Philip Kerr - Gridiron

'Should we take the stairs?' Curtis asked pointedly.

'I think you'll find that the report confirms our own examination — the elevators are working just fine. Please,' he ushered them towards the elevators, 'there's absolutely no reason to feel nervous, I can assure you.'

'I hope so.'

The doors of an elevator car opened, but before stepping inside Mitch asked them to hold on and went over to Jenny.

'How are things going?' he asked her.

'This is harder than I thought.'

'I love you,' he said quietly.

'You better had,' she said.

The three men stepped into the car and rode it up to the twenty-first floor.

'We're kind of busy today,' Mitch explained. 'We've got the whole project team on site, checking everything through before we tell the client that his building is ready for occupation.'

'By who?' said Curtis. 'The whole crummy neighbourhood?'

Mitch raised his eyebrows. 'Oh, you mean Allen? He used to work for the firm. I'm kind of shocked myself at the way he's let himself go-'

The car stopped smoothly and the doors opened. Curtis let out an audible sigh of relief.

'Well here we are,' said Mitch. 'Safe and sound. I'm no mechanical engineer, but we had their people check everything, from sheave to microprocessor. They really took it apart.'

He led the way down the corridor and into the boardroom. The double height space was the length and width of a tennis court and covered with a deep-pile carpet that had been chosen for its sound insulation properties as much as for its light grey colour. In the centre was a beautiful polished ebony conference table with eight black Rennie Mackintosh ladder-back chairs on each side. At one end the wall was filled with bare black shelves dominated by a wide-screen television set, and a bank of electronic devices including a computer. The other end of the boardroom was fitted with a walk-in closet that contained a bar. Ranged underneath the enormous window was a long black leather sofa. Curtis walked over to check the view. Nathan Coleman went to take a closer look at the electronic gadgets. Mitch flipped open his laptop, inserted a disc and started to scroll up through what appeared on the screen.

'Paper-free office, eh?' grinned Curtis.

'Thank God for computers, Sergeant,' said Mitch. 'Certificates for this, licences for that. Until only a few years ago we were drowning in paper. Here we are.'

Mitch turned the screen displaying the engineers' report towards Curtis.

'You know, Sergeant, the Otis Elevonic 411 is an especially safe and efficient model of elevator. In fact it's about the most modern system money can buy. If that wasn't enough, it's Abraham's job to monitor and check the health of the system as a whole. Abraham determines whether or not performance deviations have occurred and if maintenance action is required. Whenever Abraham decides that an engineer is needed it's programmed to request Otis's call out services direct.'

Curtis stared blankly at the screen and nodded.

'As you can see,' added Mitch, 'the engineers examined everything: the speed control unit, the logic control unit, the pulse width modulation unit, the motion control system, the gearless drive. They found everything to be in perfect working order.'

'It sure looks like they've been thorough,' he said. 'Can I get a hard copy of this? I'll need it for the coroner's office.'

'Why don't you just keep the disc?' said Mitch and ejected the small square of plastic from the side of the laptop and slid it towards the detective.

Thanks,' Curtis said uncertainly.

For a moment none of the three men spoke. Then Mitch said, 'I hear you released that Chinese student.'

'Did you now? Well, sir, to tell the truth, we had no option. The man was plainly innocent.'

'But the photograph?'

'Yeah, what about that photograph? The problem with it was that it just didn't tie up with the forensic. The bottom line was that Cheng Peng Fei is too short to have hit Sam Gleig on the head. Too short, and too weak.'

'I see.'

'Did you know that some of those kids who were outside are going to be deported?'

'Deported? That seems a little harsh, don't you think?'

'We had nothing to do with it,' said Curtis. 'No, it seems someone at City Hall pulled a few strings to get their asses kicked out of the country.'

'Is that so?'

'Since when the rest of the protesters outside this building have disappeared,' said Coleman. 'Like, maybe the rest of them got scared.'

'I'd wondered where they'd gone.' Mitch shrugged.

'Kind of a break for you, wouldn't you say?' said Coleman. 'I mean, they must have been a pain in the ass.'

'Well, I can't say I'm not pleased. And that guy broke my windshield. On the other hand, deportation seems a bit excessive. I wouldn't have wanted that.'

Coleman nodded.

'Your boss seems to carry quite a bit of influence in the mayor's office,' said Curtis.

