There was another pause for thought and again Keane spoke first, “Hayes, Jenkins, you both have your witness statements from Tuesday, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who lives at number 16?”
“There are four tenants as such, who own a flat on each floor. On the ground floor there’s a retired Colonel Cross, on the first floor there’s a middle-aged married couple, the Eastmans (though they were away on holiday on Tuesday). On the second floor there’s a French woman, Marie Passant, and on the third floor four students. Do you want their names?”
“No, that’s fine.” Keane paused. “’Enchanté’.” mused Keane. “Jenkins. Could Marie Passant fit the description of Russell’s companion?”
Jenkins took a deep breath, “Well, let me just think, sir. She was small, petite really. Wore her hair up, pinned up at the back, dark brown hair, small ears, neither pretty nor ugly, thick glasses, must have been quite short-sighted. Probably in her late thirties. Her English was good, but the accent was clearly French; quite a high pitched almost girlish voice.”
Keane held the photo fit picture up to Jenkins.
“It’s possible. It’s not impossible, but that was not what she looked like when I saw her, if that is her.”
“Here we are.” announced Hayes. He pulled in to the street and started to look for a place to park. He had to pass number 16 before he found a space further down the street. They walked back towards number 16 and Keane stopped as they approached number 18. He moved out to the middle of the road. “It was here wasn’t it?” he said pointing at a patch of anonymous tarmac between the two rows of parked cars.
Hayes and Jenkins looked around to get their bearings and confirmed Keane’s opinion. “Why did no-one see anything?” he wondered aloud. “Right. Let’s go and ‘cherchez la femme’.”
There was no answer when they buzzed the flat on the second floor. They tried the ground floor and Colonel Cross let them in. Keane entered and walked over to the doorway of the Colonel’s flat where he was standing. “Thank you, Colonel Cross. I’m Detective Superintendent Keane and these are my colleagues DC Jenkins and DS Hayes. We would like to ask you a few questions about the murder that took place on Tuesday, but first of all we would like to speak to the tenant who lives on the second floor.”
“I’m afraid you’re too late. She left two days ago. That’s to say, she left with cases and a trunk and other stuff and she hasn’t been back since. Didn’t stop to say goodbye. Strange woman.”
“Excuse me, Colonel. Jenkins, go and see if the door is locked. Watch out for prints.” Keane turned back to the Colonel, “How long had she been living here?”
“About two weeks.”
“You mean she only bought the flat two weeks ago?”
“No, no, heavens no. She rented it. The owner has dozens of furnished flats around London that he rents out.”
“Do you happen to know the name of the owner?”
“Yes, an Arab chappie, Omar Khater.”
Jenkins returned, “The door is locked sir, and there’s no answer”
“Right. I want you to get hold of a Mr. . . . Omar Khater. He’s the owner of the flat.”
Jenkins gave Hayes a dubious look as she searched for confirmation, “You want me to ‘Get Carter’, sir??”
“That’s probably spelt K h a t e r; it’s Arabian. We need to get in to that flat. Ask him if there is a spare key hidden around here somewhere. If not he’ll have to bring a key. Hayes, I would like to ask the Colonel some questions in the comfort of his own home. Can you see if anyone is at home on the top floor? Find out everything they know about the French tenant.”
Keane followed the Colonel into his flat and sat in the chesterfield at the Colonel’s beckoning.
“Can I offer you a tipple, Superintendent?”
Keane glanced at the Colonel’s drinks cabinet and promptly answered yes.
“I have a very nice Madeira that I’m particularly fond of at the moment.”
“Yes, that would be nice, thank you.” Keane received the crystal glass and was immediately taken by the cloudy amber sheen of the Madeira. The bouquet confirmed his suspicion that this was not a special offer from Sainsbury’s. The drink was like nectar.
“Chin chin!” said the Colonel
Keane looked up and realized that he hadn’t even wished the Colonel good health. “I’m terribly sorry; I was just so taken by this exceptional wine.”
“That’s quite alright. From the moment I saw your discerning look at my selection, I knew you would appreciate this. It’s a hundred years old. Of course they top it up along the way, but still.”
Keane placed the glass on the mahogany sofa-table, deciding he would appreciate the rest of the drink even more after he had asked his questions.
“It’s a lovely drink. I just have a few questions, Colonel. What can you tell me about this French lady, I believe her name is Marie Passant?”
“Well, I hardly spoke to the woman. Or rather, she hardly ever spoke to me. Seemed to spend most of her time in the flat, which struck me as being odd. She didn’t have a 9 to 5 job, and she wasn’t on holiday or she would have been out more. Could have been a writer, I suppose.”
“Did she receive any visitors?”
