Wrongful Death

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘Was he?’ Anna asked.

  ‘I did sort of suspect something was going on just after his mum died. I asked him but he said it was only a bit of fun and he was going to end it anyway.

  ‘Do you think it was one of the girls working here?’

  ‘No way, and besides, they’re not his type,’ Williams replied instantly. ‘Donna can be a bit of a rich bitch but she’s classy, and kept him on a tight leash, so I reckoned it was just what he said – a bit of fun, nothing serious and already over by the time I’d mentioned it.’

  Anna suddenly remembered her heated exchange with Dewar about the surveillance unit tailing Donna and losing her on an estate in Notting Hill. She unfolded the piece of paper with Esme’s address on it and saw it was indeed the same place; she could have kicked herself for not reading the full location on the surveillance report. She abruptly asked Williams what happened to Josh’s Trojan keys after he died, and learned that Josh had left them on the office desk on the day Williams last saw him. Anna grabbed her mobile, excused herself and went over to a corner of the room and discreetly rang Joan.

  ‘Where was the estate they lost Donna?’ Anna asked anxiously.

  ‘Lancaster West, Notting Hill.’

  Anna ended the call and then picked up her handcuffs.

  ‘Marcus Williams, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Joshua Reynolds and attempting to pervert the course of justice,’ she told him, as she picked up her Dictaphone and turned it off.

  ‘I didn’t kill him. I swear before God, I didn’t,’ he protested, all trace of his earlier attitude long gone.

  ‘You’d better get yourself a solicitor,’ Anna said, leading him out of the office.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Barolli and Dewar finally found an empty parking bay at the Berkeley Square end of Mount Street. On the way over from Bayswater, Dewar had made a fictitious business call to the Lynne Foundation offices, asking to speak with Donna Lynne, only to be informed that she had been off sick since last Friday and it was not known when she would be returning to work.

  As they walked down Mount Street with its array of high-end establishments selling couture fashion, jewellery, art, antiques and even shotguns, Dewar kept stopping to window-shop. Barolli indulged her by stopping as well.

  ‘Some of the country’s finest fashion and shoe shops are in this road. Very pricey though,’ he told her.

  ‘I could never work on this street,’ Dewar remarked matter-of-factly.

  ‘Temptation?’ Barolli enquired.

  ‘Yeah, I’d never be in the office. Marc Jacobs, Chanel, Lanvin – it’s every woman’s dream and even a gun shop for the American tourist,’ Dewar replied as she paused to stare at the Louboutin display.

  ‘Come on.’ Barolli took hold of her arm and playfully dragged her away. ‘The Lynne Foundation is over the road,’ he said, as he pointed to a nineteenth-century Renaissance-style building and Dewar stopped so abruptly he almost bumped into her.

  She stared across at the impressive red-brick four-storey building, with its ornate pink terracotta façade, floral motifs and statue of a head above the front entrance.

  ‘Wow! Is that a bust of Henry Lynne above the door?’ she asked, causing Paul to laugh.

  ‘That statue is actually part of the building, which is well over a hundred years old,’ he said, unable to contain his smile.

  ‘Then it could be Henry Lynne,’ she remarked glibly with a grin.

  Barolli showed the guard his warrant card and informed him that he had come to see Aisa Lynne, who was expecting him. The guard, instantly co-operative, said that Aisa was in her office on the fourth floor, and that the lift was down the corridor.

  Dewar followed Barolli to the old cage-style lift with its metal scissor-gate entrance and exposed mechanics revealing an antiquated cable system.

  ‘I’m not getting in that,’ she said, visibly concerned.

  ‘It looks perfectly safe to me,’ Barolli told her as he pulled the gate and it opened with a loud rattle. ‘After you.’ He gave a bow and wave of his arm whilst politely holding the lift gate open for her.

  ‘I’m taking the stairs.’

  Barolli got into the lift then let go of the gate, which sprang closed with a loud crash. He pressed the button for the fourth floor. The cables creaked and the lift suddenly jolted and took off like a spring-loaded jack-in-the-box.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Barolli shouted, as Dewar laughed.

  Barolli reached the top floor in seconds and arrived at a chestnut-and-oak panelled open reception area, which was furnished with Georgian leather armchairs, a sofa and coffee table. To one side there was a secretary’s desk and opposite it an office with open double doors of oak and Aisa Lynne’s name on a plaque. A little further down was another office bearing the name Donna Lynne Reynolds.

