years ago. You know, the model?’
Brock didn’t know.
‘Resident of Chelsea Mansions,’ the detective went on, indicating the building through the trees. ‘He owns most of the building. Stepped outside at about nine fifty to smoke a cigar here in the gardens. Apparently Shaka won’t have smoking in the house. At ten thirty his bodyguard came out with a torch to check on him and found the body.’
‘He had a bodyguard?’
‘Name of Wayne Everett, calls himself Mr Moszynski’s security agent and driver, on contract from . . .’ He held his notes up to the light. ‘Shere Security. His boss arrived soon after us. They’re both inside the house now with Shaka. Everett says he only felt for a pulse then stepped away. Looks like three puncture wounds to the chest. No immediate sign of the weapon, but I reckon we’ll have to wait till daylight to search the gardens properly.’
Brock grunted his agreement. His head still felt full of cotton wool. ‘That’s where the American woman, Nancy Haynes, was staying, of course, in the hotel at the end of the block.’
‘Yes. As soon as I realised that I thought I’d better get you in straight away. There hasn’t been a single homicide in this borough in the three years I’ve been stationed here and now we’ve got two from the same building.’
They made their way towards the gates, discussing the steps that had been taken so far, when Brock saw Kathy coming through the checkpoint. He introduced her to the CID man and then sneezed.
‘You all right?’ she asked, but he dismissed it with a wave of his hand and the detective told her quickly what had happened.
‘Shaka Gibbons?’ she said. ‘She’s his wife? This’ll be huge. We’d better get the Press Bureau on to this right away.’
As if in confirmation, the uniformed constable stationed at the victim’s front door told them that Ms Gibbons’ manager had just arrived and been admitted at Ms Gibbons’ insistence. As Brock and Kathy passed him to go inside, the constable tugged down his protective vest and straightened his tie, as if expecting the cameras at any second.
Wayne Everett, the bodyguard, was waiting in the hall inside, looking grim, his bulk overshadowed by an enormous chandelier suspended from the high ceiling overhead. Another man was behind him, one foot on the bottom step of a grand staircase at the far end of the hall, murmuring into a phone. He now wheeled around and strode in front of Everett to face the detectives. He was Peter Shere, he explained, handing them business cards, head of Shere Security and responsible for all aspects of Mr Moszynski’s safety and that of his family while in the UK.
‘Clearly there’s been a shocking breach,’ he said angrily, and Kathy saw Everett behind him lower his shaved head a little further. ‘My immediate concern is to ensure the ongoing security of the family. Later we’ll be carrying out a post-incident review. In the meantime, it goes without saying that we’ll give you our fullest cooperation.’
Brock pulled a wad of tissues out of his coat pocket and noisily blew his nose. ‘Do you have any reason to be concerned about the rest of the family?’
‘No, but we had no immediate concerns about Mr Moszynski either. He has a daughter, Alisa, living near Esher. I’ve sent one of our cars to bring her, her baby daughter and Mr Moszynski’s mother, who’s been visiting them, back here. Alisa’s husband Vadim is in Moscow at present. He’s been informed and is flying back immediately.’
Kathy was taking notes. ‘Is that the whole family in the UK?’
‘Yes.’
Brock said, ‘Let’s hear what Mr Everett has to say.’
Shere waved his employee forward.
‘I came on duty here at seven this evening,’ Everett said, voice subdued. ‘There’s always one of us here with Mr Moszynski twenty-four/seven, working twelve-hour shifts. I’ve been on this assignment for six months now without incident. I made myself known to him,
Brock didn’t know.
‘Resident of Chelsea Mansions,’ the detective went on, indicating the building through the trees. ‘He owns most of the building. Stepped outside at about nine fifty to smoke a cigar here in the gardens. Apparently Shaka won’t have smoking in the house. At ten thirty his bodyguard came out with a torch to check on him and found the body.’
‘He had a bodyguard?’
‘Name of Wayne Everett, calls himself Mr Moszynski’s security agent and driver, on contract from . . .’ He held his notes up to the light. ‘Shere Security. His boss arrived soon after us. They’re both inside the house now with Shaka. Everett says he only felt for a pulse then stepped away. Looks like three puncture wounds to the chest. No immediate sign of the weapon, but I reckon we’ll have to wait till daylight to search the gardens properly.’
Brock grunted his agreement. His head still felt full of cotton wool. ‘That’s where the American woman, Nancy Haynes, was staying, of course, in the hotel at the end of the block.’
‘Yes. As soon as I realised that I thought I’d better get you in straight away. There hasn’t been a single homicide in this borough in the three years I’ve been stationed here and now we’ve got two from the same building.’
They made their way towards the gates, discussing the steps that had been taken so far, when Brock saw Kathy coming through the checkpoint. He introduced her to the CID man and then sneezed.
‘You all right?’ she asked, but he dismissed it with a wave of his hand and the detective told her quickly what had happened.
‘Shaka Gibbons?’ she said. ‘She’s his wife? This’ll be huge. We’d better get the Press Bureau on to this right away.’
As if in confirmation, the uniformed constable stationed at the victim’s front door told them that Ms Gibbons’ manager had just arrived and been admitted at Ms Gibbons’ insistence. As Brock and Kathy passed him to go inside, the constable tugged down his protective vest and straightened his tie, as if expecting the cameras at any second.
Wayne Everett, the bodyguard, was waiting in the hall inside, looking grim, his bulk overshadowed by an enormous chandelier suspended from the high ceiling overhead. Another man was behind him, one foot on the bottom step of a grand staircase at the far end of the hall, murmuring into a phone. He now wheeled around and strode in front of Everett to face the detectives. He was Peter Shere, he explained, handing them business cards, head of Shere Security and responsible for all aspects of Mr Moszynski’s safety and that of his family while in the UK.
‘Clearly there’s been a shocking breach,’ he said angrily, and Kathy saw Everett behind him lower his shaved head a little further. ‘My immediate concern is to ensure the ongoing security of the family. Later we’ll be carrying out a post-incident review. In the meantime, it goes without saying that we’ll give you our fullest cooperation.’
Brock pulled a wad of tissues out of his coat pocket and noisily blew his nose. ‘Do you have any reason to be concerned about the rest of the family?’
‘No, but we had no immediate concerns about Mr Moszynski either. He has a daughter, Alisa, living near Esher. I’ve sent one of our cars to bring her, her baby daughter and Mr Moszynski’s mother, who’s been visiting them, back here. Alisa’s husband Vadim is in Moscow at present. He’s been informed and is flying back immediately.’
Kathy was taking notes. ‘Is that the whole family in the UK?’
‘Yes.’
Brock said, ‘Let’s hear what Mr Everett has to say.’
Shere waved his employee forward.
‘I came on duty here at seven this evening,’ Everett said, voice subdued. ‘There’s always one of us here with Mr Moszynski twenty-four/seven, working twelve-hour shifts. I’ve been on this assignment for six months now without incident. I made myself known to him,
Similar Books
