Reckless Endangerment(49)

‘Sure was. According to the agent who made the enquiry, Kramer flew into London’s Heathrow on Friday twenty-sixth. According to his office, he made a reservation at the Holiday Inn on Regents Park.’

‘Did the person your agent saw in Kramer’s office ask why he wanted that information, Ben?’ I asked. I was concerned that Kramer’s secretary might’ve called him and alerted him to our interest.

‘No, sirree!’ said Donaldson emphatically. ‘FBI agents don’t say why they’re making an enquiry. They’re Federal agents, for krissakes,’ he added, as though that was sufficient explanation. ‘Guess you’ll go talk with him, huh?’

‘Oh yes, we most certainly will,’ I said. I paused as we turned to leave. ‘If you’re ever in touch with Joe Daly, give him my regards, and tell him I hope he’s enjoying his retirement.’

‘Retirement? Joe? No way. He’s set up as a gumshoe in New York. Apparently he’s working his butt off.’

‘A gumshoe?’ queried Dave. ‘Is that something to do with the footwear industry?’ he added, pretending naivety.

‘Hell no! He’s a private eye, a PI.’ For a moment or two, Donaldson stared at Dave in disbelief. ‘Hey, Dave, you’re having me on,’ he said, and laughed. ‘Excellent!’





TWELVE


Having completed our business at the embassy, we drove out to Bromley. I didn’t think we’d learn much from Clifford Gregory’s brother, but we had to try. We also had to discover if he was prepared to deal with the question of the funerals, not that that was of any real concern to the police. If the worst came to the worst, the local authority would inter or cremate the Gregorys.

The woman who answered the door was wearing jeans and a white tee-shirt.

‘Are you Mrs Gregory?’ I asked.

‘Yes, I’m Jill Gregory. Who are you?’

‘Detective Chief Inspector Brock of Scotland Yard, Mrs Gregory, and this is Detective Sergeant Poole. Am I right in thinking that Peter Gregory is your husband?’

‘Yes, but he’s at work.’ Jill Gregory’s face suddenly assumed a worried look. ‘Oh my God! Has something happened to him? A car accident?’

‘No, nothing like that, Mrs Gregory,’ I said. ‘I hope we’re not disturbing you.’

‘Not at all. I’m a nurse, but I’m on night duty at the moment.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. Did we wake you up?’ I was only too aware of what it was like to do shift work and to have one’s sleep during the day broken by unthinking callers.

‘No, it’s all right. As a matter of fact I always sleep just before going on duty, rather than straight after I’ve finished,’ said Jill Gregory. ‘What’s this about if it’s not about Peter?’

‘It concerns your brother-in-law, Clifford Gregory.’

‘Has he had an accident?’

‘No, Mrs Gregory, I’m sorry to have to tell you that he’s been murdered.’

‘Oh no, not Cliff!’ said Jill Gregory. ‘When did this happen?’ She suddenly realized that she was carrying on the conversation on her doorstep. ‘I’m so sorry, do come in.’

We followed her into the sitting room and accepted her offer of a seat.

‘When did this happen?’ Jill Gregory asked again. She sat on the edge of her chair, shoulders hunched and hands clasped together, an earnest expression on her face.

‘On Saturday last, the twenty-seventh of July.’

‘Was Sharon there?’

‘Yes, Mrs Gregory. But two days later she was also murdered.’

‘I don’t believe it.’ Jill Gregory gasped and shook her head in bewilderment. ‘How on earth …? I mean, who would want to murder them?’

‘That’s what we’re trying to find out, Mrs Gregory. Clifford was murdered at the marital home in West Drayton. Sharon was found strangled in a hotel room near Heathrow Airport.’

‘Huh!’ exclaimed Jill. ‘I suppose I should be surprised by that, but I’m not. Did Sharon murder Cliff? What did she do, poison him?’

‘We’re still investigating both murders, Mrs Gregory,’ I said diplomatically, ‘but you don’t seem at all surprised that Sharon was murdered.’ I found it interesting that Jill Gregory had immediately jumped to the conclusion that Clifford Gregory had been murdered by Sharon.

‘Not in the least. She was a slut, that one. Why on earth Cliff ever married her I shall never know. She’d readily sleep with any man who asked her. And you said she was murdered in a hotel room? No doubt she was there to have sex with one of her fancy men and it was he who killed her. Peter and I often said that she’d finish up with her throat cut, and it looks as though we were right. She didn’t give a damn who she slept with, and she didn’t give a damn about Cliff, either.’