It was a damp, grey morning and cold for the time of year. Desperate for a cup of hot, strong coffee, Carlyle stared morosely into the gloom. Looking out across the tops of the trees in the middle of the square, he imagined himself losing his balance and tipping over into the abyss. In reality, he made sure that he was a good two feet from the edge of the building before he cautiously leaned over and peered down at the body impaled on the railings below. From almost 100 feet up, Matias Gori looked like a speared fish that had gasped its last. Moreover, it looked as if he would be stuck there for a while yet. The technicians had yet to decide how best to remove him without leaving his guts all over the pavement.
Arriving at the Embassy, Carlyle had not stopped on the pavement to study Gori close-up. Rather, after a short chat with the stressed-looking DCI in charge, he had headed straight up to the roof. He didn’t like it much up here either, but he felt that his fear of heights was less of a problem than his long-standing squeamishness around dead bodies.
Standing behind him, Joe Szyszkowski was, if anything, even more cautious than his boss. ‘So,’ Joe asked, staying well clear of the parapet, ‘did he jump or was he pushed?’
‘He didn’t seem the suicidal kind to me,’ said Carlyle gruffly. ‘I met him — I dunno, a few days ago. He seemed like the kind of arrogant bastard who thought he was on a mission from God or something; thought he could live for ever.’
‘It could have been an accident,’ Joe suggested. ‘Maybe he was pissed. What was he doing up here, anyway?’
‘The DCI in charge downstairs said this is a no-smoking building, and apparently he liked to come up here for a crafty fag.’
‘Did Forensics find anything?’ Joe asked, looking vacantly at the asphalt.
‘Just a cigarette butt — presumably Gori’s.’ Carlyle scanned the roof aimlessly. ‘It’s basically impossible to tell if he was up here on his own or not. There’s no CCTV.’
‘No chance of any witnesses?’
Carlyle shook his head. ‘The Embassy was nearly empty at that time of night. The security guard was doing his rounds, but he doesn’t come up here. Says he saw no one. None of the neighbouring buildings directly overlook this part of the roof.’ He gestured at the Radisson Hotel, on the far side of the square, the only nearby building that was taller than the Embassy itself. ‘Even someone over there probably wouldn’t have seen anything, because it’s too far away.’
Making sure he still didn’t get too close to the edge, Carlyle gingerly leaned forward and took another quick glance down at the dead fish. ‘You’re not the first person to fall off a tall building recently, are you, matey?’ he said quietly to himself. Thinking back to Jerome Sullivan and Michael Hagger, he felt a sharp pang of guilt. Since Hagger had appeared in the piazza, Carlyle had done nothing to try and track down young Jake. As far as he knew, Cutler, the officer leading the search, hadn’t made any progress either. If there had been any hope, it had long since gone. The missing kid was doubtless beyond salvation now.
His stomach rumbled. Feeling a bit light-headed, Carlyle turned away from the edge of the building. ‘Let’s go.’
Joe nodded and they headed back inside.
‘So where does this leave us?’ Joe wondered, standing at the top of the stairs that led up to the roof.
‘I think it leaves us in quite a good place,’ Carlyle said. ‘Gori’s murder is not ours to worry about.’
‘It’ll probably get written up as an accident,’ Joe sniffed.
‘Quite,’ Carlyle agreed. ‘And if he was our killer, then it’s case closed.’
‘What about Groves?’
‘She’s not our problem either,’ Carlyle said, yawning. ‘I outlined my thinking to Chan and his sidekick at the hospital, and they pissed all over it, so let them work it out for themselves.’ He thought about Monica Hartson — her Glasgow exile could come to a speedy end. Pulling out his mobile, he rang her number. Tapping his foot impatiently on the asphalt, he listened to the call this time go to voicemail. ‘For fuck’s sake!’ he hissed. How was it that some people were just incapable of answering a bloody phone? Ending the call without leaving a message, he dropped the handset back into his jacket pocket. ‘Did you write up the Mills report?’
Joe started down the stairs without looking up. ‘No.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Carlyle grinned. ‘I’ll sort it out after we’ve had breakfast.’
At the mention of food, Joe perked up considerably. ‘Great.’
‘And then I’ll go and see Simpson.’