Barry Maitland: Chelsea Mansions

‘So what was he doing in your bag?’

‘You may know that Moszynski was planning to build a swimming pool in his basement, and started digging up his drains. That caused problems with ours, and we had to look at what was going on. That’s when we found Fritz. Up to then I didn’t really believe he existed. Anyway, I wasn’t quite sure what to do with him, but when we had to leave in a hurry I thought I’d better not leave him there. I was planning to give him a decent burial in our new home.’

‘Which was?’

‘We hadn’t really decided yet.’

‘Hm. You have a long family tradition of service in the army, don’t you, Toby?’

‘Indeed.’

‘Your father?’

‘Oh yes. He was with Special Ops during the war. Did amazing things in Greece, behind enemy lines.’

‘And after the war?’

‘Returned to civvy street, import-export.’

Brock opened his file. ‘Let’s get back to your little adventure, Toby. I want every detail, every nuance. Begin with the arrival of the Russians in Chelsea Mansions.’

When they broke for lunch, Bren joined them for sandwiches.

‘Heavy going?’ he asked. ‘You look knackered.’

‘Beaumont’s going strong,’ Brock said, stretching his shoulders. ‘Only too eager to talk, justify himself. Hasn’t even asked for a lawyer.’

‘How does he explain the skull?’

Brock told him and Bren laughed. ‘What a story, eh?’

‘Yes. We’ll have to see if forensics support it. How have you got on, Bren?’

‘Mixed. We haven’t been able to find a match for Wayne Everett’s fingerprints at Ferncroft Close yet. We’re still waiting for the DNA results. We have tracked down the two women on Toby’s hotel staff. Destiny, the maid, is on holiday in Morocco with a friend, and Julie the cook is staying with her sister in Nottingham. She’s on her way here, expected about two.’

‘Good.’

‘So Beaumont’s story hangs together then?’ Bren asked.

‘Yes,’ Brock reached for a sandwich. ‘It’s consistent. You agree, Kathy?’

‘There’s only one major discrepancy that I can see,’ she said. ‘The report from the forensic linguist.’

‘John Greenslade?’ Bren said, eyes lighting up. ‘There’s a rumour going round about him, Brock…’

‘It’s true, Bren. It seems he is my son. We’d never met. Apparently he got himself involved in the investigation so that he could get to meet me.’

‘Blimey. Is it a secret?’

‘Obviously not. But, no, Bren, I’m delighted. Of course I’m happy for everyone to know. If anyone’s interested.’

‘Oh, they’re interested,’ Bren said with a grin.

‘Anyway…’ Brock cleared his throat. ‘What about his report, Kathy?’

‘He was convinced that the letter to The Times wasn’t composed by Moszynski. If that were true, then presumably it was written by Moszynski’s killer to suggest that the FSB were behind his death. Now we know that Toby could have sent someone-Deb perhaps-into Moszynski’s house to type the letter on his computer, using his letterhead and copying his signature. But if so it means that he didn’t kill Moszynski in a fit of spontaneous anger on the Sunday night-he must have been planning it since at least the Thursday evening.’

‘ If John is right.’ Brock sighed. ‘It’s not real science, Kathy, it’s intuition, guesswork. It’s too little to turn the case inside out.’

‘Well, I think we should press Toby hard on it. His story seems too self-serving to me. Maybe he saw Nancy’s death as an opportunity to mask his murder of Moszynski.’

They ate for a while, then Brock said, ‘I’d better give Sharpe a ring, bring him up to date. I think we’ll change around this afternoon. Kathy, you talk to the cook when she arrives, find out what you can. Bren, you and I will continue with Beaumont.’

‘So what is this all about?’ Julie said. ‘Everyone’s been so mysterious. They just said it was very urgent.’

A car had been waiting at St Pancras to pick her up from the Nottingham train and speed her to Queen Anne’s Gate, and she looked flustered and slightly disoriented, but not displeased at this unexpected attention.

‘Can you just tell me how you came to be in Nottingham, Julie?’

‘Well, when Toby sprung it on us that he was closing Chelsea Mansions and we didn’t have a job any more, I decided to go and stay with my sister for a while.’

‘When was this?’

‘The day before yesterday, Wednesday evening.’

‘What time, exactly?’

‘Um, about seven, dinner time.’

After Hadden-Vane’s suicide, Kathy thought, but before John had returned to the hotel.

‘Why was he closing the hotel?’

‘Because he’d got a good offer to sell, he said, and the buyers wanted a very quick settlement. He was ever so apologetic about the short notice, but he made up for it handsomely with our severance payout. Very generous he was. And so thoughtful. He bought Destiny two tickets for that Moroccan holiday she’d been going on about, and wanted to give me an overseas trip too, but I said I’d like to spend some time with my sister first. We had to pack up that night and leave first thing Thursday morning.’

‘What about the guests?’

‘Well, they’d all gone, all except Mr Greenslade, who’d returned unexpectedly from America.’

‘When did the others go?’

‘That same day, Wednesday. Toby had to compensate them too. Why, have there been complaints? Is Toby in trouble or something?’

‘He is in trouble, Julie, but not over that. You see, he’s admitted to us that he murdered Mr Moszynski.’

Julie’s jaw dropped, the whites of her eyes growing huge. ‘No! I don’t believe it.’

‘It’s true, I’m afraid. He was stopped from leaving the country on a plane with Deb, Garry and Jacko. They’re all in police custody now. Toby has been quite open about what he’s done.’

‘The others were going with him? Well! The army connection, of course. They were always close, those four.’

‘Tell me about your time working for Toby, Julie.’

‘I won’t say a word against him. He was always a perfect gentleman. I do know that Mr Moszynski provoked him something dreadful. He must have just snapped.’

She’d started at Chelsea Mansions five years ago, she explained, and described her life there. She had lost her home and been very depressed after a bad divorce when they took her in, and Toby and Deb had been a blessing for her.

‘I still can’t believe that he would kill Mr Moszynski. Are you sure he’s admitted it? He did get upset with them, but who wouldn’t, arrogant pigs that they were. Toby always tried to do the decent, civilised thing. Like, when that MP, Hadden-Vane, came visiting, he’d keep his driver waiting out there in the square for hours on end, and Toby would say, “Come on, Julie, let’s take the poor chap a cup of tea and a slice of your fresh-baked cake,” and we’d go out together and Toby would stay with him for a chat. That’s how considerate he was.’

‘Hadden-Vane’s driver?’

‘Yes, he died a couple of years ago. Can’t remember his name.’

‘Toby would probably pick up some gossip about the neighbours, I suppose?’

‘Oh yes, always came back with a titbit or two.’

‘Did Toby get to know any of the other staff next door?’

‘No, I don’t think so. Garry did a bit.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, he liked to go down the Anglesea with one of Mr Moszynski’s security men, Wayne. Poor Garry, is he in trouble too?’

‘We’ll have to see.’

‘Doesn’t say much, but he feels things. Very loyal to Toby. Devoted.’

‘Toby’s very proud of his army connections and his family, isn’t he?’