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  And who was Calliope Hunt when she was at home?

  LaSalle was skinny and pale, with madly bristly ginger hair, like a yard broom upside down. He had a big ginger moustache, too, sprouting out under his nose like a coir doormat. Slider dreaded to think what it must be like for him when he had a runny cold. But he was a decent copper and knew how to give a report.

  ‘Builders arrived at number one this morning, around eight o’clock. Well, the first lot did. They started getting ready to work – you know the way it is. Taking tarps off, setting out tools—’

  ‘Chatting about the footy last night, having a brew,’ Atherton put in. ‘We get the picture.’

  LaSalle nodded. ‘Second vanload arrives about twenty past, one of them goes down into the excavations, finds the body.’ He had photographs on his tablet. ‘This is not the original position. Unfortunately, they moved him, trying to see if he was still alive.’ He raised pale eyes to Slider’s face. ‘They’re Polish, so I suppose they didn’t know they’re not supposed to touch anything. And also, y’know, I think it was a sort of … well, being respectful to the dead, guv.’

  Slider nodded to the point. ‘It might not matter, in the end,’ he said.

  The photographs showed deceased as a white man in bottle-green cord trousers and a grey sweater, lying on the muddy bottom of the excavations. His back was bowed, his head back at an exaggerated angle, the right arm was bent unnaturally, as though dislocated and/or broken. One leather loafer was missing. ‘We found the other shoe down there,’ said LaSalle. ‘Also his glasses – broken, of course. Well, we’re assuming they’re his. The builders said they weren’t there yesterday.’ He held up an evidence bag in which was a pair of brown-framed spectacles, one lens cracked and one side arm detached and bent.

  In close-up, the face had been damaged, the nose broken and one cheekbone mashed, but it seemed to have been a handsome face belonging to a man of mature years. The hair was mid-brown, flecked with silver and probably highlighted, thick and a touch on the long side, and the body seemed lean and fit. Trying to be younger than his age and succeeding pretty well, Slider thought.

  ‘The reason he’s so crooked,’ LaSalle went on, ‘the body was lying across a wheelbarrow full of bricks when they found it. I suppose that’s why they moved him, to make him look more comfortable, but he was stiff so they couldn’t straighten him out. There’s all sorts down there, guv, bricks, rubble, tools, machinery. No soft landing. But a barrow of bricks must have stung a bit.’ He made a pained face at the thought. He was a nice lad.

  ‘Wait a minute – they’re assuming he fell onto the wheelbarrow?’

  ‘I’m coming to that, guv.’

  Slider nodded. ‘All right. When did they call it in?’

  ‘Well, it took them a while to get themselves sorted out. Call was logged at eight forty-seven. Uniform arrived at eight fifty-eight – that was Renker and D’Arblay.’

  ‘Twenty-five minutes before they called it in?’ Atherton exclaimed.

  ‘Well – they talk a lot,’ LaSalle said with a helpless shrug. ‘And what happened was, they were still milling about when the site manager turned up, about eight forty-five, and he took over and made one of them ring it in right away.’

  ‘How come we had the name?’ Slider asked. ‘Did the builders know who he was?’

  ‘The Polish boys didn’t know him, but the manager did. Said right away, that’s the bloke next door. He’d had several conversations with him out in the street, about the building works. And when D’Arblay gets there, he points out to him the window open on the side of the house, right above where the body was. So it looks as though deceased was probably leaning out and done a nose-dive.’

  Slider stepped up onto the opposite pavement to get the overall view. Shallow steps went up to the front door of number three, which stood under the usual porch supported by columns. There were two windows on the front façade on each floor. The side wall was right on the boundary between number three and number one, so there were no side windows on the lower floor, but one in each of the upper two floors. The middle-floor side-window, a good-sized sash, was pushed all the way up, and it was the only window that was open. From there, the drop to ground level would be bad enough, but the new excavations had added not only extra depth, but various hazards on the way down and a very unpleasant landing. Quite enough to kill a man.

  ‘Go on,’ said Slider.

