by Paul Gitsham
“Mr Jones, I am Mr Molinie, the hotel manager.” The man’s manner was polite but brusque, his handshake brisk. He didn’t wait for Warren to introduce Sutton, instead gesturing the two men to follow him through the doorway. The two police officers exchanged glances; it was clear that he wanted them out of sight as quickly as possible.
Crossing the threshold, they found themselves in a small, claustrophobic space that had been converted into an office. On the other side of the hidden cubbyhole another door, this one unconcealed and slightly ajar, exited into what appeared to be a service corridor. The smell of cooking and muffled shouting over a noisy radio suggested that the kitchen of the hotel’s five-star restaurant lay nearby.
Safely out of the view of any well-heeled guests, the manager turned to face them. “So what can I help you with, officers? My understanding is that the inquest into the tragic death of Dr Liebig has been concluded. An unfortunate accident, I believe. My staff fully co-operated with the investigation.”
“As with any such death, there are always a few loose ends that need tying up. We’re just here to do that,” lied Warren smoothly.
The manager looked at him for a few long seconds, before shrugging. “Of course. I have copies of the information that you requested.”
Picking up a foolscap folder stuffed with loose sheets, he plucked a printed list out. “For large parties, guests pre-order their meals. Our head chef has been here many years and she knew that Dr Liebig and three other diners had special dietary requirements, and she prepared dishes with a low glycaemic index.” He pointed to a row on the list. “For starter he had a hearty winter broth with wholegrain bread. For main course a steamed salmon with fresh, seasonal vegetables and a creamy sauce—no potatoes or other starchy foods—then instead of a sweet dessert a cheese board with wholegrain crackers.”
Assuming that the menu records were accurate, it would seem that the meal consumed by the unfortunate diner was not the cause of his unusually high blood sugar readings. Warren decided to return to that question later. “What about alcohol? As you are no doubt aware, Dr Liebig was found to be above the legal limit for driving.”
The manager’s smile stiffened slightly. “I’m afraid that we have no information about what he drank, and of course it would be up to the guest to ensure that they were fit to drive.” He licked his lips nervously, clearly worried that the two detectives might be assisting relatives to prepare some sort of civil suit against the hotel. “Of course, we take our responsibilities very seriously and if a guest feels that they are not in a suitable condition to drive home we will help make arrangements for a taxi or even offer them a very reasonable overnight rate if they decide to stay.”
“So you can’t tell us anything about what Dr Liebig drank that evening?” Sutton was staring at the man hard, his instincts telling him that the man wasn’t being entirely forthcoming.
“Well, I know how many bottles of wine were ordered for the group as a whole during the meal, but of course there were carafes of iced water and there is no record of who drank what.” He spoke quickly. “I believe that an acquaintance sitting near to Dr Liebig testified that he drank two small glasses of red wine with the meal and that he didn’t think that he was served anything else alcoholic.”
“So they were able to order drinks throughout the evening? How did they pay for their drinks? Was there a tab or did they pay cash at the bar?”
Molinie sighed slightly. “It was an open bar with silver service. Guests simply asked one of the waiting staff, who then fetched the drink from the bar.”
Warren’s interest piqued. “So perhaps one of the waiting staff might remember serving Dr Liebig?”
“Well it was a few months ago. I doubt they could remember that long ago.”
“You’d be amazed what the human brain can recall,” interjected Sutton, flatly.
“We tend to use outside agency staff for such large functions. I don’t personally know each waiter or waitress.”
“I’m sure that a hotel as smoothly run as this—which is able to print off the exact dining history of a past guest—maintains impeccable employment records,” stated Warren, without breaking the manager’s gaze.
“Well, we do try to use the same agency for all of our functions,” the man admitted weakly.
Sutton cocked his chin towards the reception area behind the wall. “I notice there’s a pretty big party this evening—would I be correct in assuming that you’ll be bringing in agency staff tonight?”
