by Joseph Knox
I took out my phone and got to work.
‘Hello?’
‘Aneesa Khan? It’s Detective Constable Waits.’
‘Good morning, Detective Constable.’ I heard the shake in her voice. ‘Are you calling about Ali? Is he OK?’
‘I actually just spoke to Mr Nasser, he’s doing a lot better. I was hoping you could help me, though.’
‘I wanted to speak to you, too. I’m sorry I was so shaken up by it all last night. I’ve never been around violence like that before. I think it just gave me a shock.’ She said this like a prepared answer in a job interview but, I reminded myself, that formality was in everything else she said as well. Aneesa had very briefly let her guard down around me, and I thought that was probably what had disturbed her most.
‘Completely understandable,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘Thank you.’ She sounded lighter already. ‘Now, how I can help?’
It was past time for me to inform her about the body we’d discovered on the fourth floor, but I wanted to try the owners first. Telling Aneesa meant I wouldn’t get to see their reactions to the news, so I edged around it.
‘You mentioned last night that your firm was handling the sale of the Palace?’
‘That’s correct. Although in the event of a sale it would be my boss, Anthony, leading things.’
‘Is this Mr Blick?’
‘Correct. How do you know that?’
‘Mr Nasser mentioned the name this morning,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t mind speaking to Blick if you can arrange it?’
‘I’m sure that by next week he’ll be all over you. Anthony’s in Thailand at the moment.’
‘Work-related?’
‘He decided to go and find himself at age fifty. Can you believe it?’
‘It’s never too late to start looking. What about the current owners, would it be possible to speak to them?’
She was silent for a moment.
‘Well …’ she said, finally.
The Palace Hotel was owned by the Coyle Trust, she explained, the principals of which were a Natasha Reeve and Frederick Coyle. When I suggested a meeting with them that day she told me that their schedules might not allow for it but said she’d call me back. I was almost in town when she did.
‘Natasha says she can receive you now, if that’s useful?’
‘Sure.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t be there to accompany you …’ I waited, thinking she was about to warn me that her client could be difficult. There was something unspoken but, for the moment, it stayed that way. Aneesa had already let her guard down once. That was as far as she was prepared to go.
‘I’ll be on my best behaviour,’ I said. ‘Just tell me where and when.’
5
Natasha Reeve requested that we meet on King Street, off Deansgate, and I assumed that she lived locally. The wealthy often declined to receive police officers into their own homes. Above a certain income you were always more likely to conduct interviews in cafés or restaurants. Their concern, perhaps, was how their houses and possessions might be interpreted, or even resented, by the uniformly working-class police force. Having spent time with both sides I thought they were probably right to be careful.
I knew Natasha immediately.
She was a slim, tanned woman of perhaps forty-five. She looked like she had a lifetime of good living behind her. Sun, nutrition and education. She might have been my exact opposite, and her healthy glow made me feel faintly ashamed of myself. From some other, lesser race. She wore cream-coloured jeans with a matching blouse, and her clothes brought out the warmth of her rich, brown skin. A deep tan that even the city’s current heatwave couldn’t have provided. At first I thought she was looking into a shop window at baby clothes. As I drew closer I saw that she was actually checking her own reflection. I thought she seemed vaguely disappointed with it, until she turned and gave me the exact same look.
She knew me immediately, too, acknowledging my presence with a minimal nod.
‘Ms Reeve? My name’s Detective Constable—’
‘Waits,’ she said, twisting away from my outstretched hand. ‘Yes, shall we?’ She began to walk, expecting me to fall in step beside her, and I did. ‘I’m told we had a break-in at the Palace last night.’
‘I’m afraid so.’ I turned but she continued to stare straight ahead. ‘I was wondering if you could give me some background on the hotel itself?’
‘Is that necessary?’
‘At this stage it’s a little more complicated than a break-in.’
