Lynley hit the steering wheel with his fist. “What in the name of God was he thinking?”
“He feels rotten, sir.”
“As he damn well should.”
“She pulled the wool, is what it is. Seems she did that to everyone.”
They said very little else as they made their way through the congestion. It was one of those times when only a helicopter would have sufficed to get them anywhere quickly. Once they reached New Scotland Yard, Havers announced baldly that only a fag would settle her nerves. She lit up as they made their way to the lifts. He made no comment.
Nkata was waiting for them as the lift doors opened. He apologised three times in a single sentence.
“Have you heard anything from the airlines or airports?” Lynley asked him.
Nkata shook his head. “I don’t wan’ to think she’s got her out of the country, guv. This’s down to me.”
“To me as well, Winston,” Lynley said. “I did tell you where the children were, as you should recall.”
“Tha’s good of you to say, but all the same—”
“Let’s take everything one step at a time. Get the team together.”
Nkata nodded, and he went to collect them, bringing them to Lynley’s office. Lynley brought the DCs up to date and gave them what he hoped would be their last assignment. Philippa Weatherall had confessed but in her confession she claimed to have heard someone enter Teo Bontempi’s flat. Whoever it was knocked and, without waiting, opened the door, found Teo on the floor, probably saw the sculpture lying next to her, said a few words, and left. “She says it was a woman,” Lynley told them. “If she’s telling the truth—and God knows she may not be—chances are very good it was the sister.”
“Not DCS Phinney’s wife out to eliminate a rival?” Havers asked.
“Phinney looked for her there but never saw her. He did see Ross Carver arrive. I’ve asked for his wife’s fingerprints and a DNA sample, but I daresay she’s going to be in the clear. What we know is that—if Dr. Weatherall is telling the truth, which is admittedly a moot subject, all things considered—whoever it was, she didn’t have a key and she didn’t ring below to be allowed into the building.”
“She must’ve got in in someone’s company?” Nkata said.
“The woman with the messenger bag?” one of the DCs offered. “The one who entered with that group?”
“I believe we’re going to find that was Dr. Weatherall,” Lynley said.
“That leaves the sister,” Barbara pointed out. And with a glance at Nkata, “Sorry, Win. I know she warmed the cockles et cetera.”
“She could easily have got inside in the company of someone she knew from the building, someone who knew her well enough to understand she’d be calling on Teo.”
“Back to CCTV, then?” a DC asked with very little enthusiasm, and who could blame her?
“Back to it,” Lynley agreed. “But what you’ll be looking for this time round is a woman leaving the building on her own. This should be between the time Messenger Bag arrives and the time Ross Carver arrives at . . . What was the time, Barbara?”
“Round eight forty. Messenger Bag was just after seven.”
Lynley repeated the times and turned to Nkata to say, “Winston, you’ll need to be here to identify her should a woman alone appear on film.”
“Guv, you don’t think I should . . . the airports . . . Monifa Bankole?”
“I can identify Rosie Bontempi, sir,” Havers said.
“I want you dealing with the airports and St. Pancras,” Lynley said. What he didn’t add was that they couldn’t afford another cock-up. He saw Havers glance apologetically at her fellow DS. He added, “I’ll want word at once if Monifa Bankole surfaces, Barbara.”
BELSIZE PARK
NORTH-WEST LONDON
By half past ten, Rosie Bontempi had finally been spotted twice: once on the CCTV film from the building in which her sister lived and once—for good measure, according to the DC who did the honours—on Streatham High Road, where she’d cooperatively parked within viewing distance of the CCTV camera on the funeral director’s business across the street. But nothing had yet come of the airlines, the airports, or St. Pancras and the Eurostar. Since there were hotels near all of these locations, Nkata directed that the team turn to that. Lynley left them to it and went on his way.
He thought briefly about going home—considering the hour, tossing back two fingers of the Macallan and dropping into his bed sounded quite good to him—but seeing Daidre sounded better, and he reckoned she would have long since arrived back in London from her trip to Cornwall. So he drove through the night to Belsize Park.