Death Call (2 page)

‘We’d best check in with the office and see if we can come up with a William and Samantha Gibson, see if we can locate them,’ Grant said.

‘This might prove helpful,’ Carroll said, removing the insurance brochure from his jacket pocket. ‘I found it in one of the bedrooms.’

Carroll and Grant made their way to their cars and headed back to the station. There was much work to be done.

Chapter 2

Carroll made the first phone call. Expectant Life was a well-established insurance firm in the city, with a huge office complex that soared above the street, offering reflections of the older buildings in the vicinity from its mirror-like glass walls.

The call was primarily to establish whether the occupiers of number 14 Horseferry Road were indeed Mr. William Gibson and his wife Samantha, as the old lady had told them, and whether one of them worked for the company. Within minutes, Carroll was put through to the Customer Services Department, where a secretary answered.

‘Hello, I’m looking for William or Samantha Gibson,’ Carroll said.

‘We have a William Gibson – who may I say is calling?’ the secretary asked in an almost perfect customer-friendly voice.

‘Dan Carroll.’

‘What is it in connection with, Mr. Carroll?’

‘It’s personal.’

‘One moment, please....’

Carroll had often wondered what it would be like to work all day, everyday, in an office. He imagined that it would be suffocating and immensely boring – especially if it had anything to do with insurance or sales. He found the idea of being stuck behind a desk completely abhorrent. If there was one thing Dan liked about his job, it was that he was his own boss to a large extent. That is until the Detective Chief Inspector got his hackles up, as was his want. No, Dan Carroll was happy in his work and could never imagine being confined to a desk job. Even after so many years on the force, there was no way he would let any superior put him on desk duty. He would rather resign first.

Gibson picked up his phone and exchanged pleasantries with Carroll.

‘Mr. Carroll? How can I help you?’

‘I’m Detective Carroll, and I wonder if I might ask you a few questions.’

‘You say you are a detective? Where are you stationed, Mr. Carroll?’

‘Islington. It’s in connection with your house at 14 Horseferry Road.’

‘Yes, that’s my address. What seems to be the problem?’

‘I’d really rather not discuss this over the phone, Mr. Gibson. Will you be in your office all day?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, then perhaps I can call over. I have a few important questions for you, sir.’

‘Look, I’m a busy man. What’s all this about?’

‘As I’ve said, I’d prefer not to talk over the phone, Mr. Gibson. I’ll be around in about an hour. How will I find you?’

‘I’m on the tenth floor in the Customer Services Department.’

‘Very well, I’ll be along shortly, sir.’

Gibson put down the phone slowly, wondering what the police might want with him. The only illegal thing he had ever done, he thought, was to throw away parking tickets on the odd occasion. Even then the police had eventually caught up with him and he was forced to pay the fines. No, he’d never put a foot wrong in his life, he thought, fiddling with a pen as he stared blankly out his office window, deciding to phone one of his neighbours in an effort to find out what exactly was going on. If anyone would know what had happened, it was the old woman living up the road.

Grant looked at Carroll across his desk in the CID squad room. Carroll had a smile on his face.

‘It’s our boy all right. I said we’d call around to see him.’

‘What did he have to say?’

‘Not much, but he confirmed that he lives at 14 Horseferry Road.’

‘It’s enough for now I suppose. What about his wife? One of us should contact her while the other is talking to her husband, just to make sure they have the same story.’

‘We’ll get her details from him.’

By the time the two detectives got to the Expectant Life building it was nearly four in the afternoon and the encroaching evening was beginning to dim the sky. As Gibson had said, he was found on the tenth floor in the Customer Services Department, pouring over worksheets and sales figures. His secretary, a young woman of about nineteen, to whom Carroll had spoken earlier, led them to him. She certainly looked good, Carroll thought, as he followed her through to Gibson’s office. Such a beautifully firm backside, a narrow waist and great ankles. Grant would probably have agreed if he had known what Carroll was thinking.

Gibson looked a little worried. If there was one thing that would get the office gossip mongers going, it was a visit from the police. Visions of jail sentences and fraud cases loomed in his mind as the two detectives introduced themselves.

‘Mr. Gibson, I’m Detective Dan Carroll, and this is Detective Grant. We spoke earlier on the phone.’

‘Of course,’ Gibson replied. ‘Now what’s all this about?’

‘Firstly, I wonder if you would tell us where your wife works.’

‘Oh my God, she’s okay isn’t she? There hasn’t been an accident or anything, has there?’

‘Not exactly, Mr. Gibson, I’m sure your wife is just fine.’

‘Look, are you going to tell me what the hell all of this is about?’

‘We are investigating a murder at number 14 Horseferry Road, and we are interested in hearing where you were between ten and twelve this morning.’

‘A murder? In my house? Who, I mean, what happened? I’ve been here all morning,’ Gibson said, trembling a little. ‘Who’s been murdered? How did they get into my house?’

