‘No.’

He was lying, she could sense it, and she fired a volley into the dark.

‘Why were you asking about the Little Venice murder?’

He fielded the shot. ‘Why wouldn’t I be interested, since I’m involved in the case?’

‘But Duncan said you were talking about your brother being killed, and then you asked about the murder. And you’ve just asked me about it too.’ She pressed him. ‘I wondered if you thought there was a connection between this killing and your brother’s death?’

‘How could there be?’

‘I don’t know. You tell me.’

There was a temptation for him to confide, to tell her that someone had broken into his house. But then she would ask what they had stolen and somehow Ben wasn’t ready to talk about the skull, or his suspicions. Because they would sound absurd, and because she might write him off as a hysteric. Certainly she would exclude him from being involved in the Little Venice murder investigation – and he couldn’t have that. He needed to know as much as he could about Diego Martinez. In case his death held a clue to Leon’s.

So he didn’t confide. He lied. ‘I’m sorry I can’t help you.’

‘Really? You don’t know anything?’

‘No,’ he said, his tone final. ‘Nothing at all.’

38

Fiddling restlessly with his house keys, Carlos Martinez sat outside Roma’s office, waiting to be seen. He had been at the police station for half an hour, his gaze constantly moving over to the wall where there was poster of the reconstruction. Underneath were the words:

DO YOU KNOW THIS MAN?

He had seen it for the first time coming out of the Underground. Had stopped, taken aback, trying to work out if the face was who he thought it was. The eye colour was wrong, so was the styling of the hair, but he knew who it was. When he saw the second poster he found himself shaking, the eyes of the reconstruction looking blankly at him, not as they had done in life. But then again, this wasn’t life, was it?

He hadn’t gone home. Instead he had walked to the police station and told the desk sergeant that he wanted to see a detective. After showing them the photograph of Diego that he carried in his wallet it was clear that his son was indeed the face in the poster.

Leading the shaken man into her office, Roma closed the door behind them and showed him to a seat.

‘I’m Inspector Roma Jaffe. I’ll be handling your son’s case, Mr Martinez. I’m very sorry for your loss …’

He nodded, started fiddling with his keys again, his head down.

‘Can I ask you when you last saw your son?’

‘A week ago,’ the old man said, lifting his gaze, his eyes blurry with cataracts. ‘He’d come to London to visit me. He did twice a year, and we’d promised to meet up again last night. But Diego didn’t call or come to my place, and I was worried. It wasn’t like him.’

‘You said he was visiting London?’ Roma prompted him. ‘Where did he live?’

‘Madrid.’

The word took a swing at her. ‘Madrid … Did he work in Madrid?’

‘He took over my business there.’ The old man went on, his voice dropping then hurrying on, the accent obvious. ‘He wasn’t making a lot of money, but he’d kept it ticking over. You know, times are hard everywhere …’

She nodded.

‘Diego was my only child. He grew up with me, but when he was in his twenties I met someone and I moved over to London to be with her.’

‘And your son stayed in Madrid?’

‘He had friends there.’

‘Family?’

‘No, Diego was divorced.’

Roma nodded, her voice gentle. ‘Do you know if your son had any enemies?’

‘Because he was killed? He was, wasn’t he? He was killed.’

‘Yes, I’m afraid he was.’

‘Who did it?’

‘I don’t know,’ she replied honestly. ‘But now we know who he was, we can move the case forward. Did your son have any enemies?’

He shrugged. ‘No, he wasn’t a man like that. No one envied Diego.’ There was a long pause. ‘I don’t think he knew a lot of people in London, apart from me.’

‘What was the business?’

‘Builder.’

‘Had he had any arguments with clients lately?’

‘Who would kill him? No!’ Carlos Martinez replied shortly. ‘Diego kept himself to himself. He was quiet. He would do anything for anyone. He was kind, almost too kind.’

Pausing, Roma remembered the card found on the body and fired a volley into the air. ‘Did your son know a Doctor Ben Golding?’

‘We all did,’ Carlos said, smiling. ‘A long time ago, Dr Golding’s parents gave me a loan which saved my business. I never forgot it. We owed them a lot.’

‘So you knew the family?’

‘Dr and Mrs Golding were killed when the boys were in their early teens.’ Carlos paused, rubbing his right eye. ‘I’d known Miriam – Mrs Golding – when she worked at the Prado. I’d done some building repairs there and she hired me to work on their family house.’ He was looking back, remembering. ‘It needed work. Big old house, with bad plumbing. Rundown, always something needing repair. I had to replace the guttering too …’ He trailed off, then rallied. ‘There were two boys – Ben and Leon. Ben came to London—’

‘Did you know him here?’

He shook his head. ‘Nah, we weren’t in touch. I haven’t seen him since he was a teenager.’

‘What about Leon?’

‘Oh, I knew Leon. And Diego knows – knew – Leon quite well.’

Roma leaned forward in her seat, intrigued. ‘Did your son work for Leon Golding?’

‘On and off,’ Carlos replied. ‘Leon’s a bit … troubled, but pleasant enough. Diego did some repairs for him quite recently. I know because he told me all about it on his visit and about Leon’s girlfriend. He said she was beautiful, but he didn’t trust her.’

‘Why not?’

‘He knew her already,’ Carlos continued. ‘Diego said that she didn’t remember him, but he’d done some urgent repair work for Gabino Ortega in Madrid – and she’d been Gabino’s girlfriend at the time. He remembered her because they’d argued and Gabino had ended the affair and she’d taken it badly. Threatened him, said she’d pay him back.’

‘What’s her name?’

‘Gina … I don’t know her surname. Diego would know …’ He trailed off, biting his lip to stop himself crying. It took him several seconds before he could speak again. ‘On his last visit, my son seemed different. He said he’d just seen Leon Golding and that he’d done him a favour.’

‘A favour? What kind of favour?’

‘Diego found something in the cellar of an old house in the centre of Madrid. They had been digging up the floor, which hadn’t been touched for centuries, and he found this skull. It was interesting because Diego knew the history of the house, knew that Goya had stayed there.’

She was baffled. ‘Goya?’

‘The painter, Goya. He’d lived there for a little while,’ Carlos went on. ‘The skull had been hidden for a long time and when Diego found it he thought it might be the painter’s … Leon had talked to Diego about Goya for years, so he gave it to him. Our whole family owed them a debt. I mean, I paid back the money a long time ago, but there was more to it than that. Leon was the right person to give the skull to. And besides, Diego knew how much it would mean to him.’

Roma studied the old man. ‘I don’t understand. Why would it mean so much?’

‘Leon Golding’s an art historian, very well known. An expert on Goya.’ He took in a breath, tugging at his keys, making them jingle erratically. ‘Diego said he was over the moon with it. Thought it would make his name. Leon took Diego out for dinner as a thank you.’

Was this the time to tell him that Leon Golding was dead? Roma wondered. He had just found out his son had been murdered – did he need to know about Leon? Thoughtful, she glanced away, making some notes. So there was a link between Ben Golding and the victim. More than a link – a bond. And he’d denied it. Why?

‘I was going to come and talk to the police anyway,’ Carlos said quietly, lifting his head and fixing his eyes on Roma. ‘Diego wouldn’t say anything, but he was being followed.’