1 The Cuckoo's Calling

“Mebbe five minutes in the middle flat,” said Wilson. “A minute each for the
others.”
“When did the security guy leave?”
“Late morning. I can’t remember exactly.”
“But you’re sure he left?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Anyone else visit?”
“There was a few deliveries, but it was quiet compared to how the rest of the
week had been.”
“Earlier in the week had been busy, had it?”
“Yeah, we’d had a lot of coming and going, because of Deeby Macc arriving
from LA. People from the production company were in and out of Flat Two,
checking the place was set up for him, filling up the fridge and that.”
“Can you remember what deliveries there were that day?”
“Packages for Macc an’ Lula. An’ roses—I helped the guy up with them,
because they come in a massive,” Wilson placed his large hands apart to show
the size, “a huh-uge vase, and we set ’em up on a table in the hallway of Flat
Two. That’s the roses that got smashed.”
“You said that caused trouble; what did you mean?”
“Mister Bestigui had sent them to Deeby Macc an’ when he heard they’d been
ruined he was pissed off. Shoutin’ like a maniac.”
“When was this?”
“While the police were there. When they were trying to interview his wife.”
“A woman had just fallen to her death past his front windows, and he was
upset that someone had wrecked his flowers?”
“Yeah,” said Wilson, with a slight shrug. “He’s like that.”
“Does he know Deeby Macc?”
Wilson shrugged again.
“Did this rapper ever come to the flat?”
Wilson shook his head.
“After we had all this trouble, he went to a hotel.”