Singapore Sling Shot - Andrew Grant [116]
“Sorry to wake you,” I said cheerfully as she came up to the desk. “Please sit down.” She sat with a flash of shapely legs. Was she working me before she even knew what I wanted?
“It’s okay. Today is my day off.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.”
“You weren’t to know. What did you want to see me about?”
I smiled my meat-eating smile and gave her the stare. It generally worked on people, but on her, I don’t think so. She matched me stare for stare.
“When Mr Somsak phoned you from Thailand when Simone died, you waited almost two hours before phoning the funeral home. Why so long?” Now the housekeeper blinked and I saw a flash of fear or panic cross her features.
“I was shocked. I went and was sick,” she said. “I was upset, very upset. I knew Simone well. She was a friend.”
“Okay,” I conceded. “How did you choose the funeral home? Mr Somsak didn’t tell you to use Sacred Dream.”
“I didn’t choose the funeral home. I was so upset, I asked Paul to do as Mr Somsak asked. He phoned the funeral people, not me.” Kaylin started crying. There was a box of tissues on a side table. I reached over and retrieved it, placing it on the desk in front of her. The cynic in me well recognised that tears are a woman’s number-two defence after attack. Kaylin had gone straight there, side-stepping the former. Maybe she was telling the truth.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I have to ask the questions because there are too many unanswered ones out there. Go and enjoy the rest of your day off.” I know it sounded absurd, but what else could I say?
Kaylin stood, her face buried in tissues. Again there was a flash of legs and then she was gone. She used her legs well. The movement had been far from accidental. Despite seeming to be so upset, she was in control.
“That went fucking well,” I muttered sarcastically to myself as I selected the button on the intercom for Paul. If Kaylin was telling the truth, Paul was very much in the hot seat. He was at the office door within a matter of seconds. Dressed in a pair of dark trousers, white shirt and tie, he looked every inch the accountant he was, and nothing like the traitor he might indeed be. Again, I didn’t beat about the proverbial bush.
“Were you at Simone’s funeral?” I asked. Above all else, I wanted to know the answer to that question.
“I was at the cathedral service,” he replied, “but Mr Somsak asked me to stay here rather than go to the cemetery. There was an important call he was expecting and he asked that I be here for that.”
That sounded perfectly logical and, of course, it would be easy to verify, so I moved on. I could see Paul’s eyes moving between my face and the butt of the automatic under my arm. He was used to taking people down with a balance sheet and not a gun, I guess.
“The night Sami phoned with the news of Simone’s death, Kaylin took the call. What happened then?”
“She went off to her room in tears. I asked if there was anything I could do, if there were any instructions from Mr Somsak, but she just rushed into her room. She didn’t come out for maybe an hour and a half. I knocked several times but she didn’t open the door.”
“When she did come out, what happened?”
“She gave me a piece of paper with the phone number for the funeral parlour on it and asked me to contact them. She said that Mr Somsak had asked that we use these people. She said she would make arrangements for Simone’s sister to fly in if I would make the funeral arrangements.”
“So you phoned Sacred Dream Funeral Home?”
“Yes; and they did the rest.”
“Thank you, Paul,” I said standing. Now I knew exactly who the traitor was. I quickly left the office with the bewildered accountant trailing in my wake.
“Don’t let Kaylin leave,” I snapped at Quong as I hit the foyer.
“She’s just gone!”
“Shit!” I fished out my key and stabbed the elevator button. I pulled the Browning out of the shoulder holster and lobbed