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Captain Wester looked as if he was about to explode. "Who?" he bellowed in my face. "That's my business, Captain. I know that. You know that. For the record, my client is convinced that Vale did not take his own life. My client wants me to find out the truth, and I intend to do just that." He glared at me apoplectically and waved a finger under my nose. "One step out of line, Gask," he growled, "Just one, and I'll have your licence. Now get out of my sight." I turned and walked swiftly out, without answering, closely trailed by Luncardy. I stopped suddenly half-way across the outer office, so quickly that the Inspector nearly collided with me. I spun around to face her. "Well, that went well," I said, "Is he always that charming?" "You should consider yourself lucky you got off so lightly," she snapped. There was still a tension there, something just below the surface which was causing her sleepless nights. "What am I missing here?" I asked her, "What are you all so worried about?" "There's nothing to worry about," she replied defensively, not meeting my eye, "Vale killed himself, case closed. If your client - if he really exists - wants to waste their money, that's their lookout." "Okay," I said, "That's your line. Now let me out of here so that I can get on with my job." I turned around again and stalked off across the office, the outer door thumping behind me. With Clathy being on the early shift at the Starfield Club, I thought I could get to interview her Grandmother - and perhaps even get a sneak look at her apartment - without her being there. I hightailed it over, just a couple of trips on the transit tubes and fifteen minutes brisk walking. Clathy's apartment was in a much more modern block than Clunie's, a high-rise built in the human style of stone blocks piled up and mortared together. It was a much more well-to-do neighbourhood - indeed, one which I would be pleased to be able to afford myself. All very aspirational. No chance for an honest Joe like me, not in this racket. I strolled in through the lobby as if I owned the place, casually catching the self-closing door just as a well-dressed and portly female pushed her way through clutching an oversized and assertively fashionable handbag and a small and nearly hairless creature I hoped was a Chihuahua. I nodded to the matriarch, catching her eye flirtatiously, causing her to look away and sniff dismissively, her chin in the air. I stepped in smartly and headed for the elevators, trying to look as if I knew where I was going. The building super's office door was shut, and the lobby was unoccupied and quiet. Clathy's apartment was on the 14th floor, close to the top but not penthouse territory. I pressed buttons and the door closed silently, opening with a bing a few seconds later, with no perceptible sign of movement in the interim. Human elevators are just so slow. I stepped out and turned left, following the apartment numbers until I reached 1412. I knocked on the door, rat-a-tat-tat, then stood back, taking off my hat and holding it respectfully in front of me. There was a series of soft sounds from within, sounds that might have been inaudible to a human and barely detectable even by me. They were the sounds of someone moving slowly and carefully, not in order to be stealthy but simply because their ancient limbs were paining them. There was a soft scrape of the cover for the peephole being moved aside, then a long pause while, presumably, the occupant took a good long look at me. I managed a cautious smile, trying to set my facial expression into one of professional and trustworthy resolve. It's an expression I use all the time. The peephole cover flicked back, then the rattle of chains and bolts being inexpertly fumbled came clearly from the other side of the door. It swung inwards, slowly, pulled by a hand bent into a twisted claw by old age and arthritis. A wizened face appeared around the edge of the frame belonging to a female of advanced years who moved with the aid of a stout stick. "Mister Gask, I presume," she said in a voice now quavery but still carrying the undertones of intelligent resolve, "Clathy told me to expect you."
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Part 18