Sharpe cleared his throat. ‘It sounds as if you’ve got it all worked out. I imagine you want us to hand the investigation over to you. We’ll offer every assistance, of course.’
‘Good Lord, no!’ The Foreign Office representative looked appalled. He glanced at Sean, who shot him a brief, grim little smile. Kathy saw it, and the thought flashed into her head, They’ve agreed all this beforehand.
‘These are difficult times,’ the FO man went on. ‘Our relations with the Russian government are particularly sensitive on a great number of issues. We really don’t want this to be seen as a security matter, not if we can help it. The local Member of Parliament was on the radio this morning saying that he believes there’s a psychopath on the loose in Chelsea, and we really think that might be the best working hypothesis. Clearly a police matter, to be treated like any other local crime until evidence indicates otherwise.’
Kathy could almost hear the conversation they must have had before the meeting. Let the plod handle it. Calm things down.
‘Of course, if, in the course of your inquiries, you were to find leads pointing firmly offshore, then we would have to think again, but in the meantime, let’s treat this case as you would any other murder in the capital.’
‘There is this letter to The Times, and we can’t ignore what you’ve just told us,’ Sharpe objected. ‘What about international departures in the past eighteen hours? You’ve been checking exit points, I take it?’
Sean nodded. ‘Nothing obvious. No sudden departures of Russian embassy staff.’
Sharpe glanced at Kathy, raised his eyebrows and said, ‘Very well, if that’s the consensus we’ll proceed as before. What about Moszynski’s financial affairs? Should we be looking into those?’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t think so, Commander,’ Sir Philip said, gathering up his notes. ‘Not likely to lead to his murderer. So thank you all.’
As they made for the door, Sean caught Kathy and handed her his card. Sean Ardagh. ‘Give me a ring when you need some help,’ he said.
‘Thanks. Hold on, I’ll give you mine.’
‘It’s okay. I know all about you.’ He grinned and turned away.
On their way out Sharpe said to Kathy, ‘Heard from Brock?’
‘No, sir. Not yet.’
‘Better tell him he’s wasting his time, eh? Get him back here.’
TEN
K athy parked in Cunningham Place and began walking towards Chelsea Mansions. The passers-by that she had seen that morning leaving for work were now returning, glancing as they passed at the police tape draped on the fence of the gardens. As she approached the central portico she changed her mind, and decided to go first to the hotel. The bell sounded on the door and Deb Collins strolled out.
‘Hello, Inspector. Thought we might get another visit from you.’
‘Yes, I’d like to have a word.’
‘I’m afraid you’ve missed Emerson. He flew back to the States this morning with Nancy’s son.’
‘It was about the murder in the square last night.’
‘Ah yes. Your people called by this morning, but none of us saw anything useful. Poor old Moszynski, eh? Want to come through?’
She lifted the flap in the counter and showed Kathy into an office with a bay window overlooking the square. Toby was sitting at a table in the centre, a bill held a few inches in front of his face, a glass of whisky by his side. ‘Come in, come in,’ he said, getting to his feet.
Kathy looked around the room, neat and orderly. It didn’t look as if there was a huge amount of business going on. There were framed photographs on the wall beside her and she took a closer look. Soldiers and tanks. Among them she made out a younger Toby Beaumont in desert uniform.
‘You, Colonel Beaumont?’
‘First Gulf War, 1991. Come and sit down. How can we help?’
‘I was wanting a bit of background on your neighbours. Wondered if you could tell me anything about them.’
‘I’d have thought MI5 would know it all,’ Toby said.
‘Yes, the official stuff. I was thinking more on a personal, day-to-day level.’
‘Gossip, you mean,’ Deb said.
Kathy smiled. ‘If you like.’
‘Oh, we can give you plenty of that, can’t we, Toby?’
‘How long have you two been here?’
‘Since 1995,’ Toby said. ‘My great-grandfather bought this house when it was built in 1890. He was adjutant at the Chelsea Barracks down the road and wanted the family home nearby, and it’s been in the family ever since. My father left it to my brother, who died in 1995 and left it to me. I’d recently retired from the army and was at a loose end. I looked at the place and thought, what the hell am I going to do with that on my own? Then I thought, a small, exclusive hotel-why not? But I knew I’d need someone to help me, someone absolutely dependable, and I thought of Deb. We’d met in Saudi, during the war.’ He nodded at the photographs. ‘I was on General de la Billiere’s staff in Riyadh and she was my liaison with the British Embassy there. The perfect choice, I thought, and I was right.’
Deb chuckled.
‘But you want to know about the Russians,’ Toby continued. ‘They arrived in… 2001, was it, Deb? Yes. The Mansions was eight separate properties at that time. Then two came on the market together, and Moszynski snapped them both up. Within two more years he’d got the rest, all except us. Made them offers they couldn’t refuse. Tried to buy us out too, but I wasn’t having any. Considered it, but I think what really stuck in my craw was when they decided to sell off the Barracks and redevelop the site for luxury apartments for more Russians, and I thought, no, bugger it, this is my home, my heritage, you can wait until I’m dead and gone, Mikhail, old chum.’
‘Only he beat you to it,’ Deb said.
‘Anyway, the builders moved in. For over a year the place was in turmoil. They gutted it. Have you been inside?’
‘Yes. Quite palatial.’
‘That’s what we heard. We’ve never been invited in, mind you.’
‘So they keep themselves to themselves, the Moszynskis?’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that, not since he met Shaka. Plenty of entertaining, parties, just not for us. Letting down the tone of millionaires’ row, we are. There’ll be a huge funeral, I suppose.’
‘Rows, fights?’ Kathy asked.
‘Couldn’t say. Completely soundproof now, that place. You do wonder how his old mum gets on with the new wife though, don’t you?’
‘How about the son-in-law?’
‘Cold fish. Bumped into him once getting out of his Ferrari. He and the daughter live out in Surrey, but he’s often here.’
‘Well…’ Kathy checked her watch. ‘Thanks, I’d better get going.’
They stood up. ‘Our MP was on the radio this morning, saying we’ve got a serial killer in Chelsea. Do you reckon he’s right?’
‘We don’t know yet, Deb.’
‘That’s what they want us to think, the people who killed Moszynski,’ Toby said. ‘That’s got to be political, and they used Nancy’s death to make it look like a serial killer. That’s my guess anyway.’
‘You could be right.’
‘You sound tired, dear,’ Deb said. ‘Must be taking it out of you, all this. Leaning hard, are they, your bosses? We know what that’s like, don’t we, Toby? When the proverbial hits the fan.’