Part 3 (1/2)

'I would a.s.sume so. I imagine it was a professional job.'

She said this scornfully, as if nothing but the best in the way of murderers would be good enough for her son.

'Instigated by whom?'

'By someone who stood to benefit greatly from his death. Chief Inspector, the work that Charles was involved in was not only wonderful architecture, it was also business on a very large scale. At the time of his disappearance he was the leading contender to design and build a new city for two million people in the province of Zhejiang in China. It would have meant enormous contracts, not only for his practice and that of other consultants, but also for British construction and engineering companies. Of course, when Charles disappeared the Chinese went elsewhere. They appointed an American firm.'

'And you're suggesting that the Americans murdered your son?' Brock had to make an effort not to sound incredulous.

'Why not? They can be very ruthless, the Americans, where business is concerned. But it may not be them. There were probably half a dozen other major projects coming Charles's way that someone would have killed for, either for money or prestige. The point is that this is a far more plausible motive than the one your predecessor insisted on pursuing so single-mindedly. All along I have been trying to point this out to him, without the slightest success. Instead he has stubbornly focused on the idea of a lurid family scandal, like a salacious schoolboy.'

This was going too far. Brock was about to point out coolly that she might be a.s.sumed to have a vested interest in this other explanation, when he stopped himself. Did she really prefer to have her son dead in order to preserve his reputation? Looking at her tight-lipped intensity, at the hall-of-fame pictures covering the walls, he rather thought she did. The alternative was probably just too painful.

So, instead of challenging her, he simply said, 'I'm sure Superintendent Chivers would have looked carefully into your suspicions, and I shall certainly talk to him about them.'

She didn't look convinced. 'It happened on the Sat.u.r.day, May the twelfth, I'm sure of it. I believe they were waiting for him in his apartment when he returned from America. Sandy Clarke, his partner in the practice, picked him up at the airport and brought him home, and he was never seen again. I think they had already killed Miki and set up the whole thing. When he arrived they killed or drugged him, then took him down in the private lift to his car in the bas.e.m.e.nt and drove him away. The abandoned car and clothes on the coast were meant to look implausible. I mean, no one could imagine Charles killing himself in such a way-such bathos!'

'How would he have done it, Mrs Verge?' Brock asked quietly. She seemed about to protest at such a question, then changed her mind. She had thought about this, he could see.

'He had a beautiful glider,' she said. 'I don't suppose you know anything about gliders.'

'Actually I do. I used to fly them myself, at a club down in Kent.'

She c.o.c.ked her head and offered him a little smile.

'How interesting. Superintendent Chivers had no idea what I was talking about. Charles was pa.s.sionate about it. He used to take me up, you know, even after I was reduced to this . . .' She slapped the arm of her chair. 'We shared the sense of liberation, of escape from the drudgery of gravity.

You do know what I mean, don't you? To glide through great cities of cloud at dusk, to pa.s.s under the rim of a c.u.mulus and rise into the vast dome . . . He was inspired by the architecture of clouds, by the infinite possibilities of light and s.p.a.ce and form.'

'Yes, I do know what you mean,' Brock said, hearing the phrases that had most probably come from Charles, and the almost sensual agitation in her voice. 'And you feel that's how he would have chosen to make an end of things?'

'Exactly! He would have taken off into the dying sun and flown out to sea and simply disappeared. I know he would-he almost told me as much once.'

'He discussed it with you, disappearing?'

'Not seriously. But like many creative people he was liable to periods of darkness. During one such time he told me that, if it came to it, that's how he would go, just vanish into the blue.'

'It would have required help, to launch the plane . . .'

'No. It's a Stemme S10 Chrysalis, Chief Inspector. A self-launching sailplane, with a 93 horsepower four-stroke aircraft engine and conventional landing gear.' She rattled off the specifications as if any fool should know them.

'A powered glider?'

'Yes. He loved the independence that it gave him, the ability to take off unaided and fly out of trouble when the gliding currents let him down. It was a fine example of hybrid technology, he used to say, such as he was famous for in his architectural designs. He has a field near Aylesbury where he kept the plane, and he could take off and land there unaided. That's where he would have gone if he'd wanted to disappear. The Chrysalis has an engine range of 900 nautical miles at 120 knots . . .'

She turned her head to gaze out the window at the sky, her eyes unfocused as if she were picturing the pale cross of her son's plane far out across the North Sea.

'But the plane is still at Aylesbury?'

'Yes. And whoever set up that grubby little pantomime on the south coast, you can be sure it wasn't Charles. He had more style than that.'

'Was this the important information you wanted me to know?' Brock asked gently.

'I thought it was vital that you understood this right from the outset, before you become embroiled in all the detail. And I shall be going to stay with my grand-daughter tomorrow, in the country near Amersham, and I wanted to tell you before I went. She's pregnant, you know, with Charles's grandchild.'