'Look,' said Mitch, 'I know he wanted the demonstrators out. He had a word with the deputy mayor about it. That's all. I'm sure he wouldn't have wanted people actually thrown out of the country.' Mitch knew that he could be sure of no such thing where Ray Richardson was concerned; and thinking he had better change the subject he waved his hand at the engineers' report. 'So,' he said. 'Where does this report leave us?'

'I'm afraid it leaves me with an unsolved homicide,' admitted Curtis.

'That's not good for either of us.'

'There must be something in Sam Gleig's background that would help. He had a criminal record, for God's sake! I don't mean to be rude, but I can't see why you should want to concentrate your investigation here. I'd have thought the possibilities were rather limited.'

'Well, that's one way of looking at it,' said Curtis. 'But right now, the way I'm looking at it is that someone meant to drop one of those Chinese kids in the frame. Someone here.'

'Why would anyone want to do that?'

'Search me.'

'You're not serious.'

Frank Curtis said nothing.

'Are you?'

'I can think of more unlikely motives than the wish to avoid some bad publicity.'

'What?'

'Mr Bryan,' Curtis said at last, 'how well do you know Mr Beech?'

'I've only known him for a couple of months.'

'And Mr Kenny?'

'Much longer. Two or three years. And he isn't the type to do such a thing.'

'Maybe he'll say the same about you,' remarked Coleman.

'Why don't you ask him?'

'Well, now that you mention it, I was thinking since you said that the whole project team is on site, I'd like to speak to everyone. The project team. And anyone else who's about. Would you mind?"

Mitch smiled thinly and glanced at his watch. 'I left them all checking the health centre, after which they're due back up here for a short break. You could speak to them then if you like.'

'I'd appreciate it. My lieutenant, y'know? He's not the patient type. I'm under some pressure to get this thing cleared up.'

'I'm as anxious as you are to make that happen.'

Curtis smiled at Mitch. 'I hope so, sir. I really do.'

The implication that Mitch had conspired to frame the Chinese student for the homicide of Sam Gleig meant that it was another ten or fifteen minutes before he remembered Allen Grabel waiting for him in the garage. Leaving Curtis and Coleman with some of the builder workers, he rode the elevator down to the garage.

On the way the car stopped at the seventh floor and Warren Aikman, the clerk of works, stepped in. Mitch looked at his watch.

'Going home?'

'I wish. I've got an appointment with Jardine Yu. To talk about Monday's inspection. How's it going today?'

'Terrible. Those two cops are back. They want to speak to everyone in the design or construction group.'

'Well, that lets me out. I'm the client's man.'

'Want me to tell them that? You were one of the last people to see Sam Gleig alive. They'll be disappointed, Warren.'

'Mitch, I just haven't got the time.'

'Which of us has?'

The elevator car arrived in the garage. Mitch looked around, but he could see no sign of Grabel.

'Look,' said Aikman, 'tell them I'll call. Better still, give them my home number. I can't be late.'

Aikman started towards his Range Rover as Richardson's Bentley came through the portcullis door and down the ramp. It drew up next to Jenny Bao's Honda. Declan Bennett stepped out and slammed the door. Seconds later Warren Aikman was speeding towards the garage door before it shut again.

'Looks like he's in a hurry,' observed Bennett.

'Where's the boss? Am I late?'

Mitch shook his head. 'Relax. He'll be a while yet. Why don't you wait for him in the boardroom. Twenty-first level.'

'Thanks.'

Bennett stepped into the elevator car, smiled brightly and then the doors closed. Mitch was alone. He waited a couple of minutes and then called out. 'Allen? It's me, Mitch. I'm here.'

He muttered. 'Where the hell is that loony bastard?' and then, louder,

'I've got better things to do, Allen!'

Nothing. Relieved that Grabel had gone, he started back towards the elevator. What with the cops and the feng shui and Ray Richardson and the pre-PCI, it was one less thing to worry him. He had almost made it when the door to the stairs opened and out stepped the tall, derelictlooking figure of his former colleague.

'There you are,' Mitch said, irritated that he was now going to have to hear Grabel out after all. His first guess was that the man was going to ask Mitch to help him get his job back. Not too difficult, provided he got himself a shave and took a bath, and checked into AA.

'I didn't want to let them see me,' said Grabel.

'What the hell is this all about, Allen? I mean, you've picked one sweet day to come back here. And look at you.'

'Shut the fuck up, Mitch. And listen.'