  LaSalle nodded. ‘So Hart and me arrives, and we went to number three and rung the doorbell, see if there was a wife or anything around, but there was no answer. We looked up the house phone number online and rung that, but there was just an answering machine on. And then, while we were standing there, this woman arrives, comes up the steps with the doorkey in her hand and she’s all, “What’s going on?” Apparently, she’s his secretary or something. Name of Amelia Hollinshead. Works there, in the house – it’s an office as well as where he lives.’

  ‘And should there be a wife?’

  ‘No, he lives alone.’

  ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘Inside, with Hart.’ He came to a natural pause and looked at Slider expectantly, ready to take orders.

  It looked like accidental death. If the man had been leaning out, perhaps to see what progress had been made next door, and slipped, or overbalanced, he might well strike one or more of the protruding ends of the horizontal scaffold poles on the way down. He imagined him tumbling between hazards like a coin in a dryer, until he smacked down onto the barrowful of bricks, probably breaking his back – if nothing else had done for him already. A catastrophic head wound from the scaffolding, for instance. Plenty there to be going on with.

  It looked as though Carpenter would get his wish. Slider need only tie up the ends. ‘How far have you got?’ he asked LaSalle.

  ‘Well, Dr Laborie pronounced life extinct – she only lives in Addison Road, so she was here in five minutes – but we didn’t know what else you wanted.’

  ‘All right,’ said Slider. ‘Ring the factory and get back-up. We want all the builders statemented, and we’ll have to secure the perimeter. And close the road for now.’ A traffic situation was building, as drivers slowed to see what was going on. Also, if there were to be more department wheels, they would need to use the road for parking. ‘And get a forensic surgeon down here ASAP. Ask for Freddie Cameron if he can come right away. If not – whoever’s next on the list.’

  ‘Yes, guv. So,’ LaSalle hesitated, ‘is there something fishy about it?’

  ‘Just being thorough. He’s a celebrity of sorts, and he’s got connections with Mr Carpenter,’ said Slider.

  LaSalle got it at once. ‘Oh blimey, one o’ them!’ he said. ‘Right, guv, I’m on it.’ And he scuttled off. Nothing like invoking a deity for getting a reaction.

  TWO

  Nose Dive

  As Slider crossed the road, a man detached himself from the group by number one and accosted him. He was in his forties, very weathered of face, with grizzled hair under a hard hat, and a hi-vis waistcoat over his fleece jerkin. His face and eyes were hard with responsibility, and it was no surprise to Slider when he said, ‘Craig Flanders, site manager.’ He had an Australian accent, also not much of a surprise. Antipodeans seemed to specialise in the more expensive end of construction. ‘Are you in charge here?’ he demanded.

  ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Slider. What can I do for you?’

  ‘I want to know how long my men are going to be held up,’ Flanders said irritably. ‘I’ve got a big project on here, for an important client. He’s not going to be happy if it’s delayed. When can they get back to work?’

  ‘I can’t tell you—’ Slider began.

  Flanders interrupted. Well, you didn’t get to be in charge of big projects by being Mr Nice Guy. ‘That’s not good enough! We’ve been inconvenienced enough already by this joker’s suicide, which I emphasise is nothing to do with us. We didn’t ask him to jump into our diggings, and on top of that, getting pointless obs
truction from the police when all we—’

  Slider interrupted back. ‘I can’t tell you because I don’t know. There are procedures that have to be followed.’

  ‘Procedures?’ Flanders said it as though it was an outrageous dereliction of duty.

  ‘If it was your loved one, I imagine you’d want to know things were done properly,’ Slider said reasonably, and then, seeing Flanders about to protest again, hardened his expression. ‘And when it comes to obstruction, if I find you are not co-operating fully with my investigation – you and your men – there will be serious consequences. Your client won’t be happy about that. And why,’ he finished, throwing another punch while Flanders was on the back foot, ‘do you say it was suicide? What do you know?’

  Flanders stepped backwards, lifting his hands. ‘Oh, woah, I don’t know anything!’ he said in a more conciliatory tone. ‘I’m just assuming—’

  ‘Assuming?’