  Two women emerged from Aisa’s office, one was white, plump with chubby cheeks and aged about thirty, her brown hair tied back in a ponytail. The other lady was mixed race and noticeably younger. She had a slim athletic figure with shiny dark hair that was cut short in a gamine hairstyle. She wore little makeup; she didn’t need to due to her radiant olive skin tone, and was elegantly attired in a short floral print dress and red kitten heels. Neither noticed Barolli as they went over to the secretary’s desk. The mixed-race lady sat down, looked through the tray of paperwork, picked up a large file and held it up.

  ‘For chrissakes, I told you I left it on your desk. Tell me, Jane, do I have to do everything for you?’ she asked in a public-school accent, but the plump lady, close to tears, said nothing.

  ‘Excuse me, I don’t mean to interrupt you but I’m looking for Miss Lynne,’ Barolli said as he held up his warrant card.

  ‘Which one?’ the mixed-race lady asked.

  ‘Aisa,’ Barolli replied.

  ‘You’re talking to her,’ she said with a cheesy smile.

  Barolli looked surprised. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realize . . .’

  ‘The colour of my skin threw you, did it, cos it’s different from my mother and sister’s?’ Aisa said in an offhand way.

  ‘No, not at all.’ Barolli blushed.

  Aisa laughed. ‘Don’t worry, officer, it happens all the time. So, what do you want?’

  At that moment, Dewar came through the stairwell door.

  ‘Is she in?’ the agent asked before Barolli could say anything.

  ‘This is Miss Aisa Lynne,’ Barolli said, noticing that Aisa was not impressed with the repeat of his own mistake.

  ‘Sorry, I assumed you’d be white,’ Dewar said nonchalantly and without malice.

  ‘From your accent I assume that you must be the FBI lady, though strangely enough you appear very different from the way my mother described you,’ Aisa said, sharply enough to make her point. Aisa walked towards her office, followed by Dewar and Barolli.

  ‘I wasn’t being racist,’ Dewar protested.

  ‘I wasn’t implying you were. I know what it’s like to be the butt of racist remarks. Even the upper classes are not immune from ignorance when it comes to skin colour. Donna and I were referred to as the Salt and Pepper Sisters at school,’ Aisa said casually.

  Dewar couldn’t help thinking to herself that although upper class, Aisa, like her mother, was rough round the edges. Gloria’s first husband, Xavier, must have been black or mixed race, hence the genetic difference in skin colour between the sisters.

  ‘Looks like you and Donna had the last laugh, successful businesswomen from a wealthy family,’ Dewar said.

  ‘You sound like Mummy, who by the way, would not be very happy that you have come here without an appointment.’

  ‘We didn’t want to worry her unnecessarily,’ Barolli said.

  ‘Rubbish, you really pissed her off the other day and didn’t want to incur her wrath again,’ Aisa remarked, and then sat at her desk, pressed the intercom, and without a please or thank-you, asked Jane to bring in a pot of coffee.

  Barolli and Dewar looked at each other, neith
er of them quite sure how to begin the interview, but Barolli decided to take the lead. ‘Do you mind if we ask you some questions about the night Josh died? It’s routine to go over everyone’s movements.’

  ‘There’s no need to beat about the bush: you mean Donna’s movements – that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?’ Aisa said, kicking off her red shoes and walking over to the leather sofa. She invited Dewar and Barolli to sit in the armchairs opposite as she flopped down and swung her outstretched legs onto the sofa cushions. Her floral dress slid up to mid-thigh and Barolli couldn’t help but notice her very shapely legs.

  ‘If you’re worried about Mummy, don’t be, as I’m not going to tell her about your impromptu visit. She’s naturally concerned for Donna and so am I. If Josh was murdered, I can assure you my sister had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘We are continuing with our enquiries and don’t as yet know if he was murdered,’ Barolli said, nervous that Dewar may say something to the contrary.

  Jane, the secretary, entered the room carrying a tray with a cafetière of coffee, cream and two cups, which she put down on the table. Aisa, again without a please or thank-you, told Jane to get her a glass of fizzy water, ice and lemon. Jane obediently went over to the drinks cabinet, did as she was told and then asked Aisa if there was anything else she needed.

  ‘Book me a manicure at Harrods, my Chanel dress needs to go to the dry-cleaner’s and don’t disturb us unless it’s urgent,’ Aisa, said, pointing to the dress, which was hanging on the coat rack.

  Dewar could see that Jane was clearly hurt by this treatment, as Aisa swallowed a large mouthful of her fizzy water, promptly belched then remarked that champagne had the same effect on her.

  Barolli asked Aisa to go over her and Donna’s movements on the day and evening of the Savoy charity ball.

  ‘We left Lynne House around noon and went in Donna’s Mini to the Savoy. The day was spent with the hotel functions manager and other staff preparing for the ball.’

  ‘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 trans
action 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.