The manager closed his eyes briefly. “Yes. We’re bussing in about a dozen serving staff from Middlesbury Catering Services to serve guests this evening. They’re mostly college kids from Middlesbury Tech.”
“Are they likely to be the same staff who worked the thirtieth of December?”
Defeated, the manager nodded. “We usually ask for the same staff so that we don’t have to waste time giving them a tour of the hotel before their shift starts.” Clearly deciding that co-operation would be the quickest way to get the two police officers out from under his feet, he motioned to the phone.
“Why don’t I give the company a ring and ask for a list of those working that night and see if they are coming tonight.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mr Molinie,” said Warren sincerely. “Just one more thing…”
“Yes, you can use my office.” The manager sighed.
* * *
According to the emailed list from Middlesbury Catering Services, a dozen serving staff had been supplied for the awards dinner, nine of whom were amongst the minibus-full due to arrive within the next half hour.
The two detectives decided to speak to each member of staff individually.
“My gut tells me that something weird happened that night,” Warren confided to Sutton as they waited for the minibus to arrive.
“Mine feels the same way. But what?”
“I’m not sure, but I think we’ll know it when we see it. Let’s just play it by ear and listen to what they have to say. But I’d like to make sure that we don’t spook them too much. We’ll ask them to keep it discreet.”
The minibus arrived on the hour. All of the fourteen young people on board had obviously worked at the hotel before as they each grabbed their bags and headed towards the kitchens without being shown.
By now, the hotel manager was clearly feeling under pressure and wanted the two detectives out of his way. Therefore he didn’t waste any time in sending the nine staff to his office, one at a time, to be interviewed by Warren and Sutton.
The staff, a mixture of women and men mostly in their late teens or early twenties, seemed quite happy to help. Three of them looked at the photograph of Dr Liebig before shaking their heads apologetically, unable to recall him. Two agreed that he looked familiar but were certain that they hadn’t served him.
The sixth waitress looked at the picture for several long seconds, before screwing up her eyes in concentration. “I definitely saw him. I didn’t serve him, but I was responsible for the other end of his table. I’m trying to remember who worked that half of the table.”
Warren felt his heart rate start to increase. “Zack,” she proclaimed triumphantly.
“Zachary Eddleston?” asked Sutton, as he looked at the names on the list. If she was correct, then the server in question had been on this evening’s minibus.
“I don’t know his surname, but he’s here tonight. Dark hair, pale.”
Thanking her for her time, Warren saw the young woman out of the door, before beckoning to Molinie. “Can we skip to the last name on the list: Zachary Eddleston?”
Molinie nodded, disappearing into the bowels of the hotel. A few seconds later he returned, with a skinny, dark-haired young man in tow.
“What’s this about?”
The young man appeared nervous. Warren smiled.
“Nothing to worry about, I’m Detective Chief Inspector Warren Jones and this is Detective Inspector Tony Sutton…” He’d barely finished his introduction before
the young man turned on the spot and bolted through the door.
* * *
Tony Sutton was closest to the door and it took him only a few quick paces to catch up with the fleeing youth. The burly officer’s years on the forces’ rugby team served him well as he tackled the young man. By the time Warren had made his way around the desk and joined the DI, Sutton had the waiter in an armlock.
After frogmarching him back into the office he shoved him against the desk and kicked his feet apart.
“I’m going to search you. Do you have anything on you that you shouldn’t or any sharp objects that could harm me or my colleague?”
Grounds for an arrest were pretty shaky but running away from a police officer was suspicious and gave reasonable justification for a search, Warren decided.
Eddleston shook his head, saying nothing. Aside from a few scuffs on his smart, black trousers and messy hair he appeared unharmed. Good. The paperwork if the lad tried to claim assault was time-consuming and tedious.
