Page 42 of 56 Days
“If that’s not an estate agent,” Karl says, “then I’m a teetotaler. Why do they always dress like they’ve a much better job?”
“To promote feelings of wealth and trust. Property is the most expensive purchase you’ll ever make. And I just had to go into a closed space during a pandemic to look at a putrefying corpse that’s been cooking for a couple of weeks, so maybe leave the estate agents alone, eh?”
Michael is pointing at her and Karl, sending thetoo-tight-suited man hurrying over to them.
“Kevin O’Sullivan,” he says. “Viva Property Management.” He goes to extend his hand, then catches himself and aborts the move, then takes a step back again for good measure. “Sorry, I keep doing that.” He looks around. “What’s going on? What’s happened?”
“You’ve got a decomposing body in there,” Karl says flatly.
“Mr. O’Sullivan.” Lee takes ahalf-stepforward, planting herself firmly between the two men before Karl can say any more. “I’m Detective Inspector Leah Riordan and this is my colleague, Detective Sergeant Karl Connolly. We received a call this morning about an odor coming from apartment number one, whose front door was also unlocked. When we arrived, I’m sorry to say that we discovered a deceased individual inside. They appear to have been there for some time.”
Kevin manages to look both horrifiedandtransfixed.
“Shit,” he says, putting a hand to his mouth.Stop touching your face, Lee thinks. “What happened?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“But is it, like, acrime?”
“We’ll soon find out. Can you tell us who lives there?ID-ingthe deceased and notifying their family is our top priority at this point.”
“Ah, yeah...” Kevin roots inside his suit jacket, pulls out some folded pages: a spreadsheet of names. He scans them. “Ah. Actually, no, I can’t tell you—I don’t have an individual name for that one. It’s a corporate let, rented by KB Studios on Baggot Street. I think they’re architects...? They’d know who’s in there. Who, um,wasin there.”
Lee looks at Karl, who nods and steps away.
“Meaning what?” she says to Kevin. “They just rented it for a few weeks, a month?”
“No, they’ve had it ages. From the start, I’d say. That’s almost two years ago now. They have two. It’s atwelve-monthlease but they use them themselves for shorter stays.” As he talks to her, his eyes keep straying over her shoulder, to where she knows the Tech Bureau van is parked. “Just to have at their disposal, you know? Relocations, visiting clients, that sort of thing. Someone could stay three months or they could stay a night.”
“What about cleaning? In between stays?”
“Yeah, they’d have that,” Kevin says. “Organized through us. But not at the moment. Not since lockdown began.”
“Talk to me about CCTV.”
“We have it, yeah.”
Lee resists the urge to point out that she knows that, that she can see with her own eyes thefish-eyecameras mounted around the complex.
“I’ll need to see it,” she clarifies. “The footage.”
He hesitates. “Am I, like, supposed to show it to you? Don’t you need, like, a warrant or—”
“That’s just on TV, Kevin.”
“Oh.” He blushes. “Right. I’d, uh, have to go get the footage for you. It’s monitoredoff-site.”
“And how long would that take?”
“They’re out by the airport so maybe an hour for me to get there and back? But I don’t know how long it’ll take to download. How much do you need?”
“How far back does it go?”
Kevin frowns, thinking. “Seven days, maybe?”
“I’ll take as far back as you’ve got, all cameras. If anyone stops you, tell them the truth and give them my name, okay? Here.” She fishes a somewhat battered,standard-issuebusiness card from inside her blazer and hands it over. “Show them that. Is there anon-sitemaintenance person, someone who’d have access to any locked doors, know how to disable the fire alarm, that kind of thing?”
“We have a guy,” Kevin says. “He’d be on call.”