‘That’s what we are here to establish, Mr. Gibson. You have witnesses that will confirm that you were here all morning?’ Grant asked.

‘Naturally,’ Gibson replied.

‘When did you take lunch, Mr. Gibson?’

‘Erm, one to two. I had lunch with a colleague. Look, who’s been murdered?’ Gibson asked, the colour now gone from his cheeks.

‘We haven’t positively identified the victim yet, sir.’

‘But it’s not my wife, right?’ said Gibson, looking ever more worried.

‘Has your wife got brown hair, Mr. Gibson?’

‘Yes, why are you asking me that?’

‘The woman found murdered in your house was blonde. Now, may we please have a contact number for your wife?’

Gibson looked stunned. After all, it wasn’t every day the cops turned up at your workplace telling you that someone had been murdered in your house while you were at work. He complied with Grant’s request and scribbled down a number.

‘She’s a Commodities Buyer in a firm just down the road with Osborne King & Associates. She should still be at her desk.’

‘May I use your phone, Mr. Gibson?’ Grant inquired.

‘Of course,’ Gibson said, as the thought of a dead blonde woman in his house came to rest in his mind. The questions came streaming to his brain like smoke clouds from a funeral pyre.

‘What was the woman doing in my house? Who killed her?’ Gibson asked.

‘That is precisely what we are going to find out, sir. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to ask you one or two questions. Think seriously before you answer.’

Gibson nodded.

‘Are you now, or have you recently been, having an affair or seeing other women?’ Carroll asked his nonplussed interviewee.

‘What on earth! No, I most certainly have not. I’m a happily married man....’

‘How long have you been married, Mr. Gibson?’

‘Two years. Why?’

‘Is this your first marriage?’

‘It’s my second. My first wife and I were divorced three years ago. I really don’t see what relevance all of this has, detective.’

Grant had just gotten through to Samantha Gibson. She had been in the office all day and had lunch with a friend. She went very quiet when Grant told her the reason for the call, and where they now were. Mrs. Gibson demanded to speak to her husband, and Grant obliged, passing the receiver.

Carroll gave Grant a look that was returned knowingly. The picture was too clean. The couple were nervous. It was obvious to Carroll, if not Grant, that the Gibson’s had absolutely nothing to do with the murder. Their surprise at the mention, and horror at the thought of a murder taking place in their house was extremely obvious. If there is one thing a trained detective knows, it’s when someone is lying. The Gibsons were as honest as they needed to be, and had more or less just proven that. Grant would continue working on Mrs. Gibson for some time, but Carroll knew it was time to move on. Whatever flaw of fate brought the dead woman to number 14 Horseferry Road would reveal itself in time, Carroll thought, as he turned to speak to Gibson.

‘Mr. Gibson, we’ll be leaving now. I suggest that you book yourself and your wife into a hotel for the next couple of nights. Our forensics people will be examining your house. If you need anything, there’ll be an officer on duty there. Just explain who you are and what you want. Unfortunately you won’t be allowed into the living room. Any questions?’

‘When do I get my house back? I can’t spend the rest of the week living in a hotel, Mr. Carroll....’

‘Our forensics people should be finished by tomorrow afternoon at the latest. However, we may need to have further access to your house for some time, while the investigation continues.’

‘In the meantime, Mr. Gibson,’ Grant added, ‘we may come back to ask you some more questions.’

Gibson sat back slowly in his swivel chair, a neatly mixed look of relief and disgust sweeping across his face. Relief at being as far away from his house as he now was, relief at not being told he was a suspect, but perplexed disgust at the thought of a young blonde woman, somehow murdered, lying dead in his living room. The thought of spending a night or two in a hotel was a welcome one after what he had just heard.

Grant had decided to return to the squad room and bring the case files up to date. He had invited Carroll to come along, but Carroll had other things on his mind. If the householders were at work, he thought, how did the woman, and presumably her killer, gain entry to the house? He decided to have another look.

The constable on duty outside number fourteen knew Detective Dan Carroll by reputation, if not by experience. Everything he had heard about Carroll seemed to be exaggerated attempts to somehow give him the reputation of a complete bastard and hard man.

Carroll thought it part of his job to insult the newer recruits in uniform. He was responsible, he thought, for giving them a taste of what rank actually meant. It had taken him time to get to the rank of Detective Sergeant, and he would use his rank as and when he felt the need. His doctrine of ‘do as I say, and not as I do’ was one that he impressed on every accepting and awe-struck young bobby. The older uniforms just ignored him – occasionally to their peril. Today though, Carroll was in more of an inquisitive mood than an aggressive one.

Entering the house, Carroll put on his second pair of eyes. The pair that saw why things were the way they were, why things were where they were. It came naturally to him. The upturned chair in the living room suggested a slight scuffle, nothing serious. After all, everything else was still standing in the room, including some rather tacky African ornamental busts that were situated on the mantelpiece.