The Collected Short Stories - Jeffrey Archer [63]
An inquest will be held on April 19th.
Miss Moorland’s daily, Maria Lucia (48), said—exclusively to the Express—that her employer had been with a man friend when she had left the flat at five o’clock on the night in question. Another witness, Mrs. Rita Johnson, who lives in the adjoining block of flats, stated she had seen a man leaving Miss Moorland’s flat at around six, before entering the newsagents opposite and later driving away. Mrs. Johnson added that she couldn’t be sure of the make of the car but it might have been a Rover … .
“Oh, my God,” I exclaimed in such a loud voice that I was afraid it might have woken Elizabeth. I shaved and showered quickly, trying to think as I went along. I was dressed and ready to leave for work even before my wife was awake. I kissed her on the cheek but she only turned over, so I scribbled a note and left it on her side of the bed, explaining that I had to spend the morning in the office as I had an important report to complete.
On my journey to work I rehearsed exactly what I was going to say. I went over it again and again. I arrived on the twelfth floor a little before eight and left my door wide open so I would be aware of the slightest intrusion. I felt confident that I had a clear fifteen, even twenty minutes before anyone else could be expected to arrive.
Once again I went over exactly what I needed to say. I found the number in the L-R directory and scribbled it down on a pad in front of me before writing five headings in block capitals, something I always did before a board meeting.
BUS STOP
COAT
NO. 19
BMW
TICKET
Then I dialled the number.
I took off my watch and placed it in front of me. I had read somewhere that the location of a telephone call can be traced in about three minutes.
A woman’s voice said, “Scotland Yard.”
“Inspector Simmons, please,” was all I volunteered.
“Can I tell him who’s calling?”
“No, I would prefer not to give my name.“
“Yes, of course, sir,” she said, evidently used to such callers.
Another ringing tone. My mouth went dry as a man’s voice announced, “Simmons,” and I heard the detective speak for the first time. I was taken aback to find that a man with so English a name could have such a strong Glaswegian accent.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“No, but I think I can help you,” I said in a quiet tone which I pitched considerably lower than my natural speaking voice.
“How can you help me, sir?”
“Are you the officer in charge of the Carla-whatever-her-name-is case?”
“Yes, I am. But how can you help?” he repeated.
The second hand showed one minute had already passed.
“I saw a man leaving her flat that night.”
“Where were you at the time?”
“At the bus stop on the same side of the road.”
“Can you give me a description of the man?” Simmons’s tone was every bit as casual as my own.
“Tall. I’d say five eleven, six feet. Well built. Wore one of those posh City coats—you know, the black ones with a velvet collar.”
“How can you be so sure about the coat?” the detective asked.
“It was so cold standing out there waiting for the No. 19 that I wished it had been me who was wearing it”
“Do you remember anything in particular that happened after he left the apartment?”
“Only that he went to the newsstand opposite before getting into his car and driving away.”
“Yes, we know that much,” said the detective inspector. “I don’t suppose you recall what make of car it was?”
Two minutes had now passed, and I began to watch the second hand more closely.
“I think it was a BMW,” I said.
“Do you remember the color, by any chance?”
“No, it was too dark for that.” I paused. “But I saw him tear a parking ticket off the windshield, so it shouldn’t be too hard for you to trace him.”
“And at what time did all this take place?”
“Around six-fifteen to six-thirty, Inspector,” I said.
“And can you tell me … ?”
Two minutes, fifty-eight seconds. I hung up. My whole body broke out in a sweat.
“Good to see you in the