'Ah yes.' Brock drained his gla.s.s and s.h.i.+fted in his seat, but Madelaine Verge was reluctant to let him go.

'She lives not far from the house that Charles built for me when he first came home from Harvard, where he did his master's degree. Briar Hill was the first building the Verge Practice built, and it launched his career. It received most wonderful publicity. He said later that it was the best thing he ever designed. I lived there for twenty years, until I lost my mobility, and then it was just impossible to cope with all the changes of level. Charles had recently divorced his first wife, Gail, and he wanted me to live in the city, near him, so he converted this flat for me.'

'His first wife is an architect too, isn't she?'

'Gail, yes. They began the Verge Practice together, but of course Charles was the real driving force. After Charlotte was born Gail took a less active role, but until the pressure of his work took its toll on their marriage, she was always very supportive of his talent.'

Unlike the second wife, Brock inferred. He got to his feet. 'I have a lot of work to do, Mrs Verge. I'd better go.

But thank you for your information. I promise I shall look into it.'

She pushed herself forward with her right hand, her left still clutching her untouched whisky. 'I wanted you to understand how important this is, Chief Inspector. I have lost my son, but I cannot bury him, nor save his reputation.

Only you can do that. I am helpless.'

Brock doubted that.

4.

The two teams a.s.sembled at the appointed time, awkward in each other's company like players who were uncertain what the game was, let alone which side they were on. Brock opened the proceedings by outlining the new orders from above and inviting Chivers to take over the briefing. The superintendent glowered at the meeting, as if daring anyone to find fault with what he was about to say, then slowly lit a cigarette in defiance of the sign on the wall behind him. In a flat, monotonous voice he delivered a well-prepared summary of his four-month investigation, aided by photographs, diagrams, a world map and the police scene-of-crime video. The acoustics of the room in the bas.e.m.e.nt of New Scotland Yard were poor, and several times a voice from the back of the room would pipe up, 'Sorry, chief, what was that last bit again?' and Chivers would clear his throat, raise his volume a little and repeat.

At the end there was silence, no one game to ask a question. Chivers lit up again. His grinding monotone seemed to have cast a spell on them all, and Brock noticed the deadened expressions on the faces of Chivers' team.

Finally, Brock's inspector Bren Gurney asked for more information on the Barcelona connection. Verge had a number of relatives there from his father's family, and in addition he had done architectural work in the city, including an apartment building in the port area for athletes competing at the 1992 Olympics, and he had visited the city regularly. Of the relatives, one had been of particular interest, a cousin who had been a close boyhood friend of the fugitive. This man ran an engineering manufacturing business which exported a range of valves and pumps to various parts of Europe and Latin America, and in particular Argentina, where he owned a local sales and servicing company.

Relatives and other contacts had been interviewed by detectives of the Cuerpo General de Policia in Barcelona, the CGP, and by members of Chivers' team, but none admitted to contact with Verge since his disappearance.

Phone calls and financial transactions between the families in Spain and England were being monitored, and between the cousin's businesses in Barcelona and Buenos Aires, so far without result.

There was one other possible link with Barcelona. On the same Monday morning that Miki Norinaga's body had been discovered in London, a holidaying English couple called McNeil had been strolling along the Pa.s.seig de Gracia, the main avenue of Barcelona's fas.h.i.+onable Eixample district, when Mr McNeil noticed a man get out of a taxi and quickly cross the pavement in front of them, then enter an adjoining building. After a moment's thought he said to his wife that he thought he recognised the man as the famous architect Charles Verge. McNeil was a recently retired structural engineer, and although he had never met Verge in person, he had seen his picture many times in industry journals, and confidently picked him out later when shown photographs. He didn't realise the significance of his sighting until they returned to England a week later, when they discovered the papers full of the Verge scandal, and he phoned the police hotline. By that stage the police had already had dozens of reports of Verge from all over Europe, but they knew of the family connection with Barcelona and paid particular attention to McNeil's story.

From maps and photographs supplied from Spain the couple identified the building on the Pa.s.seig de Gracia, and its tenants were questioned by the CGP-paying particular attention to the staff of a travel agency on the first floor- but again there was no result.

Someone asked about Verge's state of mind at the time of the murder. The clients he had met in California in the week before the murder had been interviewed, as had the crew on the overnight flight back to London, and both could say no more than that he had seemed normal and not unduly stressed, and he certainly hadn't appeared drunk when he disembarked. He had been met at Heathrow by his business partner Sandy Clarke, who said they had talked about Verge's successful trip and about a presentation they were doing on the following Monday morning. Verge had been calm and in good spirits.

According to his friends and colleagues in London, his relations.h.i.+p with Miki had gone through a change in the previous year or so. He had wors.h.i.+pped her when they first married, but more recently there seemed to have been a cooling between them, and rumours of disagreements.

However, there had been no public scenes, and no one believed that Miki Norinaga might have had a lover.

Everyone appeared to find the idea of Verge committing a violent murder quite inexplicable.