  ‘That he came out of that window,’ Flanders gestured. ‘I mean, there’s no way he could have got in otherwise. We got first-class site security here. I want you to make a note of that. When my boys arrived this morning, there was no perimeter breach. Everything locked down tight as a tick, just the way they left it last night when they finished. No way was there any security lapse on our part.’

  ‘Are there any security cameras?’ Slider asked.

  Flanders looked rueful. ‘No, sorry. I suggested ’em, but the client wouldn’t swing for the extra expense. Or not at this stage, anyway. He said why bother, when there’s nothing to nick?’

  ‘Just your tools and plant.’

  ‘Well, he wasn’t bothered about that. And our security is good enough at this stage. Or so I thought,’ he added crossly.

  ‘You knew deceased, I understand?’

  More back-pedalling. ‘Not knew him. Recognised him, that’s all. I seen him going in and out next door, and he’s stopped me a coupla times for a jaw about the work here.’ He jerked a thumb.

  ‘Complaining about it?’

  Flanders hesitated. ‘Not that so much, though he did crack one once about the boys’ radio. I got them to turn it down and that was that. I mean, when you’re right next door like that there’s bound to be friction, but we try to be considerate. That’s what it says on our website: D.K.Connor, Considerate Construction. No sense rubbing people up the wrong way. And he was asking one time about the digging moving his foundations, but I showed him the plans and explained it all to him and he was fine with it, no worries.’

  ‘So you had quite detailed conversations with him?’

  ‘Yeah, well, he was interested. What we were doing and how it worked, how we were getting on. Intelligent bloke. Knew how to read a blueprint, too. Maybe he was thinking of doing the same for his own place, I dunno. Very interested in what it was costing, sorta thing, and how it would increase the property value.’

  ‘What did you think of him?’ Slider asked.

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘What sort of person was he?’

  Flanders looked lost. ‘He seemed all right. Quite a pleasant bloke. And bright upstairs, like I said.’

  There didn’t seem to be anything more insightful coming, so Slider asked, ‘Did you see other people going in and out?’

  ‘I wouldn’t notice,’ said Flanders. ‘I’m not here all the time, and when I do come, I’m concentrating on the job. Never gave next door a glance, if you want the truth. I wouldn’t have noticed him, except he stopped me to talk to me.’

  ‘All right. Thanks.’ Slider nodded and turned away.

  Flanders put out a hand to stop him. ‘When can we get back to work?’ he asked. His tone was very different this time – pleading. ‘Time is money.’

  ‘You and your men will have to give statements, after which you can go home. My people will have to examine the site, and that could take all day.’

  ‘So we can start work again tomorrow?’

  ‘If nothing untoward turns up, I imagine so,’ said Slider. Flanders seemed to take that as a ‘yes’. Stupid Flanders.

  Hart, his other sergeant, met him in the hall, her place as babysitter having been taken over by a WPC. She was tall and lean, and had pulled her Afro up into a puffball on top of her head, which made her look even taller. ‘She’s in there,’ she said, indicating the left-hand room. ‘I gave her coffee. She seems a bit stunned. What d’you want me to do, boss?’

  ‘Go and supervise the statementing. And make sure uniform’s controlling the mobiles. We don’t want them sending photographs of the corpse all over the world.’

  ‘Gotcha. What was Mr Carpenter doing here?’ The question burst out of her. ‘If it was just an accident …?’

  ‘Some connection with deceased. Wants to make sure it was an accident.’

  She absorbed that. ‘My money’s on suicide,’ she decided. ‘This place feels dead. We got the answering machine on, but the phone’s not rung since I got here. I bet he had money troubles, took the easy way out.’

  Slider thought of the wheelbarrowful of bricks. ‘Easy?’

  ‘Well, you know what I mean,’ she said, and departed jauntily. Ah, the resilience of youth.

  The room to the right of the entrance hall had the original marble fireplace, with bookshelves in the alcoves, and was furnished with sofas and armchairs and pictures on the walls. But a coffee table covered with magazines and a chilly atmosphere gave it more the feel of a doctor’s waiting room than a private sitting room.