As soon as Jenny Bao realized what she'd done she started to replace the fish in the ornamental pond. The Tong Shu used both the Lunar and the Gregorian calendars. According to the Lunar calendar, it was a good period for banishing evil spirits. The problem was that she'd forgotten to consult the Gregorian calendar, according to which the whole afternoon promised to be a bad one for ceremonies. She'd have to come back on Sunday when the auspices were a little more propitious. After she had put her things back in the car she'd go upstairs, find Mitch and tell him the bad news.

'That's the craziest thing I ever heard,' said Mitch. 'What, did you eat the fucking worm in the bottom of the bottle as well?'

'You don't believe me?'

'Christ, Allen, if I believed that story I'd be as nuts as you are. Come on, guy. You need help.'

'I was there, Mitch. I saw it. Sam Gleig went inside the elevator. And then the thing shot up and down. I watched the indicator panel. Bang!

Up it went like a rocket! Bang! Down it came again! The doors opened and there he was, lying on the floor. He might as well have been an egg in a cookie tin. And the fact still remains that Sam Gleig is dead and you don't have a plausible explanation.'

But by this time Mitch had arrived at an explanation that seemed to him to be very plausible. The man had the height, the weight and the strength. If anyone could have taken on Sam Gleig it was him. And with a bottle of whatever inside him, there was no telling what Grabel might have been capable of.

'You think your explanation is better?' Mitch snorted with contempt. 'I can't believe it's taken you all this time to think up a story like that. The elevator murdered him? Jesus, Allen. Anyway, what were you doing here in the first place? And why didn't you stick around and tell someone?'

'I wanted to fix Richardson.'

'What do you mean, fix him?'

'Him. His fucking building. The whole deal. Screw him. Screw the whole fucking program.'

Mitch paused, trying to understand the possible ramifications of what Grabel was saying, and finding his thoughts drawn back to the two policemen upstairs, and to clearing his own name.

'We'll get you a good attorney, Allen,' he said.

Grabel began to back away. Mitch grabbed at him.

'No you don't!' yelled Grabel. 'Leave me alone!'

The punch came from nowhere.

Mitch was vaguely aware of lying on the floor of the garage, feeling as if he had received a powerful electric shock. He heard the sound of receding footsteps, and then finally lost consciousness.

'Who the hell are you?'

Ray Richardson paused on the threshold of the boardroom and frowned at the four strangers seated around the table nursing cups of coffee.

Curtis and Coleman stood up. The last of the workmen they had been interviewing, two painters named Dobbs and Martinez, stayed put.

'I'm Detective Sergeant Curtis and this is Detective Coleman. You must be Mr Richardson.'

Coleman buttoned his jacket and clasped his hands in front of him as if he had been a guest at a wedding.

Ray Richardson nodded sullenly.

Curtis smiled broadly as the rest of the project team filed into the boardroom.

'Ladies and gentlemen,' he said, 'I just need a little of your time. I know you're extremely busy, but as you probably know a man was killed in this building. I dare say most of you knew him. Now the fact of the matter is that we're no nearer to finding out what happened to him than we were then. So we'd like to ask each of you a few questions. It will only take a few moments.' He glanced at the painters.

'You two can go,' he said. 'And thanks.'

'This isn't very convenient, Sergeant,' said Richardson. 'Couldn't you do this some other time?'

'Well, sir, Mr Bryan said now would be OK.'

'I see,' Richardson said petulantly and threw his notes on to the table.

'And where exactly is Mr Bryan?'

'Search me,' said Curtis. 'He left about twenty mintues ago. I thought he'd gone to find you.'

Richardson decided to lose his temper. 'I don't believe this. I don't fucking believe this. Somebody with a criminal record gets himself murdered and you two characters expect me, my wife and my staff to give a few clues is that it?' He laughed bitterly. 'It's a joke.'

'It is not a joke,' said Curtis, who resented being described as a character. 'For your information, sir, it's a murder investigation. And I'm trying to save you time and publicity. Which is what I understood you wanted.'

Richardson glowered at him.

'Or else I can go down to City Hall, get a court order and have you all come down to New Parker Center and do it there. You're not the only one with good connections, Mr Richardson. I've got the DA on my side, not to mention due process of law, and I don't give a damn that you think this is some kind of joke. Nor do I care that you're trying to complete this eyesore of a building. Nor what it costs.' Curtis thought better of calling Richardson a bastard. 'This is the taking of a human life we're talking about here and I intend to find out how that happened. Is that clear?'