by Alan Fisher
The air had turned colder as the morning gave way to the afternoon, and Jack feared that snow might be on its way. He put his foot down hard on the accelerator, convincing himself he didn’t want to be stranded in Durham if the snow arrived before he was done.
“Swan give you much information sir, on how she found the place where McMillan was stabbed?” asked Jason, trying to break the obvious silence between the pair.
“Not a lot. She said there was a fair bit of background to go through about how they came to the conclusion, but she knew that time would be short, if she was right. She knew we’d need forensics in asap. She believes the message on McMillan’s phone is some sort of code for a meeting. Seems McMillan was being invited to meet someone at the Radisson Blu Hotel in room 153 at 8pm. As that fits with time of death, it suggests that there’s a strong possibility that he was killed at the hotel”.
“Did she say who he might be meeting?”
“No, that wasn’t possible”.
“So the information about this meeting at the hotel came from the letters and numbers in the text”.
“I believe so, but as I said, I didn’t get a lot of details”.
“But that text could mean anything sir, and it’s only been a few hours since I posted it up on the board. How can you be so sure that Swan is correct and decide to put off visiting Justice Robertson’s home? Wouldn’t it have been better to send Swan to Durham to check it out first whilst we went to inform Justice Robertson’s family?”
“Firstly, I trust my team. If they say the code tells me to go to the Radisson Blu hotel, then that’s where I go. And secondly, Robertson is dead. From what I gather there are no family at home, only a housekeeper and she can wait. The crime scene of McMillan’s death can’t. It may already be too late; any forensics may be long gone, especially if the room has been cleaned and re-occupied”.
Jason seemed to accept the answer, or at least decide not to push his argument any further. Instead he made something of a U turn, or at least that’s how Jack saw it.
“You know, even though I put Swan and Cole on finding the crime scene, I admit it was a long shot. Feels good when an idea comes up trumps, cracking that code in little more than a couple of hours, Swan’s got a bit more about her than I gave her credit for”.
Jack looked sideways at the smile on Jason Glovers’ face and sighed.
“What is his game?” he thought. “Is he entirely stupid, or does he just think I am”?
Ten minutes later Jack pulled off the motorway and headed into the city centre. He made his way around the one-way systems until he reached the riverfront and turned onto Frankland Lane, parking the car outside the front door of the Radisson Blu Hotel.
The first flakes of light snow dropped on his cloth cap as he climbed out of the car and headed up the steps to the grand reception. He took off his cap as he entered the lobby and beat it against his coat to remove the snow.
Looking for the reception desk, his eyes were drawn to a tall but slender young man standing behind a large computer screen on a circular marble table. He was wearing what looked like some kind of hotel uniform of black trousers, long-sleeved white shirt, and, oddly, a tartan waistcoat with matching bow-tie. He marched across to the table with Jason two steps behind him.
Jack suddenly felt old when the young receptionist asked him how he could help. On closer inspection, the tall young man didn’t look as if he’d just left school, he looked like he should still be there.
Jack removed his warrant card from his pocket and showed it to the child-like figure gawping in front of him.
“DCI Jack Collier and DS Jason Glover, Northumbria Police. We need to have a word with whoever is in charge here, Manager or Duty Manager. Can you get him or her please”.
The message was an instruction rather than a request and it was met with the normal response of panic, and a burning desire to pass Jack on to someone else as quickly as possible.
“Yes sir, certainly, erm, would you like to take a seat, and someone will be with you as soon as possible” he blurted out nervously as he snatched for the phone, and immediately dropped it on the table in front of him.
Jack crossed the lobby to where there was two rows of sofas and armchairs, to await the arrival of someone senior. He dropped into one of the seats, his cloth cap still in his left hand, Jason stood to his left, apparently preferring not to sit.
A couple of minutes later a nervous looking forty something man approached them. His short yet slim stature was hardly intimidating, and his thinning grey hair and rosy complexion made him look more like an accountant than a hotel manager. Jack briefly wondered why the child on the reception desk had been so nervous.
“Keith Dodd, Manager” he said offering an outstretched bony hand to Jack.
“DCI Collier, DS Jason Glover Northumbria Police” said Jack standing up and shaking Dodd’s hand as briefly as was polite.
“Do we need somewhere private to talk, Chief Inspector? asked Dodd.
“Possibly, but I think you can answer a couple of questions here first”.
“Of course. What’s this all about, is it the thefts?”
“Thefts Mr Dodd?”
“Yes, the thefts, we’ve had a few things gone missing lately and I reported them to the local station. I expected a visit from someone, but I wouldn’t have thought that the situation required a DCI to get involved”.
“I’m sorry Mr Dodd, that’s a local matter. This is entirely different although perhaps, on second thoughts, there may be a connection” said Jack, thinking ahead. “For the moment we’re interested in a particular room here at the hotel, room 153. Would you check your records please and tell me who was registered in that room on Sunday night and if it’s been occupied at all since then. If you could find a key as well, we’d like to take a look at the room if that’s ok”.
“Of course” said Keith Dodd, “give me a minute will you”.
