Dick Francis's Gamble - Felix Francis [31]
He handed me the form, which I signed, and the receipt, which I put in my pocket.
“Bloody paperwork,” he said, taking back the form. “These days we have to be so damn careful to do everything exactly according to the book or some clever-dick defense lawyer will claim that any evidence we find is not admissible in court. I can tell you, it’s a bloody nightmare.”
Although better on the whole, I thought, than the police marching in anywhere they liked, in their size-twelve boots, taking away any stuff they wanted without permission and for no good reason.
He packed his paperwork into the box along with the other things. “Now, Mr. Foxton,” he said, “could you just wander round the flat to satisfy yourself that we have left the place in reasonable order and also to check that nothing appears out of place or is missing.”
“I’m happy to have a look,” I said, “but I’ve never been in here before so I don’t know what it looked like before you arrived.”
“Please, anyway,” he said, putting his hand out towards the door.
He followed me as I went around the flat, looking briefly in each of the two bedrooms, the bathroom and the well-fitted kitchen. Nothing to my eye appeared out of place, but of course it wouldn’t.
“Have you searched everywhere?” I asked.
“Not a proper forensic search,” he said. “We haven’t taken the floorboards up or knocked holes in the walls, that sort of thing. But we had a reasonable look round to see if there was anything that could assist us in determining why he was killed. Mr. Kovak was a victim of the crime, not the perpetrator.”
“How did you get in?” I asked as we went back along the hallway. “The front door doesn’t seem to have been forced.”
“The key was in Mr. Kovak’s trouser pocket.”
I thought again about Herb lying silent and cold in some morgue refrigerator.
“How about his funeral?” I asked.
“What about it?” he said.
“I suppose it’s my job to organize it.”
“Not before the Coroner has released the body,” he said.
“And when will that be?” I asked.
“Not just yet,” he replied. “He hasn’t been formally identified.”
“But I told you who he was.”
“Yes, sir,” he said with irony, “I know that. And we are pretty certain we know who he is because you told us, but you are not his next of kin and, to be fair, you have only known him for five years. He could have told you that he was Herbert Kovak while not actually being so.”
“You’re showing that suspicious mind of yours again, Chief Inspector.”
He smiled. “We are still trying to trace his next of kin, but so far without success.”
“I know he lived in New York just before he came to England,” I said. “But he was brought up in Kentucky. In Louisville. At least that is what he said.”
Did I now doubt it?
“Yes,” said the chief inspector. “We have been in touch with our counterparts in New York and Louisville, but so far they have been unable to contact any members of his family. It would appear that his parents are deceased.”
“Can you give me any idea of when a funeral can be held?”
“Not at present,” he said. “I imagine it won’t be for a few weeks at least. Maybe his remains will need to be sent back to the United States.”
“Don’t I decide that, as the executor of his will?” I asked.
“Maybe,” he said. “Depends on the formal identification. But I’ll leave that up to the Coroner. In the meantime, if you think of anything else that might help us with our inquiries please call me.” He dug in his inside pocket for a card. “Use the mobile number. It’s usually on all the time, and you can leave a message if it’s not.”
I put the card in my wallet and Chief Inspector Tomlinson collected the box of possible evidence.
“Can I offer you a lift home?” he asked.
“No thank you. I think I’ll have a look round here first. I can catch the bus.”
“Don’t overdo it with that toe,” he said. “That’s what I did with mine, and it took weeks to get right.”
“I’ll be careful,” I said with an inward smile. I would, in fact, be going in to the office and not home when I left