‘Well, that wasn’t very productive, was it?’ Dewar remarked nonchalantly as they stood inside the communal area of the flats.
‘I’ll have to come back to speak with the cruise couple in flat three,’ Barolli said as they went to leave and return to the office.
‘Hold the door there, me old china!’ a male voice shouted.
‘Is he talking to us?’ Dewar asked, confused.
‘He means me – china plate means mate,’ Barolli explained as he looked up to see a white man in his mid-forties pacing towards him, carrying a ladder in one hand and a toolbox in the other. He had short black hair, which was receding, a pierced left ear with a small loop earring and was wearing blue jeans, T-shirt and black V-neck jumper with a handyman’s toolbelt buckled around his waist.
‘Excuse me, darlin’,’ he said as he squeezed past Dewar and then Barolli, nearly hitting him with the ladder. ‘Sorry ’bout that, getting meself in a right two and eight with me crown jewels here.’ He gave a broad apologetic smile.
Barolli called to Dewar to wait, as he wanted to have a word with the man.
‘I can’t understand anything he’s saying,’ Dewar complained.
‘It’s Cockney rhyming slang, crown jewels means tools. He might be the caretaker who looks after the building, so a quick chat might be worthwhile.’
‘If you say so,’ Dewar said unenthusiastically.
‘Excuse me, Mr…?’ Barolli asked.
‘Gorman, Ken Gorman,’ the workman replied.
‘Born within the sound of Bow bells, were you?’ Barolli asked, wanting to appear casual and knowing this to be the origins of a true London Cockney.
‘Me old man was, south London boy me, Bermondsey born and bred. You’re cozzers, ain’t ya?’ Ken asked, putting down his ladder and toolbox.
Barolli produced his warrant card, introduced himself and asked Ken if he was the caretaker for the flats.
‘Nah, work for the company that has the maintenance contract, so I looks after other buildings as well as this one.’
‘What sort of jobs do you do?’ Barolli asked with intentional interest.
‘Communal plumbing, electrics, water supply, them sorts of things. Anything that goes wrong inside a privately owned flat is the responsibility of the owner unless the premises are leased, cos me company is also under contract wif the all the landlord’s agents for this building.’
Barolli asked if he knew Mr and Mrs Reynolds who used to live in flat two.
‘The geezer who topped himself?’ Ken asked and Barolli nodded, ‘Yeah, nice bloke and so was his missus, she made a great mug of Rosy.’
‘So you’d been in their flat for a cup of tea,’ Barolli remarked for Dewar’s benefit. ‘Did you do any work for them?’ He noted a look of unease on Ken’s face. ‘I’m not worried if you were doing a bit on the side for cash in hand,’ he said reassuringly.
‘Definitely off the record?’ Ken asked, looking around to make sure no one else was listening. Barolli insisted that there was nothing for him to worry about.
‘I did some odd jobs for them – leaky tap, blown fuse, fixed some kitchen cupboards, that kind of thing. Terrible, him topping himself like that. I mean, blowing your own brains out – what a mess it left on the carpet and sofa. Not to mention his poor missus,’ Ken said, shaking his shoulders in abhorrence.
‘You saw his body then?’ Dewar asked, suddenly taking an interest in the conversation.
‘Nah, the letting agents called me to clean up so I binned the sofa and carpet then laid a new wooden floor. Rest of the place looked okay cos it had just had a fresh lick of paint before he shot himself,’ Ken explained.
‘Did you do the painting?’ Barolli asked.
‘No. Some black geezer did and to be honest it was a bit of a slap in the face, but what really pissed me off was when he tried touting for business with the other residents.’
‘What do you mean?’ Dewar asked.
‘Knocking on doors, asking if they wanted any odd jobs done. Don’t think he was even qualified like me, I’m registered to do gas, plumbing and electrics, it’s all about health and safety, you know what I mean, like,’ Ken said, producing his official ‘Gas Safe’ and registered electrician’s cards. ‘I’ve got me plumber’s card here somewhere,’ he continued as he fumbled in his pockets.
‘Do you know his name?’ Dewar pressed.
‘Nope, never met him, must have left me plumber’s card in the van.’
‘So who told you about him touting?’ Barolli asked.
‘Old couple at number three, Mr and Mrs Braun, they’s on a Saga cruise at the moment. Anyways, he knocked on their door but bless ’em they told him I does the jobs round here and said they’d report him so he cleared off.’
‘Do you know if he came back?’ Dewar asked.
‘Mrs Braun told me they’d seen him going into Mr and Mrs Reynolds’ a couple of times but, as far as I know, he didn’t bovver any of the other residents. I spoke with Mr Reynolds, he apologized and said he was just a family friend doing some painting work for him.’
‘Do you know when Mrs Braun last saw him or when he was doing the painting in the Reynolds flat?’ Dewar asked.
‘It was around late October time last year,’ Ken said.
‘Did they describe him to you?’ Barolli asked.
‘Mrs Braun said he was tall, black, probably in his fifties, and wore a Rasta hat and blue overalls,’ Ken told them, picking up his toolbox and ladder once more, clearly keen to get on.
Back in the car, Dewar wondered if the black man that Ken Gorman was referring to might be Curtis Bowman, the odd-job man at the Trojan. Barolli agreed that it was a strong possibility.
‘There’s something not right here,’ Dewar continued, reaching for her seatbelt. ‘Josh told Ken that the decorator was a family friend. Curtis was friends with both Josh and Donna, so if it was Curtis doing the decorating why hasn’t he or Donna said anything about it?’
‘What are you thinking?’ Barolli asked, turning the ignition key.
‘I’m thinking decorating the flat allows you to become familiar with the layout.’
‘You mean Curtis could have seen the safe, wanted the contents and then murdered Josh?’
‘Yes, or… he may have been allowed to keep any money in the safe as a payment for killing Josh…’
‘Then making it look like a robbery gone wrong would have been a better option,’ Barolli said, as he checked his mirrors and pulled out to drive them back to the station.
‘Okay, okay, let me think this through. Josh’s perceived suicide got the attendance of an inexperienced DI, plus a CSM and pathologist, both of whom, as chance would have it, are incompetent.’
‘Inexperienced, incompetent or whatever, why stage the scene?’ Barolli asked, unable to understand Dewar’s thought process.
She licked her lips. ‘Because it had to look like a suicide so that it wouldn’t get the full works. The killer or killers knew that. And the insurance payout becoming invalid so not going to the loving wife is even better. It only helps her cause – you understand what I’m saying? If it was an obvious murder you’d get the likes of Langton overseeing the case and a full foren-sics.’
Barolli sucked in his breath, still uncertain.
‘I know I’m right, I’m certain, and that caretaker’s description fits Bowman. Reynolds knew him, would open the door to him, maybe he went round to get payment for painting and decorating, safe open stashed with money… bang!’
‘Okay, it’s possible. If Donna and Curtis Bowman were in it together then we need to call Anna before she gets to the Trojan,’ Barolli said. He didn’t want to curb Dewar’s enthusiasm but he couldn’t believe how quickly her theories and suspicion changed from one suspect to another.