  The room to the left had been set out as an office, but quite cosily, with carpet and pot plants, warm lighting and a smell of coffee. It was tidy and clean, with dust covers over the computer’s screen and keyboard, and the pot plants looked well-cared for. The secretary was sitting with her hands in her lap, staring at nothing.

  ‘Amelia Hollinshead?’ Slider asked.

  She hurried to her feet, scanning Slider’s face. ‘Amy, please. No one calls me Amelia, except my grandmother, and she doesn’t like me.’ She didn’t smile, though it had the air of a practised joke, as if she said it at every introduction.

  ‘Amy, then. Please sit down. You’re Mr Wiseman’s secretary?’

  ‘Assistant,’ she corrected firmly, as though it mattered. ‘Please, what’s happening? They said he’s … That he fell from the window. Is he …? He’s not really dead?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Slider.

  She nodded slowly. She looked pale and strained, but was evidently holding herself in control, for which Slider admired her. She was tall and athletic-looking, seemed to be in her late thirties, and had unusually clear, almost transparent skin, that made her look as though she had been polished. If she was wearing any make-up, it could only have been the merest touch on lips and eyelashes, for she looked entirely natural, and luckily had the bones to carry it off. Her hair was dark brown and shiny, drawn back into a severe chignon, and she wore a well-cut skirt suit and low-heeled courts. The garb, combined with the no visible make-up, gave her an uncompromising look. Slider guessed she was efficient at her job and didn’t suffer fools gladly, which made him wonder how that fitted with Wiseman’s Bad Boy reputation – if, in fact, Atherton was remembering correctly. More questions for later – though with any luck, he’d never need to ask them.

  ‘And this is where you work?’ he asked. She nodded. ‘Just you? I notice there are two desks in here. Is that one Mr Wiseman’s?’

  ‘That was Liana’s. There used to be two of us, but she left a few months ago. Ed has his own office upstairs. He lives up there, mostly.’

  ‘What about the room across the hall?’

  ‘That’s the clients’ waiting room. We have receptions in there, too, parties and so on – for business purposes,’ she clarified. ‘There’s a big kitchen down in the basement, big enough for catering. Ed’s office is on the next floor, and his snug, as he calls it, where he sits in the evening.’

  ‘And the top floor?’

  She turned her eyes away. ‘His bedroom and bathroom. I don’t g
o up there. Strictly private. When you live and work in the same building, you need boundaries.’

  ‘Does he live here alone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  This seemed less than helpful. ‘He’s not married?’

  ‘Divorced. A long time ago.’

  ‘Does he have a current girlfriend?’

  ‘Nobody serious, that I know of.’ She hesitated, and added, ‘He has a lot of friends, and many of them are women. But I couldn’t speak to the state of his heart.’

  Fair enough, Slider thought. Working here alone with him for much of the time, you would expect her to be in on his secrets. On the other hand, if he liked to maintain boundaries between work and play, perhaps he’d keep her at arms’ length, for his own protection.

  ‘When did you last see Mr Wiseman?’ he asked.

  ‘Yesterday,’ she said quickly, as though she’d been expecting that one. ‘When I left to go home last night. About six twenty, six thirty, give or take. I couldn’t say to the minute.’

  ‘And how was he when you left?’

  ‘He was perfectly all right,’ she said defensively.

  ‘I mean, what was his mood like? Was he happy, sad, worried …’

  ‘None of those. I mean, he was just ordinary, just the same as always.’

  ‘Was he in general a happy person? Good humoured? Easy going? Or was he moody, difficult, exacting?’

  She gave a faint smile. ‘He could be all of those things. But mostly he’s happy. It’s his job to get on with people, so he’s very charming and easy to talk to, but that really is him. I mean, it isn’t an act. You can’t make people like you, if you’re not what you seem.’

  ‘Good point,’ Slider said, to encourage her. ‘You liked him?’

  ‘Yes, I liked him. I think everybody did.’

  ‘And did he have any particular problems lately? Money worries? Personal problems?’

  ‘None that I knew of.’

  He remembered the falling out of the window issue. ‘Any health issues? Did he suffer from dizzy spells? Heart okay?’

  She looked doubtful. ‘He was as fit as a flea, as far as I know. Why do you ask?’