Sutton expertly patted the youth down before turning his pockets inside out. Finally he reached inside his jacket and retrieved a battered packet of cigarettes. Eddleston’s eyes closed briefly, a look of pain on his face. Opening the box, Sutton pulled out a cheap Bic lighter, two cigarettes and—with a look of satisfaction—an inexpertly rolled joint. A quick sniff by both officers confirmed their suspicions.
Eddleston was clearly defeated and simply nodded wearily when Warren instructed him to sit behind the desk and not to even think about running out the other door. The two detectives stepped into the deserted corridor and bent their heads together.
“Well the weed would explain why he tried to do a runner,” Sutton suggested.
“Maybe, but it’s bugger all. It’s a single joint so he can’t be done for intent to supply and he probably knows that we have the leeway to just warn him and confiscate.” Warren paused thoughtfully. “It could be a useful lever though.”
Sutton nodded his agreement as he fished a plastic evidence bag out of his jacket pocket and dropped the joint into it. “Do we play the usual roles?”
Warren nodded. “Yep. Unleash your inner arsehole, Tony.”
Sutton smiled. “A pleasure…”
* * *
The evidence bag slid across the table as Sutton marched back into the room. He leant over the nervous youth who appeared to have developed a twitch under his right eye. Warren sat down wordlessly.
“Unless my nose deceives me, this appears to be cannabis. A class-B drug. I’ll bet you’ve been supplying this shit to half the staff in this hotel. Or is it just the kids from the catering agency? Perhaps a bit of puff before the shift starts, you know, to mellow you out and relieve the boredom?”
Eddleston shook his head vehemently. “No, sir. Nothing like that. It’s just the one joint. I got it off a mate this morning. I was going to have it when I got home tonight.”
His shaky voice and politeness was encouraging—an otherwise good kid experiencing his first brush with the law. Warren suspected that when he ran Eddleston’s name through the PNC later nothing would come up. That should make things a little easier.
Sutton snorted. “Really, you expect me to believe that? I’ll bet if I speak to the manager of this hotel or ring up the catering college they’ll be very interested in what we’ve found. Druggies like you bring them all sorts of problems. They’ll be happy to get rid of you.”
The kid was buying it, Warren could see. There was fear in his eyes as he digested the implications for his future. The hotel would certainly fire him, as would the catering agency. He might even lose his place at college.
“No, it’s not like that, I swear. It’s just the one joint. I’m not even a regular user. I just have the odd toke at a party. I’ve been a bit stressed lately and my mate had a spare one. He gave it to me to help me sleep. I didn’t even pay him for it.” The kid was starting to babble now, the twitch under his right eye almost constant.
Warren placed his hand on Sutton’s shoulder, as if to restrain him, then leaned forward. “I’m sure a bright lad like you knows the consequences of being caught with drugs in the workplace—” Eddleston nodded “—and I’m sure that you also know that we have the option to either arrest you and charge you with possession, issue you with an on-the-spot-fine or let you off with a warning.”
Eddleston stared at his hands. Warren reached across the table to an A4 folder and removed a full-colour headshot of Dr Liebig. “Did you serve this man on the night of the thirtieth of December?”
“Shit,” Eddleston whispered quietly before looking away.
His indecision was palpable. After a few seconds, Sutton slid the evidence bag closer to the young man. He bit his lip.
“Your decision, Zachary. We just want information.”
Warren’s voice was low, almost soothing, in stark contrast to his racing heart. Finally, it looked as though at least some questions were going to be answered.
“I didn’t think I was doing any harm. These rich guys, they make all sorts of weird requests. I figured if he wants a drink but doesn’t want his missus to nag him, then who am I to say no? I didn’t know he was driving.”
The explanation seemed weak, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as Warren.
“Take it from the top, Zachary. Tell us what happened.”
Breathing deeply, Eddleston sat up. “I was in charge of serving his end of the table. I knew who he was as I had to serve him a specific dish. During the meal, I poured him two glasses of red wine.” He paused. Warren and Sutton said nothing.
