Wrongful Death (23 page)

‘Did you have your own rooms at the Savoy?’ Dewar asked.

‘No, we shared. The ball started at eight, but the lobster and prawn tian with beluga caviar dressing made me ill so I went upstairs for a lie-down and returned to the party for the late-night firework display.’

‘So you didn’t see your sister for a few hours?’

Aisa, plainly disliking Dewar’s implication, was firm in her reply: ‘No, but Donna was with my mother and hundreds of guests downstairs. We went to bed at around three a.m. and Donna was very drunk.’

‘And in the morning?’ Dewar asked.

‘I got a lift home with Mummy in the Rolls and poor Donna returned to her flat, where she discovered, erm, she . . . she found Josh’s body,’ Aisa said, clearly moved by the thought of what that moment must have been like.

Dewar took out her notebook and flicked it open to her meeting with Donna. ‘Your sister said she and Josh had been going through a bit of rough patch. Did she tell you about any problems or disagreements they were having?’

‘Nope, she never even mentioned anything like that. Donna only told me things that she knew would annoy Mummy, like them running off to Las Vegas to get married. If they were having marital problems then she’d never tell me.’ Aisa took a sip of her water followed by another belch.

‘So Donna used you to annoy your mother. Do you have a good relationship with you sister?’ Dewar asked.

Aisa frowned, lifted her legs off the sofa then set her glass of water down on the coffee table with a thud, causing some of it to splash over the rim of the glass.

‘Donna and I have always been close, looked after each other and consider ourselves true sisters. Even though we are not blood sisters. Gloria is not my real mother. I was adopted by her and Xavier Alleyne in Jamaica.’

Barolli and Dewar looked at each other, surprised.

‘It makes no difference to us or our inquiry,’ Dewar replied, in an effort to ease the tension.

Aisa picked up her water and took another mouthful, this time without a belch. She placed her hands on her knees and took a deep breath to compose herself.

‘I don’t bear a grudge about being adopted, but I do get annoyed when people make assumptions about who or what I am,’ she said calmly.

Dewar didn’t feel that she had said anything that could be taken in such a way. As much as she would have liked to know more about Aisa’s background she realized it was a sensitive subject and not the time or place to ask about it, so she steered the conversation back to the investigation.

‘How did you get on with Josh Reynolds?’

‘I never really got to know him. Josh was a quiet man who kept things to himself.’

‘Can you think of any reason he would take his own life?’

‘No, but I can tell you one thing for certain. My sister Donna had nothing to do with his death. They were very happy and I more than anyone know how badly his death affected her. She was just coming to terms with her loss when you reignited all the pain by implying that Josh was murdered and Donna involved. That was why Mummy was so livid.’

‘Your mother is obviously very protective of you and Donna,’ Dewar remarked.

‘That’s only natural after the life she’s had. She knows more than most what it’s like to lose the people you love and face hardship, but look around you at all she’s achieved in creating the Lynne Foundation,’ Aisa said with obvious pride.

At that moment the desk phone rang. Aisa stood up sharply and strode to her desk.

‘I thought I told you not to disturb us, Jane,’ she snapped and then paused. Barolli and Dewar saw a look of panic come over the young woman’s face as she shouted, ‘Fucking stall her!’ She turned around to them. ‘Shit, Mummy’s on her way up. She’ll go ape-shit if she finds you two here. You stay where you are until I’ve got her away from here.’

Dewar and Barolli sat in stunned silence as they watched Aisa react like a startled gazelle in fear of an approaching lion. They had to curtail their amusement as she stumbled across the room whilst trying to get her shoes on, grabbed her coat and handbag and was out of the open office door in no time. They could hear the sound of the lift scissor gate opening.

‘Hello, Mummy, what are you doing here?’ Aisa asked as she noisily kissed her mother on the cheeks.

‘I was up this way so I thought I’d pop in and—’

‘Surprise me, how nice. I was just going out for lunch,’ Aisa interrupted.

‘Tell me, Aisa, why does pleasure always come before business with you?’ Gloria asked disapprovingly.

‘Don’t be silly, Mummy, you know I work very hard. China Tang at the Dorchester okay with you?’ Aisa said, evidently leading her mother back towards the lift as their voices began to fade.

