Murder in Hampstead by Sabina Manea (read this if txt) 📕

basket each. The master bedroom was as washed out as Lucia had come to expect, apart from something she glimpsed out of the corner of her eye.

‘May I use the bathroom?’

‘Of course. Just here on the left.’

Lucia opened and closed the indicated door, then tiptoed to her intended destination. On the sofa at the end of the bed were two gift bags in sober black and white with the unmistakable camellia. Judging by their volumes, one contained a handbag and the other perfume. She pressed the flush button and made her way back downstairs.

Margaret was perched on the stool, fidgeting with her phone. ‘Another coffee?’

‘Thank you, but I’d better get back to Beatrice Hall. I’m very much looking forward to starting here. It’s such a pleasure working with like-minded people.’

‘Likewise. I think that together we can really transform this place.’ Margaret could barely contain her excitement at having been promoted to deputy designer. As for Lucia’s part, she hoped Johnny would nix the commission. The most unbearable clients were those that constantly breathed down your neck while you were trying to get the job done, casting themselves as your trusty assistant, only to change hats and shout out irrational orders on a whim.

Lucia got herself a sandwich and sat in her van. She still had a few minutes left before it would start looking like she wasn’t taking her work seriously. Just enough time to fill Carliss in. ‘On that basis, I’m inclined to think her husband’s having an affair.’

‘Or he could be a genuinely nice bloke who buys his wife treats,’ the detective retorted, sounding like he thought her conclusion was a tad far-fetched this time.

‘Seriously? You won’t get much change from two hundred pounds for those flowers. And not even hotshot commercial barristers buy their wives Chanel on a whim.’

‘Maybe it’s her birthday.’

‘I think I wouldn’t have heard the end of it if it had been. She told me just about everything else that was going on. Oddly laconic about the flowers though. No, nobody buys gifts that extravagant unless it’s to assuage guilt.’

‘OK, let’s imagine you’re right. What’s that got to do with the Professor?’

‘I don’t know yet. But I think we might fill in some gaps if we can find out the identity of the mistress.’

‘And how exactly are you planning to do that?’

‘I thought you didn’t want to hear about my methods.’

The few seconds of silence indicated that DCI Carliss had dug himself into a hole. ‘Well, I’ve changed my mind. Full disclosure from now on, so I can keep tabs on you. Snooping around people’s houses – you’re a bit of a loose cannon, aren’t you?’

‘How else did you think I could find out what I just told you? In any case, please do join me. Let’s leave it till tomorrow though. I need to put in some more hours at Beatrice Hall.’

‘Alright, we’re on. Famous last words, no doubt. What about the argument between John Walker and the Professor?’

‘Nothing from Margaret. She maintains it was all hunky-dory between them.’

‘Time for a telephone chat with the man himself, then. Speak to you later, Lucia.’

Chapter 20

DCI Carliss looked at the time and hoped his interviewee wouldn’t be in court. The phone didn’t ring for long, and the clerk put him through straightaway.

‘Hello, John Walker speaking.’ A rigid, expertly honed advocate’s voice.

‘Mr Walker. I’m sorry to bother you at work. It’s Detective Chief Inspector David Carliss from the Metropolitan Police. It’s about the death of Professor Alla Kiseleva. I wondered if you could spare a few minutes. Just a follow-up from your statement.’

John Walker sounded unimpressed. ‘Yes, if you must. I’ve already imparted everything I know to your colleagues. I’m in the middle of something, so can you please make it quick?’

Carliss wasn’t used to being addressed in this manner. The criminal barristers he knew were considerably more gracious – probably because they earned a lot less. ‘I’ll be very quick. About ten days ago you went to visit the Professor at Beatrice Hall and were heard arguing with her. Can you tell me what that was about?’

The detective got his deserved comeuppance. The line was silent for a second or two, long enough to confirm that John Walker had been caught on the back foot. ‘Oh yes, that. Silly thing really. I’d forgotten about it altogether. The fence between our gardens had started leaning over. I went through the title deeds, and it emerged the Professor was responsible for mending it. I paid her a visit to let her know, politely of course, that this was the case. She disagreed. We had a robust discussion, but she relented. She had the fence replaced a few days after, so that was the end of it.’

It was a credible enough explanation, as well as conveniently unverifiable unless Mrs Byrne had been eavesdropping. That was easy to check, but Carliss doubted that a man like John Walker would be so stupid as to produce a lie that could be easily exposed.

‘Thank you for clearing that up, Mr Walker. That’s all from me. Have a good day.’

The abruptness with which the receiver was replaced at the other end suggested the barrister wasn’t accustomed to having to explain himself, especially not to a policeman with ideas above his station.

Carliss looked at his daily to-do list. On the case of Professor Alla Kiseleva, there was only one outstanding task to be completed – an appointment with her solicitor. Morris Llewellyn LLP was nestled at the Strand end of Chancery Lane. Having been bequeathed its substantial offices in the 1890s, it had held its own against the larger marauders responsible for inflating commercial property prices. The more recent glass extension would have undoubtedly offended the Victorian sensibilities of Sir Peregrine Morris, conservative as it may have been compared to its neighbours’