“After we cleared the meal they had all the speeches and stuff. I went to serve him more wine, but he turned me away. I just topped up his water glass and moved on.” Eddleston looked at both officers.
“He never actually said he was driving, so later in the evening when I got told he wanted another drink I just assumed that he was staying over but his wife didn’t like him drinking.”
Warren felt confused. “So Dr Liebig asked you for another drink later?”
“Well sort of. At least I thought he did.” Eddleston could see that he wasn’t making sense.
“After the speeches, there was live music and an open bar. As part of the service, waiting staff are encouraged to keep an eye on the guests they’ve already served and fetch them drinks and stuff. Dr Liebig asked me for a Diet Coke, so I went to prepare it. Then one of the managers approached me and said that Dr Liebig wanted something with a little more kick, but that his wife mustn’t know. He gave me a twenty-quid note and said there was more if I kept on serving him.”
“Who was the manager?”
Eddleston shook his head. “I honestly don’t know. I’ve seen him around once or twice but I don’t know his name.”
Warren motioned for him to continue.
“Anyway, apparently he liked his Diet Coke to be prepared in a special way. Half a shot of vodka, then fill up a tall glass half and half with Diet Coke and regular Coke, lots of ice and a slice of lime. Make sure it’s well mixed.”
Sutton stared at him. “And you didn’t think this was at all weird? He asks for a Diet Coke and you practically prepare a bloody cocktail for him.”
The look on Eddleston’s face suggested that he probably had found it weird, but the liberal application of twenty-pound notes had quelled his doubts.
“These rich folks make all sorts of weird requests.” His tone turned defensive. “I mean that’s nothing. That night there were three new girls serving—the minibus picked them up on the way. All very pretty—Eastern Europeans. None of them spoke proper English and they didn’t have a clue what they were doing. None of them came back with us on the minibus. Draw your own conclusions.” He folded his arms.
“OK, so how many of these drinks did you serve Dr Liebig?”
Eddleston’s brief show of defiance faded. “Probably five or six over the night. He was pretty thirsty.”
Warren glanced over at Sutton. With only half a shot of vodka in each gl
ass the total amount of alcohol consumed was probably just enough to tip him over the limit. And diluted with plenty of Coke, ice and lime it was probably tasteless. But why the strange mixture of regular and Diet Coke? And who was the manager who bribed Eddleston, allegedly on Liebig’s behalf? It seemed that for every question they answered another two replaced them.
* * *
“We should arrest him and charge him with manslaughter,” Sutton voiced as the two detectives held another quiet conference outside the door to the office.
“I agree, but I’m worried about the rumours if we march him out of here in cuffs and stick him in the back of the car. Even if we could do it with nobody noticing, it won’t take long for the other staff to figure out why he’s disappeared before his shift even starts. If Eddleston is telling the truth, he’s the monkey not the organ grinder.”
Sutton nodded. “The last thing we want is for this mysterious manager who supposedly bribed him to get spooked and disappear. Let’s bring him in tomorrow and sit him down with a sketch artist. We can always arrest him down the station if we want to. He’s scared enough not to do a runner.”
After securing a relieved Eddleston’s agreement that he’d attend the station voluntarily the next day, the two detectives thanked Molinie for his assistance, implying that they’d concluded their investigation and it was now closed. The hotel manager clearly couldn’t care less and was glad to get them out of his way before the evening guests started arriving. The two men left by the same door that they’d arrived by, deep in their own thoughts.
Chapter 20
“OK, so Eddleston was bribed to spike Liebig’s drink, which may have led to him crashing the car. But it’s not a particularly effective method of murder, is it? The amount of alcohol only took him slightly over the limit. He could have driven home easily without incident.” Sutton was playing with his lower lip as he mulled over the revelations of the past hour.
“Maybe they didn’t intend him to crash? We should check the call logs for anonymous phone calls reporting a drunk driver. Somebody might just have wanted to cause trouble for him.”
