1 The Cuckoo's Calling

“The police came,” Strike said, returning mentally to the dark, snowy street,
and the broken corpse. “What happened then?”
“When Mrs. Bestigui saw the police car out her window, she came straight
back down in her dressing gown, with her husband running after her; she come
out into the street, into the snow, and starts bawling at them that there’s a
murderer in the building.
“Lights are going on all over the place now. Faces at windows. Half the
street’s woken up. People coming out on to the pavements.
“One of the coppers stayed with the body, calling for back-up on his radio,
while the other one went with us—me and the Bestiguis—back inside. He told
them to go back in their flat and wait, and then he got me to show him the
building. We went up to the top floor again; I opened up Lula’s door, showed
him the flat, the open window. He checked the place over. I showed him the lift,
still on her floor. We went back down the stairs. He asked about the middle flat,
so I opened it up with the master key.
“It was dark, and the alarm went off when we went in. Before I could find the
light switch or get to the alarm pad, the copper walked straight into the table in
the middle of the hall and knocked over this massive vase of roses. Smashed and
went everywhere, glass an’ water an’ flowers all over the floor. That caused a
loada trouble, later…
“We checked the place. Empty, all the cupboards, every room. The windows
were closed and bolted. We went back to the lobby.
“Plainclothes police had arrived by this time. They wanted keys to the
basement gym, the pool and the car park. One of ’em went off to take a statement
from Mrs. Bestigui, another one was out front, calling for more back-up, because
there are more neighbors coming out in the street now, and half of them are
talking on the phone while they’re standing there, and some of them are taking
pictures. The uniformed coppers are trying to make them go back into their
houses. It’s snowing, really heavy snow…
“They got a tent up over the body when forensics arrived. The press arrived
round the same time. The police taped off half the street, blocked it off with their
cars.”
Strike had cleaned his plate. He shoved it aside, ordered fresh mugs of tea for
both of them and took up his pen again.
“How many people work at number eighteen?”
“There’s three guards—me, Colin McLeod an’ Ian Robson. We work in shifts,
someone always on duty, round the clock. I shoulda been off that night, but
Robson called me roundabout four in the afternoon, said he had this stomach bug,