‘Som Niratpan — Niratpattanasai?’ said Brownlow, stumbling over the name. His host nodded. ‘You’d testify in court about what you just told us: seeing the clothes and the champagne bottle in his — her luggage?’
‘Yes,’ said Gold. ‘As much as I disliked Perch, the fact remains that he was murdered, and justice must be done, if only for his family’s sake. But Som is the only passenger who fits the bill. Young, small stature, slim build, hair long enough to be put into a style matching the cabin crew’s, very attractive even as a man—’
‘And a nice moustache too,’ added Meadows in a cutting tone. ‘Just what you need when you’re impersonating a woman.’
‘Fake, of course.’ He waved a hand at one of the pictures on the wall; a fully bearded Leviticus Gold from around ten years earlier. ‘I had that wretched thing glued on every morning for six weeks during the shooting of Roads Less Travelled. A simple moustache would be no trouble to apply. But as I was saying, Som also had a somewhat effeminate aura despite the role she had to play for the plan to work.’
‘That’s subjective,’ Brownlow pointed out.
Gold shook his head. ‘I found it impossible to miss. As any transvestite will tell you, and I know quite a few, there’s more to appearing feminine than just putting on a dress. Ingrained male mannerisms have to be overcome. But they can be overcome, with a lot of time and effort — and after all that mental expenditure, there is a great reluctance to give them up and revert back to “male mode”, even if only subconsciously. I imagine that Som is extremely convincing as a woman… which ironically made it harder for her to go back to being a man.’
Brownlow let out a disbelieving breath. ‘This all sounds insane. But… you know what? It fits the facts. What do you think, Meadows?’
She looked extremely unhappy. ‘I’d have to say that… yeah, it does, sir. Pretty much.’
‘Okay. Call the office, let them know that we need to pick up Som Niratpattanasai for further questioning.’ As Meadows made the call, Brownlow stood and addressed Gold. ‘If you’re right about this, then… thanks in advance. Just remember that if we do make an arrest, the case should be considered sub judice until you’re told otherwise. So don’t go bragging about it.’
‘I won’t tweet a word,’ Gold replied with a reassuring smile.
Meadows finished her conversation and stood. ‘All set, sir.’
‘Okay, let’s go,’ said Brownlow. ‘And again, thanks, Mr Gold.’
‘Call me Levy,’ said Gold with a smile. ‘All my friends do.’
‘Be seeing you, Mr Gold,’ Meadows told him pointedly.
He merely chuckled and offered his hand to Brownlow, who hesitated before shaking it. ‘You will keep me informed, won’t you?’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Brownlow told him.
‘Splendid. Good luck.’
Gold saw them out, then returned to the lounge. He eyed the champagne bottle. ‘Well, I have taken off the foil,’ he said to himself with amusement. ‘Waste not, want not.’
The pop of the cork echoed around the room.
Some hours later, the last of the bottle’s contents glugged into a slender champagne flute. Beside it was Gold’s lunch; a large slab of smoked salmon with Brie, chopped Bibb lettuce and Brandywine tomato. Now fully dressed in a shirt of vibrant turquoise silk and tailored carnelian trousers, hair perfectly combed and styled, he regarded the meal with expectant relish and was about to pick up his fork when the entryphone buzzed. With a sigh of mild exasperation, he stood and went to answer it. ‘Yes?’
‘It’s Detective Inspector Brownlow, Mr Gold,’ came the reply. Brownlow and Meadows stared sternly at him on the entryphone’s CCTV screen. ‘Let us in.’
‘Back so soon? Do come up.’ He pushed the button.
A minute later, there was a knock at the door. ‘Come in!’ Gold called, having returned to the table to start on his food. The two detectives entered. ‘So,’ he said, raising his glass in greeting, ‘were my deductions correct? Did you find the uniform and champagne bottle in Som’s flat?’
‘We did,’ said Brownlow flatly.
‘Just as I thought! And what did Som have to say?’
‘Not a great deal,’ Meadows told him, voice cold.
Gold couldn’t miss that the attitude of the two officers was considerably more grim than their previous visit. He took a sip from the glass, then rose. ‘Is something the matter?’
‘You could say that,’ Brownlow said. ‘Leviticus Gold, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Som Niratpattanasai, and conspiracy to murder Desmond Perch.’ Gold’s eyes widened in shock as the policeman took out a set of handcuffs. ‘You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something you later rely on in court. Anything you say may be taken down and given in evidence…’
For once, Leviticus Gold was rendered utterly speechless.
‘Ah, Julius,’ said Gold as his solicitor entered the harshly-lit cell in the bowels of New Scotland Yard. ‘I’m very, very glad to see you.’
The tubby, grey-haired Julius Harcourt-Boles shook his hand, then brushed crumbs from his tie. ‘I got your call in the middle of a late lunch, Levy. Rushed over as soon as I could. Hope they’ve treated you well?’ He gave Meadows and Brownlow, who had followed him into the cell, a disdainful look.
‘They didn’t let me finish my own lunch, but apart from that I’ve been treated with moderate courtesy. I imagine that news of my arrest has already been leaked to the press, though.’
‘Naturally. Had to push through a pack of camera-toting jackals to get inside. Shameful, shameful. You haven’t said anything?’
‘I told them I wouldn’t answer questions until you arrived.’
‘Good, good. I’ll soon get this business sorted out. Have they explained the procedure?’
‘I know how it goes.’
‘It turns out that Mr Gold already has prior experience of being arrested,’ said Meadows, with a distinct undertone of satisfaction. ‘And being convicted, for that matter.’
Gold waved a dismissive hand. ‘Youthful hijinks, nothing more — a prank that wasn’t taken in the spirit with which it was intended. Authority figures have no sense of humour.’ He fixed his eyes on her as he spoke. She scowled. ‘I was sentenced to thirty days at Her Majesty’s pleasure, but was released after just two weeks.’
‘Good behaviour?’ asked Brownlow.
‘Good God, no. Quite the opposite. If they’d kept me in there any longer, I would have been running the place like Fagin. It’s all in my autobiography.’
‘I think you’ll have plenty of spare time to write the second volume,’ said Meadows.
Harcourt-Boles huffed with irritation. ‘That’s enough of that, young lady. Right! Let’s get started. What’s this nonsense all about?’
The solicitor left the cell with the detectives to be briefed on the allegations against his client, before returning to the cell to discuss them with him in private. Finally, Gold was brought to an interview room, Harcourt-Boles accompanying him. Brownlow sat facing Gold across a table, the celebrity’s representative taking a chair in a corner. Meadows stood over her superior’s shoulder, glowering down at the suspect.