‘I never saw him do anything like that,’ said Tyler. ‘I was his driver, his personal assistant, his bodyguard. And I’d like to think I was his friend, too.’ He hit the white ball and it shot into the triangle of numbered ones with the sound of a skull being cracked with a baseball bat. Two balls dropped into pockets.
‘How did he make his money, Alfie?’
‘He just made it. It came to him. I never saw anybody as lucky as Mr Gosling. If he bought gold, it went up in price. If he bought oil, it went up. Any shares he bought went through the roof.’
‘Insider trading?’
‘I don’t think so. I reckon he was just lucky.’
‘Lucky?’
Tyler potted three balls in quick succession. Then he straightened and rested the cue on his shoulder. ‘We went to a casino once. He had two girls with him, model-slash-singers or singer-slash-actresses – bloody fit, legs that went on for ever. Couldn’t have been more than nineteen, either of them. He was always lucky with the ladies, was Mr Gosling.’
‘Yeah, rich men usually are,’ said Nightingale.
‘It wasn’t about the money,’ said Tyler. ‘I mean, Mr Gosling was a generous man, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve seen women fall for him even when they didn’t know who he was or how much he had. It was like he had power over them, the sort of charisma film stars have. I mean, he was an old man and all but he had no problem pulling young flesh.’
He bent over the table and potted another ball, then picked up his pint of beer. ‘Anyway, the girls wanted to go to a casino so I drove them all to Leicester Square. Mr Gosling won at every game he played. He sat down at the high-stakes blackjack table and he just won hand after hand. It was like he knew what cards were going to be dealt.’
‘Maybe he was a card counter.’
Tyler shook his head. ‘He was hardly even looking at them. He just sat there joking with the girls and chips kept piling up in front of him. Then they wanted to play roulette and he gave them thousands of pounds’ worth of chips and they lost it all. But pretty much every time he placed a bet he won. It got so that a couple of the casino managers came over to see what was happening.’
‘Did they throw him out?’
Tyler chuckled. ‘You really didn’t know Mr Gosling, did you?’ he said. He sipped his beer. ‘He looked at them and smiled, in that way he did, and they smiled and went away. Nobody ever gave Mr Gosling any trouble over anything. If a flight was overbooked, there was a seat for him in first class. If a restaurant was full, there was a table. He was like royalty. More often than not he didn’t even have to ask. It wasn’t money, it was…’
‘Power,’ Nightingale finished for him.
‘Presence was what I was going to say,’ said Tyler. ‘People just wanted to help him, to make his life easier, happier, whatever. Maybe that’s why I stayed with him so long. I can’t explain it any other way.’
‘Probably a gay thing,’ said Nightingale. Tyler put down his pint and held his cue in both hands, his face tightening. Nightingale held up his hands. ‘Joke,’ he said.
‘I’m not gay,’ said Tyler.
‘I was joking,’ he said, ‘trying to lighten the moment. Because what you’re telling me is that Ainsley Gosling had power over people. And that’s what I was told.’
‘Who by?’
‘Him. He left me a DVD, a sort of video last will and testament.’ He smiled, trying to show that he wasn’t intimidated by Tyler’s menacing stare. ‘Wasn’t you that left the envelope on the mantelpiece, was it?’
‘What?’ said Tyler, his brow furrowing again.
‘Someone left an envelope in Gosling Manor with my name on it. Inside it I found the key to a safe-deposit box and, in the box, the
DVD.’
‘And what did he say on it?’
Nightingale was there to question Tyler, not open his heart to him. ‘Just the normal father-son sort of chit-chat. Basically apologising for giving me up for adoption. He never mentioned me to you? Not once?’
Tyler shook his head. ‘Never.’
‘Or my sister, his daughter?’
‘Never talked about kids, never mentioned having them or wanting them.’
‘I get the feeling he was different during the last few years.’
Tyler stopped holding his cue as if it was a club and picked up his pint. ‘He changed, that’s true,’ he said. ‘Starting travelling overseas more, meeting some very strange people. Buying books by the dozen. Expensive ones. Often in cash.’
‘Books about the occult?’
‘I didn’t get to see them all but the ones I did see, yeah, witchcraft and stuff. And he started spending more time on his own. Then last year he started getting rid of the staff, one by one. Then he sold his art collection and his furniture. I asked him what was going on but I don’t think he ever explained to me what he was up to.’
‘You don’t think? Don’t you know?’
Tyler sighed. ‘You had to know him to understand what it was like. He had a way of, I don’t know, looking at you that made you either forget or change your mind about something. Like, I’d be really tired and I’d tell him and he’d say something to me and it was like I’d just done a line of coke. Or I’d say I couldn’t work on such and such a day because I had to do something and the next minute I’d forget what was so important and agree to drive him around.’
‘He hypnotised you – is that what you’re saying?’
‘Nah, I was never in a trance and he never did any wavy-hand stuff or swung a watch.’ He sat down on a bar stool. ‘It was weird, though. Sometimes he’d mumble something that didn’t sound like it was English. But then he’d smile and I’d forget about it.’ He put a hand to his forehead. ‘Even talking about it sounds stupid. Like I was imagining it. But I’ll tell you, Jack, I would have taken a bullet for Ainsley Gosling, or a knife, or stepped in front of a train.’
‘But have you never asked yourself why you felt that way? How he inspired that sort of loyalty?’
‘It was just his way,’ said Tyler.
‘Charisma,’ said Nightingale.
‘Yeah, charisma.’ Tyler put down his pint and potted the rest of his balls. He grinned and held out his hand. Nightingale sighed and gave him twenty pounds. ‘Double or nothing?’ enquired Tyler.
‘Yeah, why not?’ said Nightingale, and watched as Tyler set up the balls again. He’d asked for a Corona but the best Tyler could provide was Budweiser. ‘You were the one who found him, weren’t you?’
‘Yeah. One hell of a mess.’
‘He was alone in the house?’
Tyler nodded. ‘He’d given the Woodhouses the night off.’
‘The Woodhouses? That was the couple who took care of the house, right?’
‘Millie and Charlie. They were with him even longer than I was. He had a big staff up until a few years ago but he let them all go.’
‘Do you know why?’
‘He was running out of cash. He always paid me and he never seemed short of cash for books, but I think he lost a lot when the stock market crashed.’
‘How did you get into the house?’
‘I had a key. I went to the kitchen, like I always did, for a coffee with Millie but she wasn’t there. I waited until about ten and then I went up and found him.’
‘Was there a note?’
‘No.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘You calling me a liar?’
‘It’s just that you and he were close, Alfie. Suicides usually want to explain themselves – to say why they did what they did. If he was going to say anything to anybody, it would have been to you, right?’
Tyler sighed and straightened up. ‘There was a letter, but it didn’t explain anything.’
‘And you really didn’t leave an envelope for me on the mantelpiece in the main room?’
Tyler shuffled uncomfortably.
‘Alfie, you might as well tell me everything. It couldn’t have been anyone but you. You found the body, and the police didn’t see any envelope when they were there.’
Tyler nodded slowly. ‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘There was a letter for me and an envelope for you. In the letter Mr Gosling told me to wait until the police and everyone had gone, then leave your envelope on the mantelpiece and lock up.’