Dodd disappeared quickly and Jack watched him physically move the receptionist to one side as he took over control of the computer screen. A few minutes later he hurried back.
“The room was taken on Sunday night by a woman, name of Donna Yates, Elm Tree Road Sheffield. Stayed for only one night, paid by cash. The room has been vacant since then; things are a bit quiet at the moment”.
“Right then, mind if we take a look?” asked Jack as Jason scribbled down the details in his notebook.
“Of course, please, follow me”
Dodd led the way across the lobby to the carpeted staircase and up to the first floor, before going through two sets of fire doors and along the corridor to room 153. He opened the door and allowed Jack and Jason in.
“We’ll take it from here Mr Dodd” said Jack. “Would you find me the cleaner for this room and the receptionist who was on duty when this Donna Yates checked in and out please, assuming they’re on duty. If not, I’d like their contact details please. If either of them are in the hotel, I’ll see them here and I’ll explain to you what this is all about when we’re done”.
“Right. I’ll see what I can do” said Dodd, and he closed the door behind him as he left the room.
“Looks like what you expected sir” said Jason looking around the room.
It was a larger than usual hotel room, large enough to have a sofa and a coffee table in front of a large wall-mounted TV screen. The double bed looked ample sized and comfortable and the furniture looked almost new, as did the carpet underneath the coffee table in front of the soft-cushioned red sofa. It would have been a brightly lit room had the grey skies outside allowed any late afternoon sun through.
“What’s that then?” asked Jack, glancing through the window at the falling snowflakes disappearing into the river below.
“Room’s been cleaned since Monday morning, no chance of any forensics” said Jason as he dropped onto the sofa.
“I agree with you to a point. You sure this the room now then? The one where McMillan met this Donna Yates? You didn’t seem certain e
arlier”.
“I don’t know sir. Without forensics, how can we tell? CCTV perhaps?”
“Notice the rug your feet are on?”
Jason looked down at his feet and took notice for the first time.
“It’s the same sir, the same as the one McMillan was wrapped in. But the rug is still here so, a rug from another room maybe, or from another hotel with similar furnishings?”
“Look again Jason. That rug looks brand new to me, probably a replacement from stores. And Dodd said he’d reported some thefts recently. We’ll know soon enough but I agree there’ll be little else here. The chances of finding any fingerprints have gone. Did you notice the camera above the doorway in the corridor? We might have some CCTV coverage if they still have the recordings from Sunday night to Monday morning. When Dodd comes back, take him back downstairs and see if he can get copies of those tapes or at least let you have a look through them. We might at least confirm McMillan’s presence here, and maybe see who he was meeting. We’ll need a visual because I have no doubt that both the name Donna Yates and her address will be fake”.
Chapter 21
“Any response from Glover yet?” asked Oliver when he returned to the office from the canteen.
“Not exactly. I sent the text to Glover, but it was DCI Collier who rang me. He listened but didn’t ask any questions, just said he and Glover would head straight to Durham to check it out”.
“Ok then, job done, now we can focus on Campbell”
“Ahead of you on that, I’ve also checked out the Labour party office in Tynemouth, turns out they are actually in Howard Street in North Shields. Luckily, Campbell is there this afternoon and he’s agreed to meet with us at three”.
“Just got time to have this sandwich then before we need to head off” smiled Oliver as he peeled off the cellophane from his corned beef and onion baguette.
Just before 3pm, Oliver pulled into Howard Street in North Shields and parked behind Debbie’s Mini. They’d decided to drive individually because Oliver lived only ten minutes’ drive from North Shields and couldn’t see the point in going back to the office and having to drive all the way back home again. He locked the door and joined Debbie who was already standing on the steps leading up to the Labour Party offices. A few minutes later they were being led up an old bare and creaking staircase to meet Tom Campbell, the Labour MP for Tynemouth and Andrew McMillan’s closest political rival.
Tom Campbell stood as they were shown into his office. He was not a young man, around 70 Oliver guessed, with short thin grey hair, heavy slightly tinted spectacles, and a slight stoop to his medium height frame. Oliver introduced himself as he shook the MP’s outstretched hand, which felt crusted from what Oliver imagined might have been years of hard manual labour. Campbell referred to it as he shook Debbie’s delicate pale hand.
“It’s from years working at the coal face as a young lad” he said as he noticed the suppressed grimace on Debbie’s face.
“I’m sorry?” she said lightly.
“The hands” he smiled, sitting back down. “They’re a bit rough for a delicate handshake like yours DC Swan. The result of having spent my early career on my hands and knees hacking out lumps of coal in the pitch darkness, a few hundred feet down in the bowels of the earth” he said in his think Geordie accent.
“Sounds horrendous” she said meekly.
“Aye, it was. But that was a long time ago pet and I’m sure you and DC Cole haven’t popped in to ask an old pitman what it was like working down the mines. What do the police want with an old ex-coalminer turned politician?”
