Reckless Endangerment(58)

‘Oh, sure. Discreetly, of course, but Harrison’s a smart guy and the statues don’t always contain drugs. So far, customs haven’t struck lucky. But they have to be careful because we’d like to know the origin and where those statues containing drugs go once they’re in this country.’

‘He told us that he planned holidays for tired executives who wanted to get away with their girlfriends. He also told us that in furtherance of that business, he travels quite often to the States. Florida and California mainly.’

‘That’s interesting,’ said Sullivan, ‘and will be of even greater interest to the FBI or the DEA. If he’s taking drugs into America, that is. On the other hand, that might be a smokescreen for his drug activities.’

‘We called on him this morning,’ I said, ‘for the second time, but that was strictly in connection with the murder of Sharon Gregory. He knew her and had had sex with her on several occasions in Miami. There was a young black girl there by the name of Shona Grant. He told us that he was with her, at home, at the time of the murder. But when my sergeant spoke to her alone, she claimed that she was at work as a hostess in a nightclub. I’m having one of my officers checking her story.’

‘I’d rather you didn’t, boss,’ said Sullivan. ‘A number of possibilities open up here. We know about Shona Grant and it’s possible that she might be another of his couriers.’ He paused. ‘D’you think it’s possible that Sharon Gregory was involved in his drug-smuggling activities and that’s what got her killed?’

‘I don’t know, Ken,’ I said, ‘but we’ve scientific evidence that leads us to believe that one of her many male friends, and there were quite a few, might have been responsible. The best I can offer is to keep you informed of anything we find out.’

‘I’m grateful, boss,’ said Sullivan. ‘And if I find anything that points to her killer being tied up in our enquiries, I’ll let you know.’

Sullivan departed, leaving me to ponder yet another twist in the murder of Sharon Gregory.

It was forty miles from Chalfont St Giles to Guildford, and it was nearing five o’clock before Kate and Dave arrived at Max Riley’s top-floor apartment not far from the ruins of the eleventh-century Guildford Castle.

‘Hello. I hope you’re not selling something.’ The woman who came to the door had smooth black skin and softened her statement with a radiant smile. She was about forty, tall, and dressed in a tight-fitting red woollen dress that accentuated every contour of her shapely figure. Her black hair was flecked with grey and cropped very short. Higher-than-usual cheekbones lent a diamond-shaped, almost sculpted appearance to her face. Most men would doubtless find her sexually compelling, but she could not be described as a beauty.

‘We’re police officers,’ said Kate. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Ebdon and this is Detective Sergeant Poole. We’d like to have a word with Mr Max Riley if he’s at home.’

The woman threw back her head and burst out laughing. It was an infectious, bubbly sort of laugh. ‘I’m Max Riley,’ she said. ‘Actually, my name’s Maxine, but I’ve only ever used Max and that’s what everyone calls me. There is no Mr Riley. Anyway, you’d better come in and explain why you wanted to talk to this fictitious Mr Riley.’ She spoke with mellifluously rounded, educated tones.

The two detectives followed Maxine into a large airy studio at the back of the apartment. It had a picture window running almost the length of the room, and close to it, where it would receive the maximum light, was an easel on which was a canvas covered with a cotton sheet. A nearby paint-spattered bench bore a number of paint pots, several palettes, a maulstick and a jar of brushes. And a dirty coffee cup. A painter’s smock had been thrown carelessly over a stack of canvases leaning against the wall on the far side of the studio.

‘Take a seat.’ Maxine pointed at a sofa. ‘It’s old, but it’s clean and comfortable. I cover it with a red velvet shawl whenever I do the occasional life study.’

‘You’re an artist,’ said Dave, as he and Kate sat down.

‘I can tell you’re a detective.’ Maxine smiled mockingly. ‘Now, what’s this all about?’

‘Sharon Gregory. We found your phone number on her mobile,’ said Kate.

‘I’m not surprised,’ said Maxine. ‘We had a relationship for a while, Sharon and I.’

‘Would you care to explain?’

‘May I ask why you’re interested in my relationship with Sharon?’