Pop Goes the Weasel | страница 45

‘Bring her in, DC Brooks.’

They were huddled together like cattle at an abattoir. It was astonishing how quickly professional poise could disappear. The staff of Zenith Solutions had taken refuge in the atrium, too unnerved to go back into the office, too curious to go home. Helen walked past them and hurried up to the third floor.

Stephen McPhail, the Chief Executive of Zenith, was trying his best to look composed, but he was clearly perturbed by the morning’s events. He was holed up in his office, flanked by his long-serving secretary, Angie. The box remained on Angie’s desk where she’d dropped it. It had toppled over on impact, the bloody heart spilling out onto her desk. It lay there still, guarded closely by a pair of uniforms who refused to look at it. The lid flapped down lazily – the single word SCUM, daubed in blood, screaming out its simple message.

‘I appreciate that you must be extremely distressed by what’s happened, but it’s imperative I ask you some questions whilst events are still fresh in your memory. Is that ok?’

Helen was addressing Angie, who managed a nod between sniffles.

‘What firm was the courier from?’

‘She didn’t say. She didn’t have a logo on.’

‘It was definitely a woman?’

‘Yes. She didn’t say much… but yes.’

‘Did you see her face?’

‘Not really. She had her helmet on. To be honest I didn’t really take much notice of her.’

Helen cursed internally.

‘Height?’

‘Not sure really. Five eight?’

‘Hair colour?’

‘Couldn’t say for sure.’

Helen nodded, her fixed smile disguising her exasperation with the unobservant Angie. Had the courier known she could slip in and out without arousing attention or had it just been a lucky break?

‘I’m going to ask a police artist to come and sit with you. If you can give her a full description of the courier’s clothes, helmet, features, then we can get an accurate picture of who we’re looking for. Is that ok?’

Angie nodded heroically, so Helen turned her attention to Stephen McPhail.

‘I’m going to need a list of the names and addresses of all your staff – those who were present today, as well as those who were absent.’

‘Of course,’ McPhail replied. He tapped some keys and the printer began to whirr into life. ‘We’ve got twenty permanent staffers – only a couple of them were away today. Helen Baxter is on holiday and Chris Reid – well, I’m not sure where he is.’

Helen kept her expression neutral.

‘Do you have CCTV in the office?’ she continued.