CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“THIS IS RIDICULOUS. I’ve been coming here for years and nobody ever told me to call ahead before. I can’t stand around waiting all day. I’m an extremely busy person.”
An American woman was standing by the reception desk, complaining loudly to Stephanie Clarke. I recognized Barbie Hellmann from the newspapers and TV coverage of the murder. She was Alicia’s neighbor in Hampstead, who heard the gunshots the night of Gabriel’s murder and phoned the police.
Barbie was a Californian blonde in her mid-sixties, possibly older. She was drenched in Chanel No. 5, and she’d had considerable plastic surgery. Her name suited her—she looked a like a startled Barbie doll. She was obviously used to getting what she wanted—hence her loud protestations at the reception desk when she d
