‘Yeah. Presumably the body falling past the window put her off.’

‘The window’s visible from the bathroom?’

‘Yeah. Well, just.’

‘You got there pretty quickly, didn’t you?’

‘Uniformed lot were there in about eight minutes, and Carver and I were there in about twenty.’ Wardle lifted his glass, as though to toast the force’s efficiency.

‘I’ve spoken to Wilson, the security guard,’ said Strike.

‘Yeah? He didn’t do bad,’ said Wardle, with a trace of condescension. ‘It wasn’t his fault he had the runs. But he didn’t touch anything, and he did a proper search right after she’d jumped. Yeah, he did all right.’

‘He and his colleagues were a bit lazy on the door codes.’

‘People always are. Too many pin numbers and passwords to remember. Know the feeling.’

‘Bristow’s interested in the possibilities of the quarter of an hour when Wilson was in the bog.’

‘We were, too, for about five minutes, before we’d satisfied ourselves that Mrs Bestigui was a publicity-mad cokehead.’

‘Wilson mentioned that the pool was unlocked.’

‘Can he explain how a murderer got into the pool area, or back to it, without walking right past him? A fucking pool,’ said Wardle, ‘nearly as big as the one I’ve got at my gym, and all for the use of three fucking people. A gym on the ground floor behind the security desk. Underground fucking parking. Flats done up with marble and shit like… like a fucking five-star hotel.’

The policeman sat shaking his head very slowly over the unequal distribution of wealth.

‘Different world,’ he said.

‘I’m interested in the middle flat,’ said Strike.

‘Deeby Macc’s?’ said Wardle, and Strike was surprised to see a grin of genuine warmth spread across the policeman’s face. ‘What about it?’

‘Did you go in there?’

‘I had a look, but Bryant had already searched it. Empty. Windows bolted, alarm set and working properly.’

‘Is Bryant the one who knocked into the table and smashed a big floral arrangement?’

Wardle snorted.

‘Heard about that, did you? Mr Bestigui wasn’t too chuffed about it. Oh yeah. Two hundred white roses in a crystal vase the size of a dustbin. Apparently he’d read that Macc asks for white roses in his rider. His rider,’ Wardle said, as though Strike’s silence implied an ignorance of what the term meant. ‘Stuff they ask for in their dressing rooms. I’d’ve thought you’d know about this stuff.’

Strike ignored the insinuation. He had hoped for better from Anstis.

‘Ever find out why Bestigui wanted Macc to have roses?’

‘Just schmoozing, isn’t it? Probably wanted to put Macc in a film. He was fucked off to the back teeth when he heard Bryant had ruined them. Yelling the place down when he found out.’