‘Am I expected to pay as well?’ Gloria demanded.

‘If you insist, Mummy, that’s fine by me.’

Back in the car once more, Barolli rang the office to let the team know that the meeting with Aisa had not been very productive. Barbara responded by asking if he and Dewar would make some enquiries at somewhere called F1 Services in White City. Barolli entered the postcode into the sat nav and the two of them set off again.

It was immediately apparent that F1 Services specialized in servicing, repairing and supplying parts for high-performance sports cars such as Porsche, Aston Martin, Mercedes and Ferrari. Graham Smith, the owner of the premises, was a portly man in his late fifties and from the state of his greasy overalls and oil-stained hands it was obvious that he liked to run his business from the workshop floor. He was initially offhand and not very helpful, saying he’d never heard of a Josh Reynolds, couldn’t recall the specific transaction shown on Josh’s bank statement and couldn’t help them further.

Smith’s attitude quickly changed when Dewar told him that they could either get a search warrant to go through his books or he could assist them by looking for the documentation himself. Picking up on the threat behind Dewar’s remark, he asked again for the date of the transaction and started to look through the company files on his desktop computer.

‘Right, found the job sheets for that day,’ he said. ‘Only one job for three hundred and eight pound for a Mr J Reynolds.’

‘Can I have the car model, registration and home address he gave please?’ Barolli asked as he got out his notebook and pen, eager to take down the details.

‘Sorry, but I don’t have them,’ Smith said apologetically.

‘Why not?’ Barolli enquired, deflated that he and Dewar had hit another dead end.

‘Because the work was only for the re-fit of a new rear offside tyre – it’s a twenty-minute in and out job. We just deal with sports and high-performance cars if that’s any help,’ Smith said, trying in some way to be helpful.

‘Not really, but thanks for your time,’ Barolli said as he stood up to leave and put his notebook and pen back in his pocket.

‘What was the make and spec of the tyre?’ Dewar asked casually.

‘Goodyear Eagle F1 GS-D3, spec 285/35R19 run flat,’ Smith replied in a manner that suggested he thought it would mean nothing to her. As she paused to think, Smith asked her if she would like to write down the details and he pushed a pen and Post-it pad across the desk.

‘Developed as a factory fit for the Maserati Quattroporte and Ferrari F430. So if he was replacing an original tyre, as like for like, the car would be registered from 2004 onwards,’ Dewar said, with a wry smile as she pushed the pen and pad back towards the garage owner, who sat in stunned silence.

Dewar got up also and thanked him, with more than a touch of sarcasm, for giving up so much of his valuable time and walked out of the door.

Chapter Eighteen

Having booked Marcus Williams in at the station, Anna got Barbara to help her carry the boxes of Trojan receipts and documents up to the squad office, where Joan was waiting to inform her that Mike Lewis had called and he would be at the office meeting later with Langton, and Pete Jenkins was also attending. Joan went on to say that she had some information regarding Josh’s payment of £928 to NCP.

‘His account was with a car park that’s a ten-minute walk from the Trojan. They don’t require details of vehicles but issue a swipe card to open and close the barrier. The last entries recorded against his card were the fifth of November, eleven thirty a.m. entry, and exit at three fifty-eight p.m.’

‘There was no NCP card in his wallet, but he must have owned or had access to a car the day he died. Sad part is we’ve no idea of its make, model or colour or where it is,’ Anna added as she handed Joan Esme Reynolds’ address, asking her to find out if the premises had been sold or were being leased. She also wanted Joan to ascertain Esme’s maiden name and then run a Brixton voters’ register search using the maiden name and the first name of Marisha, Esme’s sister.

Joan, already working her socks off, glanced over at Barbara, who was ringing her hairdresser to book an appointment.

As Anna went into her office, Barbara finished her call, picked up the boxes of the Trojan receipts and put them down on Joan’s desk.

‘What’s all this?’ Joan asked, annoyed. Barbara told her they were the receipts from the Trojan.

‘It’s obvious DCI Travis put them down on your desk for a reason,’ Joan said sharply.

‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist, I’ll help you go through them,’ Barbara huffed.

