London Calling - James Craig [108]
As he took another step forward, he could hear voices coming from the back of the house.
‘Hello?’ he called again, louder.
Still no answer. Hearing some movement in the living room, he moved a couple of paces further along the hall and stuck his head round the door. An immaculate-looking Labrador immediately jumped off the sofa and padded over to give him a friendly sniff. Carlyle indulged it with a quick tickle behind the ears and moved back into the hallway. He moved slowly towards the voices, with his new friend now in tow.
‘HELLO!’ he shouted. ‘This is the police!’
The voices instantly stopped, and a woman stepped out of the kitchen. There was a large cook’s knife in her hand.
Instinctively, he took a small step backwards. ‘I’m Inspector Carlyle of the Metropolitan Police.’
‘Yes, you are,’ she said, letting the knife drop to her side.
‘I tried calling from the door, but got no reply,’ he explained, still keeping his distance.
She smiled. ‘Apologies, Inspector, I didn’t hear you back there. I was listening to the radio: an interesting report on the current conflict in northern Uganda.’
‘Uh-uh,’ said Carlyle, who was blissfully unaware of that particular war.
With her free hand, she reached into the pocket of her shirt and tossed the dog a biscuit. ‘I see you’ve met Arthur.’
‘Yes.’
A thought suddenly struck her. ‘How did you get in, by the way?’
He gestured back down the hall. ‘The front door was open.’
‘God, I’m always forgetting to close it properly. I’ve got to stop doing that, haven’t I, Arthur?’ The dog wagged his tail happily, perhaps anticipating another biscuit. ‘Maybe I’m losing my marbles.’ She looked past Carlyle, down the hall. ‘I didn’t also leave the keys in the lock, did I?’
‘No.’
‘Thank goodness for small mercies.’
She was a striking woman, in good shape with an athletic build and easily a couple of inches taller than Carlyle, even in her bare feet. Well preserved, she looked around his age, or maybe a few years younger. He noticed how her striking green eyes shone with what looked like the effects of no little alcohol.
A few minutes later, he was sitting on the sofa recently vacated by Arthur, nursing a small cup of black coffee. Susy Ahl sat in an armchair opposite him, with a large glass of Château Miraval Rosé. The three-quarters-empty bottle stood on the wooden floor by the foot of her chair.
‘Were you expecting me?’ Carlyle asked, once they were both sitting comfortably. ‘You seemed to know who I was.’
‘I saw you on the television,’ she said matter-of-factly, though not making eye contact. ‘I assumed that you’d want to speak to me sooner or later.’
He didn’t see a television in the room, but that didn’t mean anything. Maybe she had one in the kitchen or up in her bedroom. Anyway, there were plenty of other ways she could have seen Superintendent Simpson’s press conference.
‘That was a few days ago,’ he said.
She smiled weakly. ‘Was it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Time flies.’
‘You didn’t think of coming to see me?’ he asked gently.
‘I’ve been busy. Out of the country.’
‘On business?’
‘Yes.’ Gingerly she stood up and lifted a business card from the mantelpiece above the empty fireplace, in which stood some kind of potted plant. Handing the card over to Carlyle, she continued. ‘My firm has a number of clients in the Middle East, so I’ve been shuttling between here and Dubai every couple of weeks for the last nine months.’
She sat back down, as he studied the card. In navy script, it said: Susy Ahl, Partner, Escudo & Caspian LLP.
‘What’s LLP?’ he asked.
‘Limited Liability Partnership. Escudo & Caspian is a law firm.’
‘What kind of law?’ he asked, tensing slightly.
‘Property. We mainly help investors buying and selling commercial property in London.’
How boring, thought Carlyle, suppressing a smile. ‘Isn’t that quite tough at the moment?’ he asked.
‘It’s not as easy as it was, but at least my clients still have some cash. Thank God for dumb Arab money.’