Wrongful Death (22 page)

Williams let out a sigh of defeat. ‘Okay, okay, we paid cash for the renovation work. The invoices were drawn up by the builder to look like different companies had done some parts of the work and . . .’

‘I’m here because Josh Reynolds may have been murdered and your lying to me doesn’t help you or my investigation.’ Anna set the cuffs down on the table in front of her and reached into her handbag, removed her Dictaphone and placed it on the table next to her handcuffs. ‘You’re going to tell me the truth and I’m going to record the rest of this conversation, right?’

Williams, clearly worried, nodded as she switched on the tape.

Anna had been growing more and more convinced Williams was hiding something else, and it occurred to her that there might be something to Delon Taylor’s allegation after all. She looked Williams straight in the eyes and he turned away.

‘Look at me, Mr Williams,’ Anna said, leaning further forward, and he glanced at her briefly. ‘Delon Taylor was telling the truth about you making money out of illegal sexual activities, wasn’t he?’ He said nothing in reply, making her increasingly sure she was on to something. She glanced again at her notes from the Delon Taylor interview. ‘So, if Taylor was telling the truth about the illegal sex then he also told Josh about it. Josh found out and confronted you.’

Williams leaned on his desk with his hands covering his face, his breathing growing erratic. Anna, sensing he was becoming upset, changed tack, convinced an aggressive stance was not the way forward now she was so close to the breakthrough. ‘The truth, Marcus, that’s all I want. You owe it to Josh.’

Williams looked up at her as he took a deep breath, and then in an unsteady voice he confessed that it was true that Taylor told Josh about the sex-for-money scam, but Taylor was stealing money.

‘Josh spoke with some of the girls and then confronted me. We’d been friends so long Josh would know if I lied so I admitted it.’

‘Why risk everything and do it in the first place?’ Anna wondered, shaking her head.

‘Gambling debts,’ he replied succinctly.

‘When did he confront you?’

‘In here on Halloween night last year. It was surreal as I was dressed as Count Dracula and Josh as Van Helsing, the Count’s nemesis.’

‘So that was it – he just accepted your apology, forgave you and let you keep your ill-gotten gains?’ Anna remarked dismissively. Again, Williams leaned on the desk and put his hands to his face, now turning his head from side to side. Anna knew his own overwhelming guilt was about to break him

‘I gave him fifty grand in cash and said to use it to pay off the final renovation.’

‘When did you give him the money?’

‘Two days before he died.’ Williams looked at Anna, as if pleading for sympathy.

‘What did Josh do with the fifty thousand?’

‘Took it home with him in a cash bag and put it in his own safe. We never kept large sums on the premises.’

‘Did you still have gambling debts at the time?’ she demanded.

‘Yes, but only ten grand. It’s paid now.’

‘So you had a motive to kill him. Get the money back to pay off your debts.’

‘Then I wouldn’t be telling you this now, would I?’ he appealed in his own defence.

‘You must have considered that if the police didn’t find the money in the safe then Josh may have been murdered for it?’ Anna asked firmly.

‘I didn’t know what to think – I’d just lost my best friend.’

Anna asked Williams if he knew where Josh’s mother Esme had lived. He said it was in Notting Hill, wrote down the address on a piece of paper and handed it to Anna: flat two, Brandon Walk on the Lancaster West Estate, which Anna estimated was probably no more than a mile from Josh’s Bayswater address.

‘Why did Donna come to see you here last Thursday evening?’

‘She said that you and that American FBI agent had been to see her at her mother’s house and virtually accused her of murdering Josh,’ Williams replied.

‘So what did she want from you?’

‘To know more about what Delon Taylor said and if it was true. I had to tell her it was all lies.’

‘Well, we both know differently now, don’t we.’ Anna raised her eyebrows. ‘Anything else she wanted to know?’

Williams went on to say that Donna had asked him if he knew what Josh kept in the safe at the flat. He had told her he didn’t know and Donna had then asked him if Josh was having an affair.

‘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, neither 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.’