.”
“I know. I know. Don’t leave the country right,” Dennis said, extending his forefinger as if it was an imaginary gun.
“Goodbye for now Mr Dennis.”
Harding opened the door for him and he waited for her to accompany him. At the duty sergeant’s desk he signed some forms and collected his personal effects, phone, keys and watch which he put on his wrist, thanked the sergeant and followed Harding to the door with iron bars and waited while the officer with the keys opened it. Dennis walked through the door and turned.
“Cheers Darling,” he said to Harding as the door was slammed and locked, then whistling down the corridor he was let out of the police station by another officer and stepped out into the cold night air. Natalie was waiting at the top of the steps for him. A taxi waiting below. He smiled and went straight to her. She threw her arms around him and kissed him hard on the lips and then pulled away. He was about to say “Wow! Did you miss me?” when she slapped him hard across the cheek.
“What was that for?”
“Don’t you ever play the hero again!” she replied before turning and heading down the steps towards a grinning taxi driver. Dennis rubbed his very warm cheek and followed silently after her.
CHAPTER FOUR
Peter Dennis threw himself into his chair at his desk. It was Monday morning and the rush hour traffic had been horrendous. The small clock on his desk was showing 09.15. He’d intended to be in at 09.00. It didn’t matter though. Dennis worked whatever hours suited him.
He glanced across at his editors office and saw the door was closed and the office empty. Rogerson was probably also stuck in traffic. Dennis had tried, in the past, to use public transport but found he preferred to be behind the wheel stuck in traffic getting frustrated rather than being stuck on a tube or bus in the same traffic. Rogerson on the other hand had never desired to be squashed in, like a sardine, into a carriage crammed with total strangers. Besides he liked to look out of his top floor window a dozen times a day at his Aston Martin parked in the street below.
Dennis flicked the switch on the bottom of his computer monitor and waited for the screen to come on. It had been three days since the exhibition, the spear being stolen and his arrest. He and Natalie had spent a quiet weekend at his London apartment and ignored all calls. The moment his monitor came on he regretted it. 228 new e-mails and 142 messages in his spam filter. He opened the spam folder and ran his eyes down the list of the first fifty and without opening any of the messages he clicked delete. He cleared the rest and then emptied the trash bin before opening his e-mail folder and running his eyes down the first fifty of them as well. Four he opened and read with interest. There were some from friends and family, jokes no doubt, and he moved them to a different folder to read later. Then bored he quickly scanned the remaining e-mails and finding nothing of interest, he deleted the entire lot.
His mobile began ringing and he turned it over to see that it was Natalie calling.
“Hi babe.”
“Sorry to disturb you. I know you’ve probably just got in but did you leave without having any breakfast?”
“Yes. I’ll get something later.”
“Well I was wondering if we could do lunch.”
“Lunch?” Dennis said, looking at the mess on his desk.
“If you aren’t too busy. It’s not a problem if you are.”
“I’m a bit snowed under love….Um….I’m just trying to think….”
“Well what if I bring lunch to you in the office. How does that sound?”
“Good idea. Yes. That will be much better for me.”
“Ok. How about twelve o’clock. What do you want?”
“Twelve is fine. I’ll be here all day. Oh and bring me something with chicken in it. Sandwich, salad, baguette. I don’t mind.”
“Ok.”
“Ok.”
“Well I’ll see you later then.”
“Yeah. Sorry babe,” Dennis said, nearly dropping the phone he was propping to his ear with his left shoulder while trying to remove post it notes from all around his desk, “I’m a bit busy right now.”
“Ok. See you soon. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Dennis hung up. Usually he hated doing it first. He reached down to open a drawer and rummaged for a stapler when he was hit by an overwhelming whiff of perfume. He turned his head and saw a pair of red stilleto’s. His eyes travelled up to black seamed stockings, to a green tartan mini-skirt, white blouse and on up to bright red lipstick, beautiful eyes behind thinly framed spectacles and to long, tumbling brunette hair.
Becky!
Becky Smith! Rogerson’s recently hired personal assistant and the most beautiful woman in the office, the entire building for that matter. Possibly London.
’Well second most,’ Dennis told himself.
“Morning Becky.”
Smith came forward and perched herself on the edge of his desk, revealing a glimpse of black suspender.