“Not many. Now don’t get the wrong impression, Superintendent. I do have better things to do than to watch the coming and goings of my neighbours all day long.” Keane was not entirely convinced by this objection. ”No. since she moved in, I only saw two people, two men, who didn’t look like they were visitors to the Eastmans – the floor above, you know . . .” Keane nodded. ”. . . or student types – top floor.” Keane nodded again.
“What was it about these men that singled them out?”
“Well, for one thing they were . . . what’s the word I’m looking for? . . . Furtive. Yes. You see, as often as not they came after nightfall and left carrying large boxes.”
“Could you describe the boxes?”
“Well, not really. Cubic I suppose, about two feet in each dimension. Probably made of some light wood not cardboard. No markings.”
Keane took out the picture of Russell. “Could this be one of the men?”
“Yes, it could be. Yes, he looked very similar to the first man.”
“This is the man who was found murdered out on the street on Tuesday.”
“Oh, I see.”
Keane paused for a second. “Colonel, you just said ‘first’ man.”
“Yes. Well the second man replaced the first one. That is . . . now let me see. Yes, I only saw the second man once, and that would have been . . . Wednesday, late evening, I think.”
“In what way replace?”
“Well, carrying the boxes.”
“I’m sorry to inconvenience you, Colonel Cross, but I am going to have to ask you to come back to the station with us, to give us a full statement and a photo fit description of this second man.”
“Well, that’s hardly the way to repay a man who shares his best Madeira with you”, chided the Colonel. “But I suppose that makes me what you chappies call a material witness!”
Hayes knocked on the door as he entered “Sorry to interrupt, but forensics are here, sir.”
“Has Jenkins got the key, yet?”
“No, she’s still trying to contact the Arab.”
“Tell her to drop that. We’re going to have to break down the door.” Hayes eyes lit up.
“Er, Colonel, I don’t suppose you happen to have a crow bar we could borrow?”
“Well, yes, as a matter of fact. Just a moment.” The Colonel left the room.
“The Colonel has forgotten to finish his drink.” smiled Hayes looking knowingly at Keane’s glass on the table.
Keane took up his glass, savoured the last mouthful, and looked over to Hayes. “Well, we do have an obligation to protect and defend the general public in anyway we can, and that includes the Colonel’s liver!”
“I hope this will do”, said the Colonel as he
re-entered the room, and handed the crow bar to Keane who promptly handed it to Hayes.
“Thank you, Colonel . . . for everything. We’ll return the crow bar, once we’ve finished upstairs.”
Jenkins and the forensic team were waiting to meet them outside the Colonel’s flat. “I can’t get in touch with him, sir” said Jenkins
“Well then, we have no choice but to give some credence to the notion of police brutality. Up we go.” Everyone followed Keane and Hayes up the stairs.
“What did the students have to say?” Keane asked Hayes.
“Apparently, they’re never home, though they did have a party last weekend. They say they didn’t notice the French tenant, and could hardly remember what she looked like.”
Keane paused outside the Eastmans’ flat, and spoke to Hayes and Jenkins. “The Colonel says he saw two men who could have been visiting her, separately. Each man left the building with large boxes. The first one was apparently Russell and the second appeared for the first time on Wednesday evening. Jenkins, can you interview the Eastmans while we are ‘breaking and entering’ upstairs? Oh, and get an extra car out here. We’re going to have to ferry the Eastmans back to the station with the Colonel.”
“Yes, sir.”
Once outside the second floor flat, Keane gave the nod to Hayes, who forced the door open in seconds. Again the forensic team moved in and Keane waited outside with Hayes. A short while later they were waved in.
“There are no apparent signs of violence, but the place has been cleaned up thoroughly” said Jones.
In fact there were no visible signs that anyone had been living there just days ago. It was spick and spam and ready for the next tenant to move in. Keane and Hayes scoured the flat, but could find not a shred of evidence. Keane walked over to the phone and picked up the receiver. There was a signal, and although he wasn’t optimistic Keane asked Hayes to remember to check the phone records with BT.
“Superintendent Keane?” called Jones. Keane walked over to see Jones pointing to a patch of the carpet under where the sofa had been. Jones crouched down to the floor and Keane followed suit. “Can you see there has been a stain here at some time?” Keane could just make out a slight discolouration. “I can’t say yet whether that stain is from blood or not, but my guess is it’s more likely to be from red wine. Can you see there are one or two tiny shards of coloured glass at the base of the shag?”
Keane gently pressed the shag to one side and saw what Jones had described. “Excellent.” praised Keane. He looked around the flat again. Every surface that could be bare was bare. “I think we’ll get out of your hair now” concluded Keane. He left the flat together with Hayes, walked down the stairs and saw Jenkins exiting the Eastmans’ flat.
