‘Left it in the garage?’ queried Dave, who had not been a party to my earlier conversation with Linda.
‘Yes, Linda found it on a shelf behind some paint pots, along with a window sash weight and a clothes line. But she reckons the tomfoolery is worthless. I’ve a feeling there’s something not quite right with all this. And Sharon seemed perfectly in control of herself when she was telling the tale, but it didn’t hang together somehow. I’m beginning to wonder if it was just that: a tale that she made up as she went along.’
‘I think Miss Ebdon’s right, guv,’ said Dave. ‘There’s certainly more to this whole business than meets the eye. I reckon he took the jewellery and hid it along with the sash weight and the clothes line rather than run the risk of being stopped by police in the middle of the night with a bloodstained sash weight in his possession. That’d take a bit of explaining. And all of that points to the primary motive being murder, not burglary.’
‘I think you’re right, Dave. She knew the accomplice. When we get back to the office, see if you can track down the security officer for the airline Sharon Gregory works for. He’s bound to be ex-Job, and he might be able to tell us something. I’d be particularly interested to know if he’s heard anything about her having any admirers.’
‘A racing certainty, I should think,’ said Dave. ‘Sexy young bird like that married to a fat anorak.’
Having decided that we’d done all we could for the time being, I rounded up the rest of the team and we headed back to the factory, as CID officers are wont to call their office.
It was almost half past nine on that same Sunday morning by the time we got back to Empress State Building. Two months ago, for some reason best known only to the hierarchy of the Metropolitan Police, but probably as a result of budget cuts, it had been decided to move our offices from Curtis Green in Whitehall, which was now rumoured to become the fourth Scotland Yard. Over a period of two days of glorious mayhem we had been shifted to an inaccessible monolithic abomination in Lillie Road, Earls Court. The only person to be pleased was the commander, who had acquired a larger office, and with it a second filing cabinet.
Detective Sergeant Colin Wilberforce, the incident room manager, had already arrived, early as usual, in order to relieve Gavin Creasey, the night-duty man. Always immaculately attired, Wilberforce was an administrative master with an encyclopaedic knowledge of the particular enquiry on which we were engaged. He had been completely unfazed by the move from Whitehall, and his little empire had been fully operational within an hour of our arrival in Earls Court. His desk was a classic example of orderliness and I had only to ask him for a particular statement or report and it was on my desk within minutes.
‘I’m set up and ready to go on this Gregory enquiry, sir. But do you think we’re likely to need HOLMES?’ Wilberforce looked up enquiringly.
‘Not at the moment, Colin, but we’ll have to wait and see how this one pans out,’ I said. HOLMES, the Home Office Large Major Enquiry System, was installed whenever the police were faced with an investigation that was likely to be complicated and wide-ranging. Its value lay in those cases where we were dealing with a suspected serial killer who might have committed several murders spread over more than one police force area. ‘Although this particular job is unusual, I doubt that we’re dealing with a mass murderer. Nevertheless, I’m keeping my options open.’
While this conversation had been going on, the other members of my team had been standing around awaiting further instructions. For those of them who had not been at the Gregorys’ house in West Drayton, or privy to the finer points of what we knew so far, I briefed them on the situation.
‘Sergeant Poole is already tracking down the security officer of the airline Mrs Gregory worked for,’ I continued, ‘and I want the usual house-to-house enquiries made in the vain hope that someone might have seen something or heard something. It might also be useful to discover if any of them knew the Gregorys. If they did, ask what sort of people they were. Did they have fights, hold parties, or did they keep themselves to themselves? Speak to the local nick in case police have ever been called to a domestic, or another break-in. See if you can find out if Sharon Gregory had a reputation for putting herself about or if they had ever seen a man, other than Clifford Gregory, calling at the house at any time. There must’ve been people in the street at that time of a Saturday evening, especially as there’s a pub nearby, and particularly as it was a hot night. Perhaps you’d oversee that, Len. You know the sort of thing we’re interested in.’ Detective Inspector Len Driscoll was one of the three inspectors on my team.