Reckless Endangerment(53)

‘We’re going to Fulham, Liz,’ I said, ‘to see a guy called Gordon Harrison. He claims to make his money by planning expensive holidays for rich businessmen who want some quality time with their girlfriends.’ And I told her what had taken place on my last visit.





THIRTEEN


A girl with coffee-coloured skin, wearing nothing but a scarlet thong, opened the door to Harrison’s house. She could not have been more than eighteen or nineteen and had long, black hair and a figure of which most women would have been jealous.

‘Oh my God!’ said the girl, putting her hand to her mouth and moving quickly behind the door. ‘I thought you were Gordie.’

‘So it would appear.’ Lizanne surveyed the girl’s figure with an envy that, in her case, was quite unnecessary.

‘Oh hell!’ exclaimed a familiar voice.

I turned to find that Harrison was standing behind me. ‘So there you are,’ I said.

‘Shall we go in?’ Harrison glanced nervously at the door of his neighbour’s house and steered us quickly towards to the sitting room.

Lizanne paused in the hall to slip off her shoes. ‘I don’t want to damage your parquet flooring with my heels,’ she said. Even without shoes she was an impressive height, and her well-cut blue jacket and skirt made her a woman who clearly took care over her appearance.

‘Oh, it doesn’t matter about the floor. I’m thinking of having it carpeted anyway.’ Looking at the girl, he said, ‘And for God’s sake, Shona, go and put some clothes on, quickly.’

The girl called Shona dashed upstairs, only to reappear in the sitting room a minute or two later. ‘Can I get anyone a drink?’ Her idea of putting on some clothes had been to don a short, diaphanous negligee over her thong.

‘Go away, Shona.’ Harrison spoke sharply. He was obviously displeased that we’d caught him out. ‘I need to talk to these police officers.’

‘Is it about your car again?’ asked Shona innocently.

‘It’s nothing to do with my car,’ said Harrison.

‘But I thought you said—’

‘Go!’ said Harrison. He took hold of the girl’s shoulders, spun her round and gave her bottom a sharp slap.

The girl pouted and sashayed provocatively from the room, making a point of slamming the door.

‘Sorry about that. I’d just popped out for a packet of cigarettes.’ Harrison did not seem at all surprised to see me again. ‘You were lucky to find me still here. I’m about to throw a few things into a grip before I take off for Los Angeles. I’m catching the fourteen-thirty flight from Heathrow.’

‘Another executive holiday to arrange?’ I asked.

‘Something like that,’ said Harrison, without elaborating.

‘We’ll not keep you too long,’ I said, as Liz and I settled into the armchairs. ‘This is Detective Sergeant Lizanne Carpenter.’

‘Hi!’ said Harrison, nodding in Lizanne’s direction.

We took a seat and waited while Harrison moved his computer chair to face us and sat down.

‘I take it that Shona is your wife, Mr Harrison,’ I said, knowing damned well that she wasn’t.

‘Er, no, not exactly.’

Lizanne said nothing, but fixed Harrison with a quizzical gaze, forcing him into saying something.

‘My wife’s visiting her folks. Well, she’s my partner; we’re not actually married. She’s a Romanian called Krisztina Comaneci.’ Harrison seemed at pains to explain his marital status.

‘Oh, I see. And Shona’s your housekeeper, I suppose.’ But I smiled as I said it.

‘Oh, what the hell! While the cat’s away …’

It was some time before I discovered that even that was not the truth.

‘However, we’ve not come here to discuss your domestic arrangements, Mr Harrison,’ I said.

‘So, what can I do for you, Chief Inspector?’ Harrison was more relaxed now that we’d dealt with the matter of Shona’s status. And his demeanour was certainly not that of someone who thought he was about to be arrested for murder. But I’d met cool killers before and I recalled one in particular who was eventually convicted of murdering three women in various parts of London. Almost cherubic in appearance, he had remained unperturbed throughout the two days of interviews I’d conducted with him. And he hadn’t displayed any emotion when he was eventually sentenced to life imprisonment with a tariff of thirty years before he could apply for parole.

‘We came to see you last Monday,’ I began.

‘Yes, I remember,’ said Harrison, leaning forward and linking his hands between his knees.