Oliver glanced around the office, which was pretty spartan, or so he thought, for a politician. There were certainly no signs of luxury. The bookcase to the left of Campbell’s desk had a slight lean to it from the weight of books on one side, the sofa to the right looked worn and tired, and the rug underneath their feet was worn through in a couple of places. The chairs that had been placed in front of his desk for them to sit on looked less comfortable that the bum-numbing chair that he used in Jack’s office. The memory made him wince at the prospect of a prolonged interview. Gingerly he joined Debbie, who had already sat, and let her take the lead in the discussions.
“We’re investigating the recent death of Andrew McMillan, Mr Campbell”.
“You mean his murder, am I a suspect then?” said Campbell, matter-of-factly.
“That’s not for me to say sir. We’re part of a team gathering information from anyone who may have known Mr McMillan well. I assume, as his political rival, you would have come to know him quite well over the years”.
“Aye, I’ve known Andy for about twenty years or more. He was all right he was, which probably comes as a surprise to you”.
“Why would you say that?” asked Debbie.
“Because everyone assumes that politicians from opposing party’s hate each other and are constantly at each other’s throats. In reality, nothing could be further from the truth. Ok, there are some opponents who I don’t like or get on with. But most of the time, it’s just that they hold different values or see a different path to achieve the same ends. It would be a pretty poor state of affairs if we stopped allowing people to hold their own views and values don’t you think?”
“Of course” said Debbie slightly uncertain of how to reply. “So you were friends?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that exactly. But we were often at the same functions and we got along fine. Of course when it came to elections we would have a go at each other and attack our opposing party values. But afterwards we’d have a beer or a glass of wine together and there was no animosity between us. I liked Andy and I was sorry to hear of his murder; I sent my condolences to his family as soon as I heard”.
“Would that be the same for all of your staff here? That there was no animosity?”
“I would assume so. They all know how the game works, it’s never personal, it’s just politics”.
“I’ll need a full list of everyone on the payroll here, we’ll need to check where everyone was when Mr McMillan was murdered”.
“Including me?” smiled Campbell.
“Sorry, but it is routine to check everyone out who may have had a motive, even if you say he was well liked and nothing was personal”.
“I understand, and for the record, I was at a local fund raising event on Sunday night, as were a lot of the staff here. My secretary can provide you with details before you leave”.
“Thank you Mr Campbell. Oliver? Anything you want to add?”
Oliver shifted the weight of his bum on the hard seat from one cheek to the other to relieve the numbness.
“You say Mr Campbell that any animosity was purely political and not personal. But surely sometimes the two cross over”.
“How do you mean son?”
The terminology used by Campbell reminded Oliver of how deep set the roots were in the North East of England. Nowhere else had he heard the expressions pet and son used in a formal interview situation.
“From what I understand” Oliver continued, “politics is a winner takes all game. That usually means that opponents will use any advantage they can get to win an election”.
“Go on, say what you mean Mr Cole”.
“I mean that it would not be unusual for opponents to have personal information about each other. Perhaps sensitive information that could be used against an opponent if the need ever arose, in a political sense”.
“Ok, I see where you’re going with this. And you’re right to a degree, most people would have a skeleton or two in the closet which they would prefer remained there. If you’re asking if Andy had anything on me, I have no idea. If you’re asking if I had anything on Andy, yes I did. But that was always a rainy day fund which I hoped I would never have to use, and I’m glad I never needed to. He was always behind me in the polls and I always intended to retire soon anyway, so anything that I may have had remained under lock and key. Of course, it’s of no consequence now and, as a matter of res
pect for an admired opponent, any such material will be destroyed”.
“May we know the nature of this sensitive information?” asked Oliver.
“I think not. As I said, it’s of no consequence now”.
“May I remind you Mr Campbell, this is a murder investigation. It is entirely possible that the material you hold, which you seem to agree could be deemed sensitive, may be of relevance in finding out who was responsible for his murder. If you won’t release the information voluntarily, I will ask my DCI to obtain a court order and it’s possible you may even be charged with obstruction of justice. I’m sure that, even though you do intend to retire soon, you wouldn’t want such a charge to your good name”.
Campbell sat back in his chair for a moment looking directly at Oliver, weighing up the consequences of the decision. Finally he came to a conclusion.
“All right, I see your point. If it is relevant to the investigation, then of course, you must have it. All that I ask is that you respect his memory and the comfort of his family by only using it should it be absolutely necessary, and that the documents are destroyed afterwards”.
“I will pass on your request to my DCI, Mr Campbell. That’s as much as I can give you at this time”.
Campbell again looked Oliver in the eye and after a few seconds, accepted his word. He turned to a safe behind his desk and after a minute came back with a large brown envelope in his hand.
“All that I have is in there, please be careful with it”.
“Thank you Mr Campbell, we’ll be in touch if we need anything further” said Oliver, standing to receive the envelope, which he noticed was sealed with a signature over the seal.
“Can’t be too careful can you” said Campbell as he noticed Oliver’s eyes on the seal.
“I understand” said Oliver.
Debbie got up to join Oliver as he started to make his way towards the door.
“Thanks again Mr Campbell” she said as she reached the door.