“Any luck, sir?” asked Jenkins, though she could already see the answer from their expression.
“No, nothing worth mentioning.” answered Keane.
“Licked clean” added Hayes for dramatic effect.
“The Eastmans also remember having seen Russell in the building, though they don’t remember seeing him carrying anything, and they haven’t seen any second man. And of course they have had no contact whatsoever with Marie Passant, but that is mainly due to the fact that they were on holiday from the 4th to 16th of this month.”
“Alright. Have the cavalry arrived?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Right, let’s get this organized. Hayes you accompany the Colonel and get his full statement, Jenkins you take the Eastmans. I want a really good photo fit of Miss Passant – there are now at least 5 witnesses who have either seen or spoken to her. Jenkins, we still need to get hold of Khater. Let him know we apologize for bending his door, etc. but more so, get him in TONIGHT for a full statement on everything he knows about Miss Passant; find out what the arrangement was with the flat etc..
Hayes, I still want you to contact Penrith about Russell’s “holiday”. Ask them, too, if they know of a ‘Mike’ who knew Russell. Oh, and don’t forget to return the Colonel’s crow bar – then we can always blame him”, smiled Keane. “I’m going to have a chat with the students. I want to see everyone in the incident room at 9 sharp tomorrow. Yes, I know which day of the week it is. We’ve made a lot of progress today, and I’ll let you get back home to loved ones as soon as possible.”
“How will you get back, sir?”
“Oh, I’ll take a short walk to refresh the little grey cells, and then I’ll take a cab back to the station. See you there.” And with that Keane walked back upstairs to the top floor.
The music being played behind the door was fairly loud, but Keane’s knock was heard after the third attempt. A pretty young girl opened the door. He explained who he was and asked if he could come in and ask a few questions.
“Yeah, come in. I’m making a cup of tea, do you want a cup?” asked the girl who must have been about the same age as Elaine.
Keane followed her through the hall into the living room, “Er, do you have any coffee?”
“We’re usually out of coffee. Frank’s the only one who drinks it and he always forgets to buy some.”
“Well just a glass of water will be fine.” Keane stepped into the kitchen, feeling strangely awkward as he passed two other girls studying at each their end of the living room. They glanced up at him as he passed, and then turned back to their books, without saying a word. He wanted to explain who he was, but he wasn’t sure he’d be heard over the noise, and he felt anything he said would just make him look defensive. He decided to talk to the girl who had led him in, but she spoke first.
“We told your hunky Sergeant what we know. We’ve never spoken to her.”
“I’m sorry, what is your name?”
“Cheryl”
“And the other girls?”
“Theresa and Susan”
“So Frank is the fourth tenant who lives here?”
“Yeah, but he’s out at a concert right now.” Cheryl handed Keane his glass of water – poured from a freshly opened and chilled bottle, which impressed him – and continued to make her tea and sandwiches with her back to him. As there was no chair to sit down on, Keane wandered around and mused over the contents of the shelves.
“Did you ever see her?”
“No”
“Did you see anyone visit her or leave her flat?”
“No”
“Were there ever any noises or . . .”
Keane stopped abruptly. He knew what he was looking at on the shelf, but he didn’t dare believe it. Among a myriad of jams, honeys, spice jars and Bovril jars, all from Tesco, he saw a jar of Nescafé. Or – more to the point - a jar of Nescafé with a label in French, sold at Carrefour. “Tell me, Cheryl, if, er . . . if Frank was out of coffee, do you think he would ever have popped downstairs and asked for some?”
“Frank would ask the Pope for a fag and can of beer if he was short of them, so I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“Do you have a plastic bag I could borrow?”
“Yeah, sure.” The girl turned round and gave him a see-through plastic bag intended for a sandwich.
Keane carefully placed the bag over the jar, took it from the shelf and tied a knot in the bag.
“So you got your coffee after all!”
“I’ll be taking this with me. Tell Frank thanks for the coffee. The good news is, here’s £5 for a couple more jars. The bad news is we’ll need a full statement from him at the station, 8:30 tomorrow morning. Here’s the address”, said Keane handing Cheryl a visiting card. “Do you have another plastic bag and something of Frank’s I can borrow, like a CD?”
Keane left the flat with his two plastic bags, in joyous mood. Forensics had left and sealed up the door on the second floor, so he would have to wait to show Jones his catch.
He left the building moments later. As he made his way towards the end of the quiet street, a man moved silently towards him avoiding the direct lamplight. He was approaching the unaware Keane rapidly when another man stepped out of a car about ten
yards in front of Keane.
“Can I offer you a lift, Superintendent?” asked Jones, who did not see the figure behind Keane slip back into the shadows.
To Make a Killing Page 7