The Cuckoo's Calling(94)

Strike returned to the bedroom. Now that he was in solitary possession of the marital home, Bestigui was sleeping on the side nearest the door and the hall, judging by the clutter of pills, glasses and books piled on that bedside table. Strike wondered whether this had been the case while he cohabited with his wife.

A large walk-in wardrobe with mirrored doors led off the bedroom. It was full of Italian suits and shirts from Turnbull & Asser. Two shallow subdivided drawers were devoted entirely to cufflinks in gold and platinum. There was a safe behind a false panel at the back of the shoe racks.

“I think that’s everything in here,” Strike told Wilson, rejoining the other two in the sitting room.

Wilson set the alarm when they left the flat.

“You know all the codes for the different flats?”

“Yeah,” said Wilson. “Gotta, in case they go off.”

They climbed the stairs to the second floor. The staircase turned so tightly around the lift shaft that it was a succession of blind corners. The door to Flat 2 was identical to that of Flat 1, except that it was standing ajar. They could hear the growl of Lechsinka’s vacuum cleaner from inside.

“We got Mister an’ Missus Kolchak in here now,” said Wilson. “Ukrainian.”

The hallway was identical in shape to that of number 1, with many of the same features, including the alarm keypad on the wall at right angles to the front door; but it was tiled instead of carpeted. A large gilt mirror faced the entrance instead of a painting, and two fragile, spindly wooden tables on either side of it bore ornate Tiffany lamps.

“Were Bestigui’s roses on something like that?” asked Strike.

“On one that’s jus’ like ’em, yeah,” said Wilson. “It’s back in the lounge now.”

“And you put it here, in the middle of the hall, with the roses on it?”

“Yeah, Bestigui wanted Macc to see ’em soon as he walked in, but there was plenty of room to walk around ’em, you can see that. No need to knock ’em over. But he was young, the copper,” said Wilson tolerantly.

“Where are the panic buttons you told me about?” Strike asked.

“Round here,” said Wilson, leading him out of the hall and into the bedroom. “There’s one by the bed, and there’s another one in the sitting room.”

“Have all the flats got these?”

“Yeah.”

The relative positions of the bedrooms, sitting room, kitchen and bathroom were identical to those of Flat 1. Many of the finishings were similar, down to the mirrored doors in the walk-in wardrobe, which Strike went to check. While he was opening doors and surveying the thousands of pounds’ worth of women’s dresses and coats, Lechsinka emerged from the bedroom with a belt, two ties and several polythene-covered dresses, fresh from the dry-cleaner’s, over her arm.

“Hi,” said Strike.

“Hello,” she said, moving to a door behind him and pulling out a tie rack. “Excuse, please.”

He stood aside. She was short and very pretty in a pert, girlish way, with a rather flat face, a snub nose and Slavic eyes. She hung up the ties neatly while he watched her.

“I’m a detective,” he said. Then he remembered that Eric Wardle had described her English as “crap.”

“Like a policeman?” he ventured.

“Ah. Police.”

“You were here, weren’t you, the day before Lula Landry died?”

It took a few tries to convey exactly what he meant. When she grasped the point, however, she showed no objection to answering questions, as long as she could continue putting the clothes away as she talked.

“I always clean stair first,” she said. “Miz Landry is talking very loud at her brudder; he shouting that she gives boyfriend too much moneys, and she very bad with him.

“I clean number two, empty. Is clean already. Quick.”

“Were Derrick and the man from the security firm there while you were cleaning?”

“Derrick and…?”

“The repairman? The alarm man?”

“Yes, alarm man and Derrick, yes.”

Strike could hear Robin and Wilson talking in the hall, where he had left them.

“Do you set the alarms again after you’ve cleaned?”

“Put alarm? Yes,” she said. “One nine six six, same as door, Derrick tells me.”

“He told you the number before he left with the alarm man?”

Again, it took a few tries to get the point across, and when she grasped it, she seemed impatient.

“Yes, I already say this. One nine six six.”

“So you set the alarm after you’d finished cleaning in here?”

“Put alarm, yes.”

“And the alarm man, what did he look like?”

“Alarm man? Look?” She frowned attractively, her small nose wrinkling, and shrugged. “I not see he’s face. But blue—all blue…” she added, and with the hand not holding polythened dresses, she made a sweeping gesture down her body.

“Overall?” he suggested, but she met the word with blank incomprehension. “OK, where did you clean after that?”

“Number one,” said Lechsinka, returning to her task of hanging up the clothes, moving around him to find the correct rails. “Clean big windows. Miz Bestigui talking on telephone. Angry. Upset. She say she no want to lie no more.”