‘Intriguing,’ she said, flatly. ‘Very well. The Palace has been in my family for three decades and I’ve been responsible for it for one-third of that time. It’s always been a prosperous business but certain family commitments have necessitated its sale. Negotiations are currently inching forwards.’ She spoke briskly, like a woman who’d lost interest in her own life, and it took me a moment to realize that the history lesson was over. She’d condensed three decades into as many sentences.
‘I was told the hotel had two owners?’
‘The Coyle Trust, which owns the hotel, has two principals,’ she said.
‘You’re one, may I ask who the other is?’
‘Frederick Coyle, my husband.’
‘I hadn’t realized you were married.’
‘It seemed to slip Freddie’s mind towards the end as well. We’re currently divorcing, Detective Constable. Negotiations are inching forwards there, too.’
‘Is that the reason you’re selling the Palace?’
‘Freddie suggested we divide it into two separate entities, perhaps a health spa and a hotel, but I can’t bear to see that happen. My one condition of the Palace’s sale is that it remains intact.’
‘I’m glad to hear that.’
But Natasha Reeve didn’t want me for an ally. ‘I’m afraid your sentimental response to the problem isn’t shared by the prospective pool of buyers.’
‘You’re having some trouble with the sale?’
‘As I say …’ She looked as though she couldn’t bear to repeat herself.
‘Negotiations are inching forwards. How long were you and Mr Coyle married?’
‘Ten years,’ she twitched. ‘Why this fascination with my marriage? If you’re considering it, I can suggest better uses for your time.’
‘I’m just establishing the facts. Do you and Mr Coyle have any children?’
‘Not including the one he walked out on me for?’ I didn’t say anything and she came back to reality. ‘No, no children. Freddie never wanted the hassle. I regretted it, for a time, but after his conduct with the Palace I wonder …’
‘How do you mean?’
‘No doubt he’d have suggested we cut the child in half, too.’ She heard herself and stopped walking, looking at me for the first time as she did. ‘You must understand that I don’t believe every wrong visited on me in the past is a prophecy of my future. Occasionally the cards simply fall that way. If it were up to me, we wouldn’t be selling the Palace at all. I’m afraid the subject can colour my conversation.’ She resumed walking. ‘What does this have to do with a break-in?’
‘As I said, it’s slightly more complicated than a break-in.’
‘So you keep saying,’ she said, walking on.
‘The security guard, Mr Nasser, was assaulted.’
‘Ms Khan said as much. I take it he’ll recover?’
‘It looks like it.’
‘I’m glad to hear that, he’s a reliable man. Of course, his job will remain open should he still want it, and we can be flexible about working hours should it assist his recovery or your investigation. Anything else you need can be handled through Ms Khan or, as of next week, the returning Mr Blick.’
‘I was also hoping to speak to Mr Coyle.’
‘Of course you were,’ she said quietly.
‘Have you spoken to your husband this morning?’ I had a wild idea that Frederick Coyle could be our unidentified dead man. It
sounded like Natasha Reeve’s life would be a lot simpler if she was the Palace Hotel’s sole owner.
‘Ms Khan copied us both into an email, to apprise us of last night’s events. He didn’t seem too interested.’
‘But he did reply?’
‘Of course.’
‘I’m afraid that Ms Khan might not have been fully up to speed. Last night when we responded to the intruder alarm at her behest, we discovered your security guard, Mr Nasser, unconscious on the third floor. He’d suffered a blow to the back of the head.’ I risked a look at Natasha but her face remained implacable. ‘Upon a closer search of the premises a dead body was discovered in a room on the fourth floor. We’re treating the death as suspicious.’
‘I see,’ she squinted. ‘You don’t think that Mr Nasser …’
‘No. It looks like he disturbed them. He says he heard raised voices just before he began his midnight patrol. Two people arguing …’
She smiled thinly. It looked like a crack of light under a door. ‘And you’re wondering if it might have been Freddie and me?’
