84
MILA HAD GAINED ACCESS to the mansion by flashing a false identification that stated she was with Scotland Yard. The news crews, which had been there the night before, were gone.
Mila stood in the foyer after she’d been admitted by the sallow-faced housekeeper, Mrs. Crosby, who stood with a stricken look on her face, a handkerchief in one hand.
She said, “Two police inspectors have just left…”
Mila gave a polite, slight bow. “I apologize for intruding upon your grief, but I work in computer forensics and I need to access Mr. Zaid’s computers. We need to see who he had been in contact with, if anyone might have threatened him.”
“Mr. Zaid was a fine man,” Mrs. Crosby said. “He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”
“You were with him a long time?”
“Yes, me and my husband both. We’ve been in his employ here for almost thirty years.”
“Excuse me,” a voice came from beyond the foyer. Mrs. Crosby went instantly silent.
Mila turned to see Yasmin and Edward stepping out from the study. Mila gave no expression that she’d seen either of them before, but her stomach lurched.
“Hello,” Edward said. “I’m Edward Maxwell, a security consultant for Mr. Zaid. May I be of help?”
The housekeeper was strangling her silken handkerchief, twisting it into a tight rope.
She’s afraid, Mila thought. This woman is scared to death.
“Well, I hope so,” she said to Edward. “I’m Inspector Mila Smith, from Scotland Yard.”
“Forgive me, but I’ve never heard of a Scotland Yard inspector with a Russian accent.”
“I am a naturalized citizen and married to the world’s greatest Manchester United fan.” She offered a small, polite laugh as Edward shook her hand. He smiled.
“Mrs. Crosby,” Edward said to the housekeeper, “it’s all right. I’ll assist the inspector. I’m not sure why the police are taking such an interest in Mr. Zaid’s heart attack.”
“We’re not convinced it was a heart attack, sir,” Mila said mildly.
Edward gave no reaction; Mrs. Crosby let out a small gasp.
Edward said, “I think it would be best if you went home, Mrs. Crosby. Unless the inspector needs to speak to you.”
“No,” Mila said softly. “That won’t be necessary.” It was as if they were in agreement: no noncombatants on the field.
Edward took a step closer to Mila. She made herself not look at the question-mark scar.
Mrs. Crosby nodded and left.
Yasmin didn’t smile. She didn’t speak. She didn’t watch the woman leave.
Mila waited until she heard the soft jingling of the housekeeper getting her keys and a back door shutting. “So. Mr. Zaid’s computer.”
Edward’s tone chilled. “I’m afraid that I can’t let you have access to Mr. Zaid’s systems. There is confidential information on them regarding Militronics business.”
“I understand, sir, but I do have a warrant.” Mila reached inside her purse.
I pulled the cap over my head and turned into the gate. I waved the key card over the pass.
The gate didn’t open. Maybe because people up at the house were busy dealing with Mila, confirming her story. Or fighting with her.
A voice squawked from the speaker by the card reader. “Yeah, who are you?”
I put on my best English accent. “Alec at Blue Lion Horse sent me. He didn’t have some of the horse feed in this week’s delivery for Mr. Zaid and I’m bringing it now.” I didn’t look directly at the camera; I looked at a notepad, checking the details of the delivery. What I was delivering wasn’t horse feed but a story to a guard who was probably already nervous, given that his boss had just died. But it is the nature of underlings to trust their eyes and I wore the cap, I drove the truck bearing the Blue Lion logo and name on the door, I lobbed the right name.
Silence for ten seconds. “Someone will meet you at the stable. Wait there.”
“It won’t take long, will it? Because I’ve got other deliveries, mate.”
“I’ll see you there.”
“Thanks.” I rolled up the window.
The gates opened and I drove through.