‘Fine, but please leave it there,’ Joan said as she pushed one of the boxes back over to Barbara’s desk. Barbara pushed it back, causing it to knock the pile of Reynolds’ bank statements to the floor. Suddenly the box itself toppled over and as it fell the contents poured out, mixing with the bank documents. Joan tried to grab the fluttering papers but only succeeded in making matters worse.

‘Oh, my God, were they in date order?’ she wailed, and her cheeks flushed red as she angrily crawled around the floor picking up the papers.

‘I don’t know, just stuff them back into the box,’ Barbara said apathetically as she knelt on the floor to help.

‘It wasn’t my fault, you know. If you hadn’t put them on my desk in the first place—’

‘All right, it was an accident,’ Barbara interrupted, then nudged Joan. ‘We can sort them out later so just shove them back for now. I’ll get some paper clips for all these loose receipts.’

‘I haven’t got time to do all these receipts as well as the phone and laptop stuff,’ Joan said, frustrated with her colleague’s nonchalant attitude.

Anna was rigging her Dictaphone up to the computer speakers ready for the morning meeting when she heard the beep of her mobile. It was Pete Jenkins, letting her know he was running late. Langton, who had now been brought up to date with the latest developments, shook his head and insisted they make a start anyway, and so Anna played the tape of her interview with Williams. When it had finished, everyone acknowledged what a good job she had done and Langton praised the way that she had skilfully utilized, yet adhered to, the rules of evidence.

Mike Lewis went over to the large low-tech whiteboard that he had asked Joan to get for the office. He picked up a black marker, then wrote down the salient points as he addressed the team.

‘Two days before his death, Josh Reynolds took home fifty grand to put in his safe, so where did it go?’

Joan said that she had looked through Reynolds’ personal bank statements and there were no deposits or withdrawals that tallied with this amount. Mike was about to continue when DC Ross came into the room and apologized, claiming he had been so engrossed in viewing the CCTV footage he hadn’t realized the time. The team gave him a slow handclap, whereupon he held up a DVD and told them they would be really applauding him after they watched it. Mike said he’d have to wait his turn but the team knew that when Dan Ross was being serious it had to be something good. Mike gestured to the whiteboard.

‘This is a team effort and I’m not here to do it all for you, so come on, speak up,’ Mike encouraged them. Anna could see how much Mike had learned from Langton, yet his approach and style of delivery were completely different, unassuming yet a natural motivator and leader. Joan held up her hand.

‘Yes, Joan,’ Mike said.

‘Well, we now know his mother Esme’s home address. I’ve checked it out and it’s not been sold or leased so we might find something there,’ Joan suggested, and Mike gave her a nod of approval as he wrote down
SEARCH ESME’S
. ‘Next point.’ He turned back to face the room before continuing.

‘Unknown black male/decorator at Josh and Esme’s flats.’

‘The decorator needs to be traced and interviewed. He could have known about the money in the safe and therefore had a motive,’ Mike pointed out.

‘I think your quite right, sir, and the decorator was Curtis Bowman, the Trojan’s handyman,’ Dewar said

Mike was about to ask Dewar why but Anna interjected.

‘It wasn’t and I’d go as far as to say that Bowman is as clean as a whistle. The decorator was most likely Josh’s Uncle Samuel who came over from Jamaica for his sister Esme’s funeral and returned there.’

‘Do you know for certain he returned?’ Dewar asked

‘No, but he didn’t go to Josh’s funeral,’ Anna replied and Joan said she would make enquiries with the UK Border Agency.

Mike Lewis said they couldn’t just assume it was Samuel who did the decorating, but he wanted it resolved quickly. Anna briefly added Samuel might have a sister Marisha who lived in Brixton, but enquiries were still ongoing.

Dewar mentioned that there was a set of keys recovered from Josh’s body at the mortuary and maybe they were for Esme’s flat.

‘Anyone know where these keys are now?’ Mike asked.

Anna said that they had been restored to Donna. There was an air of restlessness around the room as everyone recognized the significance of the information and Mike wrote down
ESME’S KEYS
+
DONNA?
on the board.

Barolli speculated that if Josh was having an affair then he could have been using his mother’s flat as a love nest, which meant a jealous husband or boyfriend could be involved.

No one spoke, as if mulling over this new possibility, and eventually Langton said that if that was the case, making the scene look like a suicide didn’t really fit with a crime of passion.