Philip Kerr - Gridiron

'Well, that's one way of looking at it,' said Curtis. 'But right now, the way I'm looking at it is that someone meant to drop one of those Chinese kids in the frame. Someone here.'

'Why would anyone want to do that?'

'Search me.'

'You're not serious.'

Frank Curtis said nothing.

'Are you?'

'I can think of more unlikely motives than the wish to avoid some bad publicity.'

'What?'

'Mr Bryan,' Curtis said at last, 'how well do you know Mr Beech?'

'I've only known him for a couple of months.'

'And Mr Kenny?'

'Much longer. Two or three years. And he isn't the type to do such a thing.'

'Maybe he'll say the same about you,' remarked Coleman.

'Why don't you ask him?'

'Well, now that you mention it, I was thinking since you said that the whole project team is on site, I'd like to speak to everyone. The project team. And anyone else who's about. Would you mind?"

Mitch smiled thinly and glanced at his watch. 'I left them all checking the health centre, after which they're due back up here for a short break. You could speak to them then if you like.'

'I'd appreciate it. My lieutenant, y'know? He's not the patient type. I'm under some pressure to get this thing cleared up.'

'I'm as anxious as you are to make that happen.'

Curtis smiled at Mitch. 'I hope so, sir. I really do.'

The implication that Mitch had conspired to frame the Chinese student for the homicide of Sam Gleig meant that it was another ten or fifteen minutes before he remembered Allen Grabel waiting for him in the garage. Leaving Curtis and Coleman with some of the builder workers, he rode the elevator down to the garage.

On the way the car stopped at the seventh floor and Warren Aikman, the clerk of works, stepped in. Mitch looked at his watch.

'Going home?'

'I wish. I've got an appointment with Jardine Yu. To talk about Monday's inspection. How's it going today?'

'Terrible. Those two cops are back. They want to speak to everyone in the design or construction group.'

'Well, that lets me out. I'm the client's man.'

'Want me to tell them that? You were one of the last people to see Sam Gleig alive. They'll be disappointed, Warren.'

'Mitch, I just haven't got the time.'

'Which of us has?'

The elevator car arrived in the garage. Mitch looked around, but he could see no sign of Grabel.

'Look,' said Aikman, 'tell them I'll call. Better still, give them my home number. I can't be late.'

Aikman started towards his Range Rover as Richardson's Bentley came through the portcullis door and down the ramp. It drew up next to Jenny Bao's Honda. Declan Bennett stepped out and slammed the door. Seconds later Warren Aikman was speeding towards the garage door before it shut again.

'Looks like he's in a hurry,' observed Bennett.

'Where's the boss? Am I late?'

Mitch shook his head. 'Relax. He'll be a while yet. Why don't you wait for him in the boardroom. Twenty-first level.'

'Thanks.'

Bennett stepped into the elevator car, smiled brightly and then the doors closed. Mitch was alone. He waited a couple of minutes and then called out. 'Allen? It's me, Mitch. I'm here.'

He muttered. 'Where the hell is that loony bastard?' and then, louder,

'I've got better things to do, Allen!'

Nothing. Relieved that Grabel had gone, he started back towards the elevator. What with the cops and the feng shui and Ray Richardson and the pre-PCI, it was one less thing to worry him. He had almost made it when the door to the stairs opened and out stepped the tall, derelictlooking figure of his former colleague.

'There you are,' Mitch said, irritated that he was now going to have to hear Grabel out after all. His first guess was that the man was going to ask Mitch to help him get his job back. Not too difficult, provided he got himself a shave and took a bath, and checked into AA.

'I didn't want to let them see me,' said Grabel.

'What the hell is this all about, Allen? I mean, you've picked one sweet day to come back here. And look at you.'

'Shut the fuck up, Mitch. And listen.'

As soon as Jenny Bao realized what she'd done she started to replace the fish in the ornamental pond. The Tong Shu used both the Lunar and the Gregorian calendars. According to the Lunar calendar, it was a good period for banishing evil spirits. The problem was that she'd forgotten to consult the Gregorian calendar, according to which the whole afternoon promised to be a bad one for ceremonies. She'd have to come back on Sunday when the auspices were a little more propitious. After she had put her things back in the car she'd go upstairs, find Mitch and tell him the bad news.

'That's the craziest thing I ever heard,' said Mitch. 'What, did you eat the fucking worm in the bottom of the bottle as well?'

'You don't believe me?'

'Christ, Allen, if I believed that story I'd be as nuts as you are. Come on, guy. You need help.'

'I was there, Mitch. I saw it. Sam Gleig went inside the elevator. And then the thing shot up and down. I watched the indicator panel. Bang!

Up it went like a rocket! Bang! Down it came again! The doors opened and there he was, lying on the floor. He might as well have been an egg in a cookie tin. And the fact still remains that Sam Gleig is dead and you don't have a plausible explanation.'

But by this time Mitch had arrived at an explanation that seemed to him to be very plausible. The man had the height, the weight and the strength. If anyone could have taken on Sam Gleig it was him. And with a bottle of whatever inside him, there was no telling what Grabel might have been capable of.

'You think your explanation is better?' Mitch snorted with contempt. 'I can't believe it's taken you all this time to think up a story like that. The elevator murdered him? Jesus, Allen. Anyway, what were you doing here in the first place? And why didn't you stick around and tell someone?'

'I wanted to fix Richardson.'

'What do you mean, fix him?'

'Him. His fucking building. The whole deal. Screw him. Screw the whole fucking program.'

Mitch paused, trying to understand the possible ramifications of what Grabel was saying, and finding his thoughts drawn back to the two policemen upstairs, and to clearing his own name.

'We'll get you a good attorney, Allen,' he said.

Grabel began to back away. Mitch grabbed at him.

'No you don't!' yelled Grabel. 'Leave me alone!'

The punch came from nowhere.

Mitch was vaguely aware of lying on the floor of the garage, feeling as if he had received a powerful electric shock. He heard the sound of receding footsteps, and then finally lost consciousness.

'Who the hell are you?'

Ray Richardson paused on the threshold of the boardroom and frowned at the four strangers seated around the table nursing cups of coffee.

Curtis and Coleman stood up. The last of the workmen they had been interviewing, two painters named Dobbs and Martinez, stayed put.

'I'm Detective Sergeant Curtis and this is Detective Coleman. You must be Mr Richardson.'

Coleman buttoned his jacket and clasped his hands in front of him as if he had been a guest at a wedding.

Ray Richardson nodded sullenly.

Curtis smiled broadly as the rest of the project team filed into the boardroom.

'Ladies and gentlemen,' he said, 'I just need a little of your time. I know you're extremely busy, but as you probably know a man was killed in this building. I dare say most of you knew him. Now the fact of the matter is that we're no nearer to finding out what happened to him than we were then. So we'd like to ask each of you a few questions. It will only take a few moments.' He glanced at the painters.