‘Mr Nasser was investigating the voices when he was attacked,’ I said, side-stepping the question. ‘It would be helpful to know if there’ve been any other break-ins while the Palace has been closed.’
‘None that I know of.’
‘Any suspicious activity at all?’
She shook her head. ‘Although I suggest you speak to Ms Khan. I’ve intentionally made myself absent for much of the Palace’s closure and I’m sure she and Mr Blick have more insight into its day-to-day operations.’
‘There’s been nothing in the negotiations for sale that gives you any pause or concern?’
‘Perhaps if there were more robust interest, but for the moment we’re merely making eyes at one another. Could this affect a potential sale?’
‘I can’t think why. We’ll need access to the crime scene for the next couple of days, but aside from that …’ She nodded. Gratefully, I thought. I could see why sharing a business with your ex might make things difficult. ‘Which brings me to my final question,’ I said. ‘You suggested the image of you and your husband being the two people that Mr Nasser heard arguing. Can you account for your whereabouts last night?’
‘Happily,’ she said. ‘I was at home, alone.’
‘Here in town?’
‘I keep a flat on King Street.’ We’d walked a circuit of the block and she nodded towards the street sign.
‘Can I ask how you spent the evening?’
‘Reading.’
‘Reading what?’
‘Poetry.’ She said it like the only kind of book there was. ‘Is that all, Detective Constable?’
‘You don’t seem particularly worried about not providing an alibi …’
‘I have nothing to hide and, besides, you still have Freddie to talk to. He’ll prove that the two of us weren’t arguing in the Palace.’ When I gave her a questioning look she went on. ‘Well, I’ve no doubt he was curled up with something a little warmer than a good book.’
6
Natasha and I said our goodbyes and, after checking Frederick Coyle’s schedule, Aneesa told me I might not be able to speak to him until the following day. I was still thinking of my interview with Ali when I arrived back at the Palace. I walked past the baleful stare of the officer stationed on the door and into the lobby. The daylight beaming through the glass ceiling and on to marble surfaces made the enormous room glow, transforming it from the sinister setting of last night’s action into somewhere calm and meditative. As I crossed the room, another uniformed officer stepped in to meet me.
‘Detective Constable Waits,’ he said, drily. ‘Can I ask what your business is here?’
‘Good morning. As you know, I’m investigating the suspicious death of our man on the fourth floor.’
‘And is there something I can assist you with?’
‘Have the premises been searched yet?’
‘Detective Inspector Sutcliffe set the primary scene boundary as room 413. It’s been searched.’
‘What about the rest of the building? The other rooms have all been unlocked?’
‘They have. The building’s been secured.’
‘Searched,’ I repeated. ‘Has it been searched?’
‘What are you expecting to find?’
‘That isn’t really how it works,’ I said, walking past him towards the staircase.
‘Hey.’ He was following me. ‘You can’t just wander round.’
‘I know, but let’s pretend we’re police officers.’
‘Karen Stromer was very clear that you weren’t to be admitted to the fourth floor without authorization.’
‘That’s fine, we’re only going to the third.’ We reached the staircase and began the long climb up. The officer kept pace, breathing loudly through his nose, trying not to give away how out of breath he was. By the time we reached the landing I thought he might pass out. Without pausing I walked straight down the first corridor and began searching rooms. Ali had mentioned the dustbins on this floor in relation to the daytime security guard, Marcus Collier. I went directly to them. Each suite had a dustbin in the main room and one in the bathroom. The first few searches yielded no results.
Room 305 was different.
Where the other beds had been completely unmade, this one had a loose sheet thrown over it. I checked the dustbin in the main room and then paced around, got down on the floor and shone my torch under the bed.
Nothing.
The officer watched me from the door. The bathroom was completely plain. I didn’t want to touch the light switch, so I went by torch beam. I put my foot on the pedal of the dustbin and it flipped open. Something gleamed in the light. A torn piece of silver packaging, about one inch by one inch. I crouched down, took a clear plastic bag from my pocket and picked it up. The bright pink font on the front said: Lifestyle. I left the room and the officer followed me out into the corridor.
