“Excuse me, sir, you can’t go down there.”
They had just come out of the lift on the fourteenth floor of the tower block and there was a policeman barring their way.
“What’s happening?” asked Alistair.
“I’m sorry, sir, I can’t tell you anything about…”
“Oh, my God!” said Celestine, noting the open door at the far end of the corridor and the gaggle of policemen walking in and out of it. “It’s Doug, isn’t it!”
“Do you live here, madam?” the policemen asked.
“What?” Celestine raised a contemptuous eyebrow. “With Doug, you mean? What do you take me for? A drag queen or his char lady?”
The policeman, who was young and gave the impression of being somewhat intimidated by Celestine, struggled to find an appropriate response. It was while he was struggling that Alistair interrupted. Taking out his wallet, he flipped it open to show the policeman and said: “Press. I’ll need a statement from the crime scene officer in charge.”
The young policemen struggled even more to find a suitable response but by that time it was too late: Alistair, with Celestine in his wake, sailed majestically down the corridor to where policemen and various other men wearing gloves and surgical masks were wandering in and out of Doug’s room without, as far as Alistair could make out, any checks being made on their identities. Thus it was that Alistair wandered first into Doug’s living room and then into the bedroom before an eagle-eyed detective sergeant grabbed him firmly by the elbow and took him back out into the corridor.
“Reporter or not,” said the sergeant, “you’ve no right to be here, you are impeding a police investigation and if you don’t go voluntarily, I’ll be glad to have you escorted to the station.”
But by that time, Alistair was all too ready to get as far away from that reeking hellhole as he possibly could. What he’d seen in Doug’s bedroom had shocked and sickened him. He knew then that they were dealing with a someone who had killed before and would probably kill again. And, based on what he had done to Doug, it was clearly a killer with a warped and diseased imagination.
“I’m guessing the woman in the flat below must finally have managed to get someone to look at the leak from the flat above,” Alistair said, once they were on the road again.
“And it wasn’t water,” Celestine said.
“No. It wasn’t.”
“Poor Doug.”
“Yes,” said Alistair. There was really nothing else to say on the matter.