‘Call SOCO,’ I told him. ‘We need a fingertip search of this room with particular focus on the bed.’
‘Looking for what?’
I was losing my patience with him. ‘Evidence of sexual activity. Hair, skin flakes, DNA. You don’t know what you’re looking for until you find it, but not looking at all’s just sloppy work. And speaking of sloppy work, this should be tested for all of the above.’ I handed him the plastic bag I was holding and he did a double take at its contents.
‘Is that a condom?’
‘Only the wrapper. Don’t get any ideas.’
I winked at him and left.
On my way out of the building I spoke to the officer on the door. He’d been stationed there since we discovered the body, and I asked if Marcus Collier had shown up for work that morning. He said that, aside from me and some Scene of Crime Officers, no one had approached the building. I thanked him and left. He looked relieved to see me go.
7
It was early evening when I arrived for my shift with Sutty. We met in the city centre and he landed heavily on to the passenger seat.
‘Anything you wanna tell me, pal?’
I didn’t know which part of my day he was angry about, but if he knew I’d been talking to an owner of the Palace without him I was in for a long night. I decided to start at the beginning.
‘I spoke to Ali—’
‘The Super. You were talking to the Super.’
‘Against my will,’ I said after a beat.
‘Don’t piss in my eye and tell me it’s raining. If you’re coming at me, come at me straight.’
‘It was nothing to do with you, Sutts.’
‘Why else all the cloak and dagger? Tell him I was sat at home, did ya?’
‘No.’ I thought about it. ‘If you know he picked me up then the driver must have told you …’
‘Dave’s an old pal.’ This was the police force now. A fucking infinity of Daves.
‘So why don’t you ask him what it was about?’
Sutty sniffed. ‘He coul
dn’t hear very well.’
‘He should keep his mouth shut, then. I didn’t know I was seeing Parrs this morning, either. One of the guards you had on Ali must have reported my presence upward. He was just warning me off Cartwright, anyway.’
‘Warning you off who?’
‘The man I questioned in the Quays last night.’
‘You and those fucking girls …’
‘It’s not the girl, it’s him. I guess he’s a big deal.’
‘Why? What is he?’
‘New media, I don’t know. Someone more important than us.’
‘An ever-growing list,’ he grumbled.
‘Parrs suggested I focus on the dustbin fires …’
‘Hur-hur,’ said Sutty. ‘Big case. Needs his best man on it.’ He breathed heavily for a few seconds, deciding if he believed me. ‘So? Tell us about Ali.’
‘Says he heard voices, went to investigate and got clocked.’
‘Believe him?’
‘He’s a first-year immigrant from Aleppo. Scared of talking to the police. Yeah, I believe him. Any word on the day-shift guard yet?’
‘Two words, actually. Fuck all.’
‘It sounded like there might be some tension between him and Ali.’
‘Oh?’
‘When I pushed Ali for his meaning, he said I should check the bins on the third floor of the Palace. I found a condom wrapper …’
‘Marcus has been testing the bedsprings, eh?’
‘Maybe. The room looked like it had been made up in a hurry. I’ve asked SOCO to go over it.’
‘What about the wrapper itself? Too much to hope for prints?’
‘Too soon to say, I only just found it. You’re probably about to get a phone call about me attempting to access the crime scene …’
‘Stromer?’
‘She’d left instructions.’
‘Well, I can’t say I blame her. We should have a poster made with your face on it. Unwanted. Speaking of which,’ he said, opening the door and climbing back out. ‘Why don’t you take my dinner break as an opportunity to get rid of that.’ He nodded at Sophie’s jacket on the back seat, which I’d taken from Cartwright’s flat the night before. ‘Take the car. I just don’t want